My Utterly Romantic Idea of Work
Greetings friends!
I’ve probably worked more hours than you have. This isn’t a boast; it’s just a fact.
So, how many hours, James? About 85,000. If you can beat that, we should go for a run— we’d probably get on.
I’ve worked a lot of hours because I’ve always appreciated the point in them. Once I’ve got one task done to my satisfaction, I start planning to get the next one done. It’s the way I’ve always lived — I can’t see any other way.
True, I’ve settled down a bit now. I no longer work 100-hour weeks like I did when I started. I’ve been tapering for a while, down now to my semi-retired 40-hour week. This is a record, especially considering that I am no longer in a salaried job and most of these hours are unpaid.
You would probably hate me if you were my fellow employee — I make everyone else look like sleepwalking slackers. But I’m a nice guy, deep down. I just see this constant shirking of work as immature wishful thinking. Gliding through life without goals, never building savings because spending in the moment is more attractive.
People have called me a Type A overachiever, but I resent that. How can a person who has set regular goals and pursued them with vigor “over” achieve? Think about it. You either achieve your goals or you fail.
I work hard. And most of the time, at least until recently, I received a great deal of money for it. The paid work I do is done with maximum efficiency, which leaves me with maximum time to do the things I consider important. Like write. Or read books. Or spend time with my wife. Or walk.
You must be wealthy!
On a global level, yes. On a Western level, yes. Actually, on any level you consider it, yes. But that’s not important. I know friends who’ve earned very little. My friend Bobby worked in minimum wage jobs only so much as he needed to fund an itinerant lifestyle.
Does Bobby consider himself poor?
No. He travels to places others have on their bucket lists and lives a simple, satisfying life. He feels guilty that he has free time to lounge on beaches while others are toiling away in factories in the very countries he’s bumming about in.
This works for Bobby because he’s always been able to find temporary work when he needs it. He’s healthy and willing to do anything.
It doesn’t make any sense to me. How long is he going to be able to keep this up? But according to him, I’m the wage slave stuck in an office while he relaxes in the sun. A fact he often goads me about. Frequently, he tells me how easy life is for him.
Wow! Let’s think about that!
This is a guy who’s got no credit cards and no bank accounts. He’s got no pension and nothing saved for the future. But when I press him on it, he replies:
“But I wouldn’t know what to do differently!”
And that’s the point! He’s spent a lifetime lounging. He likes an uncomplicated existence, without possessions or responsibilities. That’s fine. That’s his life. Not mine.
Work is only a chore if you don’t like what you’re doing and if you’re not paid well for your contributions. If you have developed valuable skills that people are willing to pay you handsomely for exercising, your profession is a gift.
But a whole generation is coming up in the West with the idea that work is no more than a burden.
They think that was the point of the Agrarian, Industrial, and Technological Revolutions. For others to generate wealth to free us! And in doing so, freeing humanity — or at least them — from the drudgery of mindless labor, they can enjoy the limited life on Earth they have.
Or did they get that wrong? Is it possible that maybe, someone has to pay for all the elements of society they take for granted?
Sorry. Better get back to work. Someone’s got to pay for all this.
Be well.
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For an alternative take on this, and the inspiration for my response, see Philip Ogley’s piece on Medium:
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