We bought a new car this week (well, new to us, anyway). Its name is Ruby. It’s a deep, well, ruby red 2006 Toyota Camry with 23,000 miles, and I love it. Nancy and I decided to get it because we realize we needed a second reliable car for hauling the kids around town. We thought we had a second (and third!) reliable vehicle until two Fridays ago when our ’96 Chevy S-10 pickup and our ’92 Chevy Corsica both broke down within 1 hour of each other while I was trying to get to work. The truck’s alternator went south and I had to fork over $232 dollars to get that fixed. The Corsica, meanwhile, spilled all of its coolant on the way to the gas station thanks to a cracked upper radiator hose. I was able to fix that one myself. In fact, I took a certain amount of masculine pride in the grease that I couldn’t completely wash off, and the two cuts on my thumb from having to use a wrench in a very confined space. Sure, it hurt when the wrench let go and my hand slammed into the air filter housing. But it was a sublime kind of pain. The kind that says: “You are doing something for yourself. You are working hard.” Every once in a while I catch a glimpse of my still scraped thumb and feel a little flutter of satisfaction ripple through the deepest core of my being.
And that’s got me thinking about the nature of work in general. Is there something hard wired into us that makes work and accomplishment of tasks so satisfying? When I watch David and Trin play, they seem to have tasks in mind that they want to accomplish. Even if it’s just going down the slide, they don’t just want to do it again. They seem to want to do it better – faster, more smoothly, with more flair. And they don’t seem to mind the bumps a bruises that go along with their efforts. David, in fact, appears to like and admire his "boo-boos" in much they same way I enjoy my scrapes and scars.
Either it’s hard wired, or we do a tremendously good job of pounding it into their brains so thoroughly that it becomes part of their being, their flesh and blood. Every conversation I have with David and Trin seems to involve some element of discipline: put that away, take this to Mommy, do this and not that, time to wash up and eat. I sound like their boss. And then there’s television shows like Thomas the Tank Engine, the whole purpose of which seems to be indoctrinating them into a strong Protestant work ethic through stories about the importance of working diligently, and catchy little ditties like this:
All work and no play make Jack (and Thomas, and Percy, and Kelly) a rather satisfied boy, apparently.
For me, it’s not just about physical, dirty work. I also get a certain amount of satisfaction out of teaching a good class or writing a good essay. There’s a specific kind of fatigue that tells me it went well and that I’ve done something difficult. At the same time, I’ll admit that I suffer occasionally from a certain existential angst about what use value my career might possibly have. This condition has recently worsened with the completion of my tenure file, which is now being reviewed by several different committees who will determine whether or not I am fit to continue at DePauw. The general anxiety that accompanies the tenure-review process has got me cataloging my salable skills outside of the academic world: television production, retail, cleaning gutters, mowing lawns, changing radiator hoses, shunting trucks, and hauling freight. Admittedly, there’s not much left there after all these years, so I hope I get tenure so that I can keep paying for Ruby, my love, who gets me to work comfortably and on time.
So, I close with two questions for each of you: What kind of work do you find particularly satisfying? Or what do you find particularly stisfying about your job?
3 comments:
Hi Jonathan,
This is going to sound particularly girly, but I love decorating. It is definitely my creative outlet---and makes me feel all-GROWED-up.
My husband knows me well enough now to instantly cringe a little when he hears me preface any sentence with, "Hey honey, I was thinking..." This formality is merely a precursor to enlisting his mighty man-powers.
This summer I inspired (yeah, we'll say inspired) Michael to cut a GINORMOUS hole through our house to add another window to our bedroom. His back held up through the drudge work, and the extra light is great. But, the transformation is not complete without adding crown molding, new paint for the walls, etc. I still get a little giddy just thinking about it. Weird, but true.
We always do the work ourselves, which makes us appreciate all the bumps, bruises, painted hair and mishaps all the more.
Beth L
Okay, this will make me sound lame and/or overly nostalgic, but the most satisfying, soul-gratifying work I ever did was being a bike messenger. Until I burned out on it, that is. But for fourteen months or so, a LONG time ago, it felt like the perfect job.
I like work that makes you SWEAT.
(And, like your car fixin' bruises, I'm still proud of the dent in my deltoid that remains more than 15 years after I took a flung-open van door in the arm.)
... These days, well, SOMETIMES it's still exciting to see something you conceived/wrote/edited turn into a real, printed piece. But I'm pretty much over that...
What's really satisfying to me these days, in terms of work, is getting that first cup of Peet's coffee between dropping Taavi at daycare and zipping onto the freeway. And packing up for the weekend on Friday afternoons.
Um, I think I need a new job!
Beth M
There's no work quite like daydreaming. And it isn't easy these days, what with TV, cell phones, computers, and so on. I share with my mother the ability to "think about nothing," something my father never really believed was possible. Of course, one isn't really thinking about nothing -- there's always something going on somewhere. To all appearances the car isn't moving, but deep, deep inside some little flywheel is coordinating thought and feeling, intuition and dream. It's important work for artists (and, I would argue, for anyone) but, like I said, it gets more challenging every day. I'm hoping to become ever more skilled the older I get: a world champion daydreamer by the time I'm 75, if the world allows me to stay that long. Find me sitting on a stump in some patch of piney woods working very, very hard at nothing at all.
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