I Work, Therefore I Am

To this day, some of my sharpest memories involve jobs I’ve had and people I’ve worked with. I can still remember specific tasks I was assigned at jobs I held way back in high school, but I can’t remember a single significant thing about my high school graduation. I’ve forgotten the names of old friends and classmates, but I can still remember the names of just about every boss I’ve ever worked for. One of them was Terry B., who I spent exactly three months working for in 1985. I remember his name, his face, his beard, and the things he used to say (“I love big headlines! Don’t you love big headlines?”).

My life can be easily mapped out by the jobs I’ve held and the money I’ve earned, and I’m not alone. Work might be the single biggest factor in who we eventually become. That seems like a sad thought on the face of it, but I’m not the only one who thinks it. Jobs are a “significant marker” of our personal identities, according to a 2021 article on the BBC website. The average person will spend about 90,000 hours at work over their lifetimes, or roughly one-third of their working lives.

This is not the way things are supposed to work – defining your life by the jobs you’ve had and the money you’ve earned. Shouldn’t it be defined by the people you’ve loved, the help you’ve given, the places you’ve seen, the sunrises and music and experiences both great and small? What’s that old saying? Nobody lies in their deathbed regretting not spending more time at work.

On the other hand…

It’s hard to deny that your quality of life is often dictated by your ability to live it on your own terms. That’s much easier to do when you have a job that pays a decent enough living to provide financial security. I have seen the long and the short of this equation, and you can trust me on this – the day you reach some kind of financial stability is a very fine day indeed.

When your main focus is to scratch together enough money to eat or pay your bills, chances are you’re not too concerned about the larger cosmic questions. You just want to fill your hungry belly and make sure the lights don’t go off or your landlord doesn’t put you out on the streets.

For too many people, it’s a constant struggle. They don’t have enough to eat, or clean water, or access to healthcare, or even a safe, comfortable place to lie down for the night. They live in a sort of circular poverty that can only end with a decent living wage. When that day finally comes, you can bet it will represent a defining moment in their lives.

I have never known true poverty – the real kind, the kind you can’t easily escape from. I was born into a middle class American family and have skated on the edges of that designation ever since. This makes me fabulously wealthy compared with most of the world. I had every advantage growing up, and so did nearly all of the people I have ever known.

But I have known hunger. I have struggled to pay the bills – for many years. There were times when I was forced to squeeze every last drop from a paycheck, and hoped that there were enough drops to squeeze. I became expert at figuring out how to subsist for a few days on a bag of rice, an onion, some spices, a couple cans of red beans, and a head of iceberg lettuce.

*****

A couple of weeks ago I blogged about a phone call in 1999 that changed my life forever. The phone call set me on a course to the life I now have – living in comfort with a wife and two daughters I would never have known otherwise, and with whom I have shared many amazing experiences.

What I didn’t spend enough time addressing in that blog was the importance of work in the whole equation. Because in addition to the impact the phone call had on my personal and family life, it also led to the reasonably successful career I eventually carved out.

But let’s back up a second…

During the 1980s and much of the 1990s, I was on a career track that led from one nowhere job to the next. I was nearly 40 years old before I finally landed a job with decent pay and benefits, or developed a career track that made sense. Before then, I was constantly behind the eight ball – changing jobs frequently, moving all the time, struggling to pay bills, unable to enjoy life on my own terms.

The last 25 years have been better than I ever dared dream in terms of family and life experiences. But, it wouldn’t have happened if not for the career track I finally got on. I have earned a pretty good living over the past quarter-century, and that living has helped finance a certain degree of freedom, adventure and security I had never known before. For that I am thankful.

Jobs should not be the most important thing in life, not even close. But they can make a huge difference in how everything else falls into place.

*****

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about work, and how quickly things can change. This is not uncommon for the self-employed – a group to which I belong. I’m a freelance writer, an independent contractor. My livelihood depends on enough companies paying enough money for the articles I write. I’ve been a free-lancer for eight-plus years, following a long and often checkered career of full-time staff positions.

It took a couple of years for me to get my feet steady in the world of free-lance writing. But when it happened, things took off. The work poured in. The money was good. But I knew, I knew, it could all end tomorrow. When you’re a freelance writer, you’re always aware that the tide can turn quickly – that the feast can suddenly turn into famine.

Well…

The feast has been a lot less bountiful in recent months, even if the famine has not yet set in. My work assignments have slowed. I have begun to wonder what my life will become if they trickle to a halt. What on earth am I going to do with my days?

I wake up every morning ready to write, ready to research, ready to work. I spend most of the day working, and much of the night. Yes, there are home and yard and family chores. But I have those down to a finely tuned efficiency. They don’t fill up a whole day, at least for me.

I’ve tried writing fiction again, but my heart ain’t in it these days – because I can’t see the payday. I’ve taken a half-assed stab at putting together a baseball card spreadsheet so I can put a monetary value on the thousands of cards I own.

But those are just diversions. What I am is a reporter, a writer for hire. It’s who I am. It’s what I do, what I know. It’s what I’m trained for, and what I get paid for. Sure, I can still be a writer without being paid for it. Heck, you can still be plumber without being paid for it, or an accountant, or a science teacher. You can just offer your services for free. But do you? Would you?

I’m not sure I want to write just for the sake of writing. Some writers do. Many writers do. It’s what you’re supposed to do – practice your art and craft for the love of it. I’m not sure I am that person.

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Lately I’ve wondered whether I’m finally entering the next stage of life – the stage that transitions away from the one that started 25 years ago with a phone call from an old friend. The stage that leads slowly but surely to the final curtain…..

I’m not exactly sure where things stand right now, to be honest. A lot is still up in the air. The work is still coming in, and I’m still earning decent pay – just not the same pay I earned as recently as a few months ago. I hope things return to normal soon.

Meantime, I’m trying to get into the right mindset for the next stage of life. But I don’t know if I’m really ready for it, or want it. Work is a big part of who I am, and I’m fine with that.

Note: The photo, taken at my desk, features lyrics to the song, “Busted,” written by Harlan Howard and recorded by Johnny Cash and Ray Charles, among others.