Deliciously Underpaid

Why does it seem that for most people, the best, most loved work they do is the work they do for free?

I'm sitting here in the church office on my volunteer Thursday, being a secretary and doing odd jobs not really more meaningful than any of my work at the library. Apparently, the tasks I engage in at both are similar; required motor skills and brain activity are comparable.

But somehow, I woke up today glad to spend a morning not making money.

The papers and tests I prepared for this last semester built up in me some extreme stress and duress. I commuted 3 hrs a day for classes, returning home exhausted and insecure at the end of most days. Sleep was lost, communication with the outside world put on temporary hiatus, and friendships and fun sacrificed at the altar of responsibility.

And yet, not even into the second week since the end of the Fall semester, I look forward eagerly to the pay-free challenges of school in Spring.

I've always loved dabbling in crafts and art. But even when I was young, no matter how passionately or for how many years I pursued a particular art form - and at the age of ten, stamped stationery was high art - as soon as I had to make a bundle to raise funds for volleyball camp, my devotion to lanyard-work or greeting-card-embossing or paperdoll-crafting soured directly into drudgery.

Since the beginning, I have been emotionally opposed to making a buck.

So here I sit in the church office, taking a few minutes of my own time to compose a thought for the benefit of the five friends who care to read it, and I think I might hit on an answer soon. Because I realize if I were writing this post while sitting at the library with money on the ticking clock, I'd be stealing from an employer. Not just taking money - I'd be stealing the whole clock off the wall.

Which leads me to wonder: How does it work that the company willing to put its money on my clock gets to put my clock on its wall?