So... the job front

A couple different time here, I've mentioned the job market and my job-related fears. Seeing as the real purpose of this blog is to give my future great-grandchildren a glimpse of how interesting and insightful I am, (hello Zebadiah, Kungund, Pixie, Kafee, Emeludt, Hydale, and Steve!) I figured I should follow up.

No, great-grandchildren, the economy did not improve before I graduated from library school. But you already knew that.

Here's where things stand right now: I work half time at Cool University. The work is good, the co-workers are good, etc. Just this week I got an offer for another half-time job, this one at a historical collection in Brooklyn. I'll be working with old maps, which is really exciting for me. The people also seem good, I can bike to work, etc. So, yeah. Half and half equals full. A dream.

Here's where it gets a little weird. 

I'm really happy with this arrangement. It feels perfect. I'm working close to home - I don't have to buy a car and commute out to the distant suburbs. Oliver's benefits cover me, so I don't have a healthcare-related care in the world. I'm getting great experience and meeting good librarians while I wait for the economy to pick up. I can be really picky about what job I accept, because I'm not desperate or hungry. And full disclosure: I like the idea of flitting from one place to another. I'm not all that anxious to settle into one situation - one that would pigeonhole me right away and would leave me wondering if I had pointed myself in the right direction.

The problem is, I feel bad about feeling this way. It sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous. I'm fully aware of that. Still... I don't have a full-time job - no benefits, no salary, no 10 days paid vacation. Shouldn't I want that? And did I just describe my situation as "perfect"? What's that all about? Shouldn't I be grinding my teeth, ashamed of my current lack of salaried status?

From that previous line of thought I always jump to this one: there is no greater waste of time than worrying that maybe I shouldn't be happy, even though I am. Why should I spend even a minute trying to figure out what I'm supposed to want? I know what I want, and I'm lucky enough to have it right now. Two challenging jobs, neither of which owns my soul or commands that I be present 50 weeks of the year.

I can't believe I could even think of complaining.

You don't think I'm a loser, do you?