Just breathe

Found deep within my parenting files, a reflection on 'work' and meaning.

You’re at a formal social function and the person sitting next to you asks, as an opener, ‘So, what do you do for a job?’ Many is the time that I have drawn a deep breath, looked at them and considered, ‘Why have you asked me that question? First up, of all the things that could be said? Have you bothered to use your imagination?’ At times I have simply said nothing, allowing the yawning space to spread out across the crisp white tablecloth, taking a mouthful of my red wine, breathing slowly in and out while I wonder if I should waste one of said breaths on an answer. For it’s not that the specific question is invalid; it is quite acceptable in certain contexts (say a job interview or further into the conversation.) It’s just the unthinking, staid, narrow–ok, conservative–nature of it that undoes me.

I have tried diversion (I’m sorry, did you ask me about my favourite vinyl release from the 80s?), I have tried lies (I’m a journalist), I have feigned fainting (yes, from boredom), and sometimes I have suggested that we should swap seats. As in, move away from each other.

Whilst writing this piece, I came upon author Kasey Edward’s contribution on The Age’s opinion pages, ‘Job satisfaction is too much like hard work.’ (28 April, 2009) It concludes with the line ‘...we need to consider that (women) are voting against society’s obsession with the definition of work and career as the pinnacle of individual fulfillment.’ How apt, I thought. And there in the body of her piece: 'We seriously need to rethink what we value, particularly the central importance we've given to paid work in our lives.'
 
At the moment, my main occupation is parenting, which always make that delicious opening question that teeny bit juicier, doesn’t it?  (‘You do what? You mean you’re brain dead?’ you can see their eyes scream.) 

When I went for a job interview last week, I got weepy at the mention of my children (yeah, it made me look sensitive, mature and connected to my emotions so I’m a dead-set cert for the job). It’s just that reflecting on what is important to me, I realised the immense privilege it is to have two healthy, happy children and to spend time looking after them. This is from a girl who had visions of the scene from Alien, when considering pregnancy. I’ve come a long way baby. When my daughter asked me how the baby got into my tummy she asked ‘How did it get in there? Did it hurt when it got put there? And were you very brave?’ ‘Oh yes, I certainly was,’ I said, nodding, ‘I was very brave.’

From 'Beanshoot' series, (c) Charlie Sublet

And we are brave.

In the time since leaving paid full-time employment, I’ve had many opportunities to consider what it is a parent does, and how people are judged for their 'work'. I have had a man make a pass at me, asking ‘So, what do you do?” When I answered, ‘I’ve got a couple of little kids and I parent them, magnificently,’ (the last word with a hint of brazen, dramatic flourish) the response back was ‘No, I asked you what you DO.’ An editor at the newspaper, upon learning I had children and thus worked only one or two casual shifts a week asked ‘So, what do you do the rest of the time?’ as if the consideration of the world beyond paid work was a...void.

During last week, I helped for two hours in the classroom at school as Grade 1 kids put together their blog. (I know, a blog! They’ll be Twittering* next.) This contribution to school and learning is a very real and wonderful essence of being part of a local community. Alain de Botton, in discussing his latest book, The Pleasures and Sorrow of Work, speaks of how all of us have a very strong desire to help other people, improve the state of the world, somehow make a difference to someone's life.

In being part of the richness of the lives lived daily in our suburban streets, we ‘stay-at-home’ parents can be like canaries in mines. We witness the world of the kitchen table, we walk the streets with the homeless, we talk to the aged lady, we smile at the shy immigrant. These are the scenes of the roadsides and schoolyards, the small shops and the playgrounds. Kathy Kizilos wrote in The Age last week about the simple act of having a conversation with another human being on public transport. ‘Talking to a stranger reminds us we are not alone, and that’s worthwhile,’ she wrote.

In the city and the offices, the factories and the mining sites, the bustle of full-time employment is a buzz that can lead to separatist tinnitus–those in it are immersed in it. They may not hear the birds or the songs or the questions from their children or the cries from those suffering...the cacophony of our work culture can often override intimate, human moments. 

So when we parents decide to push back into the world of work–bear down, now-–it is a time to consider the worth of ‘work.’ It is a many-hued monster–a necessary evil to some, a life buoy to others, a prop, a camouflage, a passion, a refuge, an escape. But is it the essence of our selves? Take a deep breath before you answer.

(c) Anna Sublet 2015, originally 2009

*I love this little date stamp. Twitter was so new, I did not know to call it Tweeting.