I have a question for my friends, but first, I'll relate what I've done so far in my career.
I started in a fledgling division (I used to refer to it as "experimental" division) in a book publishing subsidiary of a software consulting company (Software Ventures). We were mostly kids fresh out of college back then. The web was young, the work seemed meaningful. We worked on "multimedia" (everything is multimedia nowadays, so the term is pretty much obsolete in the field). We worked on the web. One of the bigger projects was to promote Philippine tourism and of course, also find a way to monetize the idea. It didn't really fly, but it was great fun and it seemed like a good cause.
I went to California partly to try to start a career there and I ended up working for the company that produced the first graphical web browser -- Netscape Communications. People were on fire and were in love with the company. The ones who were lucky and early enough made a lot of money, sure, but the work had meaning as well. As far as I can remember, most of us were relatively young and a lot of us thought we could change the world.
This continued to a start-up company, Elance, where I picked a job out of four offers (yes, those were the days), and I picked it because it presented the best challenge. I expected to be go home any time soon and I wanted to maximize learning, so I left my cushy job at Netscape and jumped to a start-up for the excitement and frantic pace. Elance, I thought, was special, as the business model was set-up around freelancers and small businesses, i.e. the little guy. Beyond that, it was a hell of a ride... which eventually turned out just plain hellish once the dotcom bubble burst and everyone became miserable. Work lost its meaning in the day-to-day and I walked into an office one with my boss about to relate some work issues. Instead, I changed my mind and just said:
"I think I'm quitting."
"What?"
"I quit. I just don't look forward to work anymore."
"I don't really have that many resources right now..."
"And I'm not asking for anything," I continued. "I just want you to know."
I left early that day and drove to my place of solace -- this old Borders bookstore branch I frequented in Union City. Two of my old teammates called me to persuade me not to quit, stating the job market was bad, etc. No dice.
About two weeks later, I left for New York.
So then, I took a job at a Japanese shipping company, NYK Line, and it was great. The people were, uhm, interesting (I thought a lot of people were too in-your-face all the time -- my first slice of the East Coast) and I loved the experience for a while. I was back in a large company and of course, I like Japanese culture. Work became mundane, but all in all, always relevant. I maintained the global website, edited shipping routes in a convoluted series of steps that I mastered. I did both coding and design here and there.
And then I got bored. I was there too long without really innovating myself. My personal life came crashing in also. For my last year there or so, I was at work but not really at work. The company that struck me as relevant every time I saw its logo -- whether floating at sea somewhere in the East Coast or on the road in Manila -- became irrelevant to me, and I left the job I could have possibly kept for life. It actually hurt to leave, but it felt right somehow.
And oh, how wrong I was... I went back to AOL, figuring that was the same company that bought Netscape and, while that sent people fleeing, my memories of an AOL-acquired Netscape were pretty good. The AOL now -- I disliked the dynamics in my team -- everyone seemed too competitive, even in meetings where we're supposed to learn from each other. My new boss and I were never in sync. Though I loved user experience design, I never got really comfortable in the role of a specialist. Or maybe it was because I never got comfortable working for AOL? In any case, that didn't end well.
Less than a year later, I'm in Time, Inc. as a consultant and I was in an identity crisis. I was a specialist again, but this time, I seemed out of my league. I was starting over and I felt so behind. I had experience in a few other fields within the web industry but that didn't seem that useful.
But I worked on a lot of websites and I was becoming more comfortable. But then work stopped coming in, and the economy collapsed. This was just last year.
I found myself in UNICEF for a fleeting three months. I was over-worked, but I managed to wear most of my hats again. I loved the idea of working for UNICEF -- a privilege probably mostly forgotten by my peers who've worked there for years (although, to be fair, I worked with the possibly the most agreeable team there).
After spending the rest of winter trying to enjoy the downtime, my old boss at Time, Inc., who was promoted, recommended me to the new manager in charge, and I was back there, missing all the company restructuring chaos. Months later, I'm an employee again.
And I love Time, Inc as a company and as an idea. I like its legacy. I like walking around the different floors and seeing old and new photos -- not just of typical Americana but also pictures evocative of human history in general. My co-workers are great. The bosses are cool. I have a few friends at work again. I work on health.com nowadays (and never mind the irony that I'm always whining about not feeling well...).
And yet lately, I've been finding it all meaningless. It's almost like AOL again. We work for clicks and ad impressions. You can argue that this is the same as Google's bread and butter (only no one profits from it as much as Google does).
It's become meaningless -- this field. I was watching a feature on Google and thought how cool it would be to work there. And then my mood turns dark again. This can be all bad -- this interconnectedness or our so-called social networks, this intrusion of privacy, etc. And I'm part of it.
I dreamed of the web putting people together ever since Netscape Navigator 1.0 (or actually, its predecessor, the Mosaic browser and even the text-only Lynx). I avoided the typical path my classmates and Computer Science took and tried to delve into the more creative side of the web. I loved it for a while. I did it for more than a decade.
If I had a better business sense, a more brilliant mind, or even just a ton of luck, I could be retired with a few million by now. But my ride through my career and my field's history is just pedestrian. I did well enough and I'm not starving. Work was good enough to keep me interested. Until now. It became meaningless. Just a bunch of clicks.
I know I should be thankful for all the blessings given to me. I should be thankful I even have a job. But I'm just not that happy. While all my jobs are general in the same field, it also seems like my foray into a variety of jobs and companies can be construed as a failure to actually build on anything solid in life. I feel lost.
So my question is -- what am I doing wrong?
