there’s this video of future islands performing on david letterman that i’ve watched a few times. their lead singer is sam herring who sings on one of my favorite records in recent memory called “time moves slow.”

as an audience member, sam appears unassuming in an all-black ensemble fitting of a server … until he starts moving. i’m drawn to the performance because of his passion. his fervent belief in what he’s singing oozes from his pits, how he hits his chest, licks his finger tips, clings to the collar of his shirt and shuffles and swivels on stage like he were dodging bullets. watching him feels like i’ve found a kindred spirt, one that enjoys and appreciates music as much as i do – maybe more.

i’m passionate about acts of service. i don’t consider my military career as an act beneficial to the greater good of this nation. rather, i wanted my presence to be of use to my fellow airmen. not always, but it was what i aimed for. so i worked hard; i followed and led; i compromised, listened, and empathized. i stood my ground and consider myself much better for it. when i transitioned from active duty, i sought jobs that would not ask too much of me. when i had a breakdown last fall, the base psychiatrist told me that prioritizing acts of service to others was going to kill me faster than a foreign enemy. as a civilian, i’ve explored other career options and have found that i love coffee. i spend thankless hours on my feet telling people to wear masks and conjuring the best possible answer to questions that i’d never think to ask. but i appreciate seeing my regular patrons’ eyes light up when i remember their name and their order. or just making a customer’s morning commute to wherever and whoever they’re beholden to commonplace and without major disruption.

still, public facing jobs aren’t easy. to some folk, a person isn’t taking their order and making them coffee and helping them survive. that i can’t change. what i am capable of is making who i work beside find joy in the service we do and the community we foster. i also know that takes skill, a skill whose reach stretches further and wider in a management position. i undersold myself professionally in an effort to protect my peace. now, i’m frustrated by it. if i have to work as hard to bite my tongue as i do keeping cool during a rush i should at least make more money than i do. yet, here i am writing about it and not handing in my two weeks.

i’d never felt more seen as a working class person when ali wong joked that she didn’t want to work anymore. i’ve been on someone’s pay roll for ten years. i don’t want to give another 40 to making others dreams for their lives come to fruition. i want something that is mine to share. i have ideas of what that looks like. those ideas are lit by passion, both of which i don’t want to end in an urn; or burnt out at a job filled to the brim with security and void of purpose.

if sam can disappear for a performance, so much that he hits a death metal growl at the expense of appearing too strange or intense, i can hope for a future where my work aligns with my values and pays me. because why the hell not? in the meantime, i have to come out as a supervisor to my manager and ask for more money. wish me luck, yes?