To Resist Workaholism
Since I was fifteen years old—now about 17 years—I have been unable to break an addiction. And I do try to quit over and over again, but only to come crawling back time and time again. I wish that I could say this is about sex, alcohol, tobacco or any multitude of other fun vices—or even healthful or otherwise constructive activities, but this transgression with which I (and quite likely you) are afflicted with no therapy, rehabilitation or other resources to escape is incalculably far less enjoyable than any blissful drug or activity our society would most certainly scorn. I’m talking about work. By work, what I really mean is coercive employment. Are you a good worker? I like to think I am.
What does it mean to be really free? By really free, I mean the ability to pursue whatever our hearts desire, free from coercion—not merely to just survive modern life, but really living it. How many of us have drastically shortened lives because the only solace we find is within our best coping mechanisms which sometimes spiral out of control ending our lives prematurely? How many hours of your life have you sacrificed merely to pay a landowner rent to cover one of the most basic needs of human existence? Have you ever paid rent only to have no money left over? Who truly loves their job? If you know this person, do you hate them? For how many hours in your life has your job taken you away from those you love, alienated you from accomplishing creative projects or tasks, or stressed you out to the point of reaching no relief? How often are we forced to work alongside others we abhor? How often are we compelled to withhold what you really think or feel due to the coercive nature of employment, even to the point of complacence with the bigotry of our bosses? During the most productive hours (and years) of our lives, we are forced, even alienated from expressing our true identities. Worst of all, we are convinced to be enthusiastic about it. If we deviate from this we are stricken with scorn from society as a whole. (That is, of course, unless you are the rare and lucky few who manage to make lots of money doing something totally rad. For those about to rock, we salute you.) We maintain this structurally in our everyday speech about our friends and family, “she’s obviously a slacker”, or more severely, “he’s such a bum.” Conversely, acquaintances who conform more enthusiastically to our construction of professionalism, are “so mature, grown up, doing so well, are so well adjusted.” In effect, we systematically police our professional selves through stigmatization or social reward.
Servitude in modern life is expressed in myriad ways, let’s start at the top: the professional. What does it even mean to be “a professional?” Traditionally, this meant someone who engages in an activity for pay rather than leisure or hobby. However, it seems a new conception has emerged recently describing a type of worker who purportedly takes herself more seriously, by having obtained a more advanced education, specialized training, conformed to the world of business work, or otherwise is fortunate enough that her means of living imbues prestige. Is this superior worker a subversive rebranding, in effect a more palatable semantic expression of the ubermensch? Within this emerges a new classism, a way to, on the one hand, separate and divide, differentiate between a hierarchical class of administrative, academic or managerial workers from the hodgepodge of day laborers (skilled or unskilled), and on the other to elevate those fortunate enough to be deemed adequate into an psychological state of complacence, even to the degree of eagerly swallowing this pill of their own indenturement. To this end, an elaborate and dynamic linkedin profile is systematically and meticulously maintained. What badass skilled union laborer makes and maintains a bullshit linkedin profile? Every time I log onto that site I want to barf into my own mouth. Why? Because we are commodifying ourselves. Many are rather enthusiastic about it.
Let me say that again, you and I, are merely commodities to our friends at the top of the socioeconomic hierarchy. Although they are quite adept at convincing many of us otherwise, the end of such efforts entails culminating, maintaining, and preserving the very order which has perpetually and increasingly and quite successfully eroded much of our happiness. Luckily, we’re so nice and friendly and placid we do this for them! Contrary to this, the blue collar worker enjoys a more genuine existence as the lower prestige status enables one much greater self-honesty with regard to their relationship with work. How many “jobs” working outside and often in dirty, physically demanding, even dangerous environments confer any sense of prestige? They should because this is the real work in the most tangible sense, referred to by pragmatists as “progress” (though all to often progress comes at the high price of the environmental destruction). Everything else, all the accounting and spreadsheets and management and human resources and even the engineering are all in support of this worker making something real. Who stands to benefit from us being compelled to work indoors under torturous florescent lights in whatever corporate service economy job that trickles just enough pay to cover our most basic living expenses? Really, how do they convince us to do this to ourselves? Maybe it’s a little more money and status, but don’t worry, you’ll get to work even more and face even greater alienation. Do you feel a huge, satisfying sense of accomplishment busting out excel spreadsheets? Me either.
Yuppies are always so into their “success” and love to tell you about it. Being outwardly friendly, I typically smile and nod, maybe say, “oh that’s cool,” whilst inside I revel in the delight that I’m not doomed to live the life of an insufferable chump, stuck in a place that I can’t stand, built like shit to last 10 years even though the mortgage is for 30, surrounded by boring white democrats who really care, a partner I don’t even like, and a “career” I like even less.THE AMERICAN DREAM IS A HUGE CROCK OF SHIT. Apparently, lots of middle class whites are really bummed out about this (http://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/03/health/death-rates-rising-for-middle-aged-white-americans-study-finds.html).
I’m kinda stoked. Obviously not about people drinking themselves to death, but that the sooner we awaken to the realization of what a crock of shit the aforementioned cookie cutter prescription plan for all of our lives really is, the sooner we’re enabled to become free. Working as deliberately little as I can—while I am free to do so and on my own terms—is a so much more rewarding and enriching lifestyle with the leisure to connect with others, build new skills, entertain new possibilities, and just grow. Yes, I realize this is a privilege for me which many others are not so lucky to share. No, this situation will likely not persist indefinitely. The point is that it's inspiring. Collectively, we can forge a new path toward less work, more creativity, art, and music, more connection, and more happiness, and better health. Never forget that it is you who holds the power to forge an amazing and creative life. Never lose the gift of imagining something, no everything, better. That's how we make it happen.
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