And what else am I missing in life?
I started in a fledgling division (I used to refer to it as "experimental" division) in a book publishing subsidiary of a software consulting company (Software Ventures). We were mostly kids fresh out of college back then. The web was young, the work seemed meaningful. We worked on "multimedia" (everything is multimedia nowadays, so the term is pretty much obsolete in the field). We worked on the web. One of the bigger projects was to promote Philippine tourism and of course, also find a way to monetize the idea. It didn't really fly, but it was great fun and it seemed like a good cause.
I went to California partly to try to start a career there and I ended up working for the company that produced the first graphical web browser -- Netscape Communications. People were on fire and were in love with the company. The ones who were lucky and early enough made a lot of money, sure, but the work had meaning as well. As far as I can remember, most of us were relatively young and a lot of us thought we could change the world.
This continued to a start-up company, Elance, where I picked a job out of four offers (yes, those were the days), and I picked it because it presented the best challenge. I expected to be go home any time soon and I wanted to maximize learning, so I left my cushy job at Netscape and jumped to a start-up for the excitement and frantic pace. Elance, I thought, was special, as the business model was set-up around freelancers and small businesses, i.e. the little guy. Beyond that, it was a hell of a ride... which eventually turned out just plain hellish once the dotcom bubble burst and everyone became miserable. Work lost its meaning in the day-to-day and I walked into an office one with my boss about to relate some work issues. Instead, I changed my mind and just said:
"I think I'm quitting."
"What?"
"I quit. I just don't look forward to work anymore."
"I don't really have that many resources right now..."
"And I'm not asking for anything," I continued. "I just want you to know."
I left early that day and drove to my place of solace -- this old Borders bookstore branch I frequented in Union City. Two of my old teammates called me to persuade me not to quit, stating the job market was bad, etc. No dice.
About two weeks later, I left for New York.
So then, I took a job at a Japanese shipping company, NYK Line, and it was great. The people were, uhm, interesting (I thought a lot of people were too in-your-face all the time -- my first slice of the East Coast) and I loved the experience for a while. I was back in a large company and of course, I like Japanese culture. Work became mundane, but all in all, always relevant. I maintained the global website, edited shipping routes in a convoluted series of steps that I mastered. I did both coding and design here and there.
And then I got bored. I was there too long without really innovating myself. My personal life came crashing in also. For my last year there or so, I was at work but not really at work. The company that struck me as relevant every time I saw its logo -- whether floating at sea somewhere in the East Coast or on the road in Manila -- became irrelevant to me, and I left the job I could have possibly kept for life. It actually hurt to leave, but it felt right somehow.
And oh, how wrong I was... I went back to AOL, figuring that was the same company that bought Netscape and, while that sent people fleeing, my memories of an AOL-acquired Netscape were pretty good. The AOL now -- I disliked the dynamics in my team -- everyone seemed too competitive, even in meetings where we're supposed to learn from each other. My new boss and I were never in sync. Though I loved user experience design, I never got really comfortable in the role of a specialist. Or maybe it was because I never got comfortable working for AOL? In any case, that didn't end well.
Less than a year later, I'm in Time, Inc. as a consultant and I was in an identity crisis. I was a specialist again, but this time, I seemed out of my league. I was starting over and I felt so behind. I had experience in a few other fields within the web industry but that didn't seem that useful.
But I worked on a lot of websites and I was becoming more comfortable. But then work stopped coming in, and the economy collapsed. This was just last year.
I found myself in UNICEF for a fleeting three months. I was over-worked, but I managed to wear most of my hats again. I loved the idea of working for UNICEF -- a privilege probably mostly forgotten by my peers who've worked there for years (although, to be fair, I worked with the possibly the most agreeable team there).
After spending the rest of winter trying to enjoy the downtime, my old boss at Time, Inc., who was promoted, recommended me to the new manager in charge, and I was back there, missing all the company restructuring chaos. Months later, I'm an employee again.
And I love Time, Inc as a company and as an idea. I like its legacy. I like walking around the different floors and seeing old and new photos -- not just of typical Americana but also pictures evocative of human history in general. My co-workers are great. The bosses are cool. I have a few friends at work again. I work on health.com nowadays (and never mind the irony that I'm always whining about not feeling well...).
And yet lately, I've been finding it all meaningless. It's almost like AOL again. We work for clicks and ad impressions. You can argue that this is the same as Google's bread and butter (only no one profits from it as much as Google does).
It's become meaningless -- this field. I was watching a feature on Google and thought how cool it would be to work there. And then my mood turns dark again. This can be all bad -- this interconnectedness or our so-called social networks, this intrusion of privacy, etc. And I'm part of it.
I dreamed of the web putting people together ever since Netscape Navigator 1.0 (or actually, its predecessor, the Mosaic browser and even the text-only Lynx). I avoided the typical path my classmates and Computer Science took and tried to delve into the more creative side of the web. I loved it for a while. I did it for more than a decade.
If I had a better business sense, a more brilliant mind, or even just a ton of luck, I could be retired with a few million by now. But my ride through my career and my field's history is just pedestrian. I did well enough and I'm not starving. Work was good enough to keep me interested. Until now. It became meaningless. Just a bunch of clicks.
I know I should be thankful for all the blessings given to me. I should be thankful I even have a job. But I'm just not that happy. While all my jobs are general in the same field, it also seems like my foray into a variety of jobs and companies can be construed as a failure to actually build on anything solid in life. I feel lost.
So my question is -- what am I doing wrong?
And what else am I missing in life?
