Every Job I’ve Had Since 25 Has Just Been a Better Dressed Version of Panic
Bryce Blunder
Mockitor of Tech & Capitalism Synergy
Tech & Business Writer
My first job had free coffee and fluorescent lighting that slowly erased my will to live.
My current job has kombucha on tap, adjustable standing desks, and a nap pod that no one uses because we’re too afraid to be seen horizontal during core hours.
Progress.
But here’s the truth:
Since age 25, every job I’ve had has been the same emotional screenplay — just rewritten with fancier fonts and a dress code that now allows hoodies if they’re neutral-toned.
Each position promised “growth,” “ownership,” and “impact.”
Each one delivered Slack fatigue, calendar entropy, and a deepening suspicion that everyone here is also faking it but with better spreadsheets.
I keep chasing titles like they’ll unlock peace.
“Senior,” “Lead,” “Strategy.”
They’re just synonyms for “more emails.”
And yet, if I don’t get the next bump, I spiral.
If I do get it, I still spiral — just in leather loafers.
There’s a myth that success feels like arrival. Mine feels like:
- A calendar full of meetings that could’ve been articles.
- A chair that hurts less than the last one.
- A quarterly bonus that makes me say “that’s not bad” before spending it on therapy and ergonomic regrets.
Most of my work life is pretending to be busy while panicking about being replaced by someone who calls stress “fuel.”
I thought maybe the problem was the company.
So I changed jobs.
Five times.
It turns out the problem followed me because the problem… was wearing my ID badge.
Don’t get me wrong — I’m grateful. I make a decent living. I can afford artisanal jam.
But beneath the 1-on-1s and roadmaps, I’m just a guy trying to quiet the voice that says,
“You peaked in your cover letter.”
So now I write pep-talk Post-Its I don’t believe.
Things like: “You are not your productivity.”
I listen to podcasts that with the same themes. Focus! Dedication! Ambition!
But I still check email at stoplights, just in case relevance is perishable.
Because deep down, I know:
It’s not burnout.
It’s just panic in performance fleece.
