263 words to read if you are sick of your job

At 2:12 P.M., I considered leaping out the 3rd story window.

Maybe jumping out would make me feel something. I had forgotten what it was like to feel things.

And it was only 2 months into my first corporate job.

During that time, I griped a lot. I wondered why nobody “got it.”

Then, one afternoon I was either hiding from work in the breakroom or sneaking another round of Candy Crush from the toilet, a thought popped into my head like a lightbulb:

I am not owned. I am an owner.

This idea still permeates within me. I cannot turn it off.

CEO? What CEO? I am Todd Brison Inc.

Boss? What boss? I have an equal say in how my time is spent.

Timesheet? What timesheet? I will spend the hours necessary.

Every piece of work with my name on it is either a glaring indictment of indifference or glowing bastion of quality. What I do affects the future and current prospects of Todd Brison.

I do this not because I want to impress someone…

…or because I’m angling for a 1.5% pay raise.

…or because I was told to.

No, my heart, blood, and guts get dumped into everything I touch because of an ineffable desire within to improve day after day after day after day.

My name means something.

My time means something.

My work means something.

And yours does too.

You are not owned. You are an owner.

Act like one.

This article originally appeared on Medium.