Truce
I work a lot of overtime, as do many of my co-workers. The hourly rate is double, which is the biggest motivation for most people. Most, but certainly not all. A surprising amount of my colleagues work as much as they can because they prefer the peace and quiet of the workplace as opposed to the chaotic frenzy of home. Some even flat out admit they can't stand to spend a day around their stay-at-home mate. The most interesting group to me though is the workaholics, for I am always fascinated by things far removed from my own experience in life. Experts say workaholism covers up low self-esteem, anxiety and intimacy issues. I am no expert on anything and certainly not on human psychology but the way I see it, workaholism can also be an identity issue.
Occupation is a large part of who we are on a daily basis. For some of us, we spend more time at work than doing anything else, including sleeping. It's natural to include this in how we define ourselves as a person. It is also socially encouraged and valued. When introduced to someone for the first time, is "What do you do for a living?" not one of the first few questions we ask? Do we also not immediately form some opinion of the person based on their answer? I freely confess that I do. I pass judgement which gives my interlocutor a positive or negative hit from the start. Oh, it's not permanent, of course. Getting to know that person will alter this initial rating but I can't deny its existence. A couple years ago, I was planning to attend a high school reunion. I decided I would make up a lie about my occupation, intentionally choosing something that would trigger a negative reaction, just for amusement purposes. A social experiment, if you will. How many would turn away on the spot? Who would show no adverse reaction? Who would show an adverse reaction but nevertheless stick around? Would it be merely out of politeness or would they be fighting this socially programmed judgement to find out if there is more to me than a distasteful job? I find that kind of thing to be a lot more fun than downing a glass of punch while trading pictures and reminiscing about the old days.
Many workaholics I work with just can't retire. They'll die on the job, for sure. They are very proud of what they do. It defines them completely. So completely, in fact, that if you take it away, there is nothing left. The remnants are scattered pieces, vague affinities, drafts of convictions all jumbled together like a personality garage sale. They are terrified of retirement because they don't want to face the ultimate question, "Who am I really?" They dread going into the dark attic of their mind to fetch that cobwebbed vague affinity, they dread dusting that sketchy conviction and having to piece together the person that they were all along but never took the time to discover. Because that would be hard work. Much harder than, say, distracting the brain with an overload of breadwinning work. This seems to be typical of the baby-boomers, based on my own observations. Younger generations progressively oscillate towards the other end of the pendulum's trajectory. A job is becoming just a job and not the core of their personal identity but I wonder if that is because values are changing or simply because they can't find work in the field they are truly passionate about.
The inspiration behind this entry is not, as some would have certainly guessed, a co-worker but rather Brett Favre, the Minnesota Vikings quarterback. Brett cannot let go of football. It is his all-consuming passion. He is literally breaking down as we speak, an arm or an ankle at a time. I used to be mad at him for being a media attention whore. Brett loves football, sure, but Brett also loves the spotlight. Today, I have decided to bury the hatchet. I think Brett is one of those people afraid to look inward, afraid to ask the tough questions. His time to face the music will come sooner than for most, due to his career choice. For this reason, perhaps, my animosity has morphed into empathy. He loves what he does and sees no good reason to stop doing it. Who can blame him, really. So Brett, I wish you well, truly. Have a good 2010 season.
Occupation is a large part of who we are on a daily basis. For some of us, we spend more time at work than doing anything else, including sleeping. It's natural to include this in how we define ourselves as a person. It is also socially encouraged and valued. When introduced to someone for the first time, is "What do you do for a living?" not one of the first few questions we ask? Do we also not immediately form some opinion of the person based on their answer? I freely confess that I do. I pass judgement which gives my interlocutor a positive or negative hit from the start. Oh, it's not permanent, of course. Getting to know that person will alter this initial rating but I can't deny its existence. A couple years ago, I was planning to attend a high school reunion. I decided I would make up a lie about my occupation, intentionally choosing something that would trigger a negative reaction, just for amusement purposes. A social experiment, if you will. How many would turn away on the spot? Who would show no adverse reaction? Who would show an adverse reaction but nevertheless stick around? Would it be merely out of politeness or would they be fighting this socially programmed judgement to find out if there is more to me than a distasteful job? I find that kind of thing to be a lot more fun than downing a glass of punch while trading pictures and reminiscing about the old days.
Many workaholics I work with just can't retire. They'll die on the job, for sure. They are very proud of what they do. It defines them completely. So completely, in fact, that if you take it away, there is nothing left. The remnants are scattered pieces, vague affinities, drafts of convictions all jumbled together like a personality garage sale. They are terrified of retirement because they don't want to face the ultimate question, "Who am I really?" They dread going into the dark attic of their mind to fetch that cobwebbed vague affinity, they dread dusting that sketchy conviction and having to piece together the person that they were all along but never took the time to discover. Because that would be hard work. Much harder than, say, distracting the brain with an overload of breadwinning work. This seems to be typical of the baby-boomers, based on my own observations. Younger generations progressively oscillate towards the other end of the pendulum's trajectory. A job is becoming just a job and not the core of their personal identity but I wonder if that is because values are changing or simply because they can't find work in the field they are truly passionate about.
The inspiration behind this entry is not, as some would have certainly guessed, a co-worker but rather Brett Favre, the Minnesota Vikings quarterback. Brett cannot let go of football. It is his all-consuming passion. He is literally breaking down as we speak, an arm or an ankle at a time. I used to be mad at him for being a media attention whore. Brett loves football, sure, but Brett also loves the spotlight. Today, I have decided to bury the hatchet. I think Brett is one of those people afraid to look inward, afraid to ask the tough questions. His time to face the music will come sooner than for most, due to his career choice. For this reason, perhaps, my animosity has morphed into empathy. He loves what he does and sees no good reason to stop doing it. Who can blame him, really. So Brett, I wish you well, truly. Have a good 2010 season.
posted by Nathalie at 9:41 PM
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