Take this job and love it.

So how do you like your job? Do you really like it at all? Do you actually hate it? Would you rather be doing something else? Would you rather stick red hot knitting needles into your nostrils than get out of bed most mornings? Me? I don't. I think I really like my job.

At first, I am sure, it was the fascination of actually working again for a steady paycheck. But now? Last week I worked 51 hours. Fifty-one. That might not seem a lot to you, or it might be a normal week for you. But for me, I just worked one of the longest work weeks of my life, and when I was done, I didn't hate my job.

For 21 years I was spoiled working 35 hour weeks (getting paid for 40), standing at a desk on the phone. This week, I was on an elevated steel platform putting solar panels on a car charging station, I put a wind turbine on the side of a school in Wheaton, 65 feet in the air in a boom, and spent the remaining 3 days putting up 9 more said turbines at Cermak Mall in Berwyn (ow, Ow, OW!), previous home to the famous "Spindle" (a stack of junked cars that looked like an auto shish kabob). Oh, and each one weighs 624 lbs, not including the 5 foot extension that adds at least another hundred lbs or so. And all the wiring. My fingers feel like the devil took sandpaper to them. This is the life of a Solar and Wind energy installer.

But. I like it. I like the fact that I am somewhere else every day. Doing something a little different than the day before. I like spending hours in the shop cutting metal, drilling metal, bolting metal. It's like I am playing with giant erector sets. Except when I'm done, I go put them on somebody's roof. And my toy on the roof harnesses natures energy and gives them a break on their electric bill. It is almost like, now what's the word...job satisfaction. At the end of the day, you've made your little mark on the world. A far cry from my old career. You try working the trading floors of Chicago half your life, coming home at the end of the day and actually feeling like you've accomplished something. Now I get it. Now I know that feeling I had all those years. All the work I did. All the commuting to that hell in the city. All the yelling and screaming. It meant nothing. There is nothing at all that I can look at and say, "that meant something." But now, when I go home, I really feel like I made a small difference. And you know what? It's a good feeling.

Maybe you are a doctor. Must be a lot of feelings of accomplishment in that. Unless you spend your days lancing boils of the asses of 85 year old men. Or maybe you are a painter. I was for a while. I always felt good leaving someones house knowing that they were happy, the walls looked great, and that scratch you made on the floor was hidden under a rug. Or maybe you are a drug dealer. Your twisted mind tells you when you go to bed at night that you changed a few lives that day. Ahhh, that's a good feeling. But if your job sucks, I mean really, deep down, soul searching, God fearing, I would rather shove red hot knitting needles into my nostrils sucks, then get out before it is too late. Do something to make you feel better. It will change your life for the better. It did for me. Unless, that is, you make like massive six figures or more, then, well, never mind.