Why is it that so few people seem to love their work?

Am I making this up or is there some kind of pressure to wear a new outfit to work every day?

I find the prospect tiresome, and I resent it slightly. Today, in a mixed gesture of simplicity and "Does it even matter at all??" I decided to wear the same exact thing I wore yesterday. It made me feel peaceful, like I could do whatever I wanted, and meet no resistance internally or externally. I cruised into work in a good mood.

Over the next couple of hours, work got a lot less peaceful. I am trying to maintain my equilibrium and my tranquility. Growth and development can be an agonizing process. There are a lot of snaggles and kinks in the transformation. We are a very young non-profit foundation so I am learning a lot of lessons about organizational management (and mismanagement). I feel at times that my spiritual endoskeleton cannot support the weight of this non-profit's growing pains. Coming to work is like participating in another culture, observing new customs, procedures and protocols, rules of communication, behavior...everything is different-- and while I have never really worked in a conventional work environment anyway.. this is certainly a new experience, and one that I find very draining.

Sometimes I feel this environment to be very toxic. The problem with having grand visions and boundless idealism is the continuous stream of disappointment, the crushing blows of even the most minor reminders of reality's limitations. Ie, your staff is not going to work seven days a week, no matter how badly you want that. I see how painful this is for my boss. She is in her final stage of life and she finds it very difficult to imagine leaving this plane without a passionate disciple to step into her shoes. She has very unique feet. I can see how her shoes might fit her, and not anyone else. I don't want to squeeze into them. I am trying to wriggle out of that. I am not sure what I am doing here, besides earning enough for my sunny room in the Mission district and the cost of living in this world, and trying to make her anxious and angry moments less exhausting for her and everyone else. Is this what it takes, to support myself? At the risk of not supporting myself, in a less tangible, but more important way?

The lesson I am discovering today: While one must earn enough to pay her physical rent, she cannot overlook the necessity of paying her pyschic rent. And I am coming up short every month. In fact, I may be coming up short every single day.