the unthinkable business of changing jobs in (choose one or more of the following ) an economic downturn/crap-laden economy/inevitable depression

I've had a few conversations with a few folks about my desire to leave my current job. Most are cautious and note that the economy, in case I hadn't noticed, sucks. I'll be the first to admit that my restless-jobs syndrome is very much about me. I'm mostly mutable signs, not the type to stay still long (thus the 3 positions in 2 years with my current employer). But there's another element to leaving my job-- one that I'm just now starting to share, because it's something of which I'm acutely ashamed.

You know I love food. You know I love to cook. You also know that I have some beliefs about food, about the environment, and about sustainability. So imagine, if you will, me spending eight to nine hours a day not living that reality. Then imagine what it feels like everytime I open a plastic bag of Tyson Chicken Tender Fritters and drop them in the fryer alongside some Lamb-Westin (a subsidiary of ConAgra Foods) french fries. Imagine the internal shaking of my head, the disbelief that I am, after all, really only working in fast food. This is what it's come down to for me-- despite my dreams of how this job would shake out, how much more sophisticated the clientele would be-- I'm mainly cooking pre-made loveless items. And despite the University's so-called committment to sustainability, getting kickbacks from major corporations colors their purchasing decisions more than a desire to support local economies. The vision of sustainability revolves around serving food on compostable paper products, rather than setting up a cafe with reusable (uh, that would be washable, ceramic) dishes. The need to limit how many products we bring in has made a piece of aluminum foil wrapped over a paper plate somehow preferable to a recyclable or compostable to-go box. And don't think I haven't mentioned all of this repeatedly. But I'm not heard. I'm not seen. And ultimately, I feel like I'm shrinking, like the necessary evolution and expansiveness that colors me as both a human being and a culinary professional, well, it's fading.

When I tell people that I think the last two years at the University has contributed to my depression, not everyone gets it. But in my quest to find some shred of stability (READ: insurance, retirement, sick pay), I've lost the kind of stimuli that keeps me alive, interested, vital. State jobs are famous for this, and when you go in, you think to yourself, "me, I'm different. I'll be in it, not of it." And there are two-- no, make that three-- things that can happen:

It can conquer your ass

OR

you can feel incredibly lonely

OR

both.

I now find myself in the first stages of that last option, and there's no fucking way I'm gonna let that happen and I don't care if I have to dress my cat up like a monkey and make her dance for money-- I'm not gonna lose my soul to fast food, to an illusion of political correctness, to some stagnant old underlying suggestion (of my own) that I don't deserve to believe in a universe that will provide for me.