Work is who we are

                         Work is who we are.

         Our jobs are the essence of what we are. You wouldn’t think so when you listen to daily casual conversations. “This Job sucks!” might be a bad day exclamation. “My boss is an asshole” is another common utterance around the lunch table or break room at work.

         It is a rite of passage, of those fortunate people who have jobs, to complain about them regularly. We all sometimes feel aggrieved by inequities in our chosen professions. And in fairness, the boss’s nephew or some other fair-haired type does seem to get ahead faster than we might like. And of course, there are the laggards who seem to get by doing a little as possible. “Life isn’t fair,” some say. And no one ever advertised it as such, others say with the wearisome knowledge of age and experience.

      But however nettlesome the work place might be, think of what it would be like if you suddenly didn’t have a place to report to or a paycheck to pick up at week’s end. We are fortunately far removed from the terror of the great depression era when a lack of a job might actually mean that you and your family would go hungry or be put out into the streets when you could no longer pay the rent on your humble abode. But what of the other more personal costs?

       There are none who hang their heads so low as those whom have just lost their jobs. It is a psychic shock that engulfs a person in their entirety. No longer is there a daily place to labor and earn one’s bread. Gone are the easy camaraderie and daily conversation and interactions of our work mates. We are suddenly alone, cut out from the herd and left by ourselves. With that shock, also comes a loss of identity. We are no longer Joe the plumber, Meg the intern or Bill the banker. We are quite suddenly just Joe, Meg and Bill.

      Some withstand the shock better than others. A network of friends and families quite literally buoys up the maimed sense of self until another work situation can be secured and the ritual of employment begins yet again. Others are not so lucky. The loss of self-esteem is devastating, the injury to self esteem perhaps irreparable. I see this sometimes even among the newly retired. They don’t have the same financial fears, but share the “lack of identity” they no longer seem to feel that they have. You can see the helplessness spread across the face of the inflicted. They feel as if they are cast out from the safety of their life’s existence, to face a future alone and uncertain.

         Well meaning friends and family can help much if they wish. Constant reassurance of a person’s self worth and goodness helps a whole lot. But in the end, it is the inner resources of the individual that have to come to the fore to turn the situation around and reenter the fray. However difficult, the battle can only be won by the determined sort who spits in the face of adversity, picks themselves up from defeat and charges “once more into the breach.”

        Having gone through this process a few times myself , courtesy of wonderful friends in the political arena, I know of what I speak.  In my case, I was fortunate to have a supportive and wonderful wife who helped me pick up the pieces and get it back in gear. Others are not so lucky. I feel for them when ever I encounter their saddened visage. I want to cheer then on  like a good coach and get them back into the game. But, propriety and an innate sympathy for their fragility stills my lips. They have to come to that momentous chasm of understanding on their own and by bridging it, turn back the gloom.

       All of our own went through these horrendously self destructive phases of enforced idleness during the great depression.  Most toughed it out and survived. Others gave in and were swept away, bless them for their pain.

     So, when next you start complaining about your job, or justifiably categorizing a supervisor as a boob, think well of the yawning chasm of idleness that lies just beyond the door. It might make you freshen up your spirit, suck it in a bit and go on working for another day, grateful for a place to work and an income to bring home. Our parents always taught us this. We just never paid heed until we learned the lesson first hand. And as Scarlet O’Hara, the film heroine of “Gone with the Wind” so dramatically concludes. “Tomorrow is another day.” We get another shot at beating the bear that just took a chomp out of your butt.

                                                      -30-

                                                  (812 words)

                                          Joseph Xavier Martin