You Are Not Your Job

You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. —Tyler Durden

Today’s quote is a little bit different than yesterday’s, but speaks to another issue I have.

You are not your job.

I have a strong innate tendency to define myself by what I do for a living, both internally and the way I present myself to others. When I was in school, I was obviously a student. When I worked at DU after graduation, I was an A/V technician. I’ve even been a martial arts instructor.

But now?

Now I work retail.

I think it goes without saying that my current job is not one I dreamed about growing up. Somehow, I ended up with a stigma attached to menial, low-end jobs, and having to take one really did a number on my self-confidence and self-image. Did I really want to think of myself as a cart pusher? As a warehouse stocker? As a retail grunt?

That’s when I realized: I am not my job. If I let what I “do for a living” define me, I am limiting myself, putting myself in someone else’s nice, convenient box. And that is no way to achieve fulfillment, or even adequacy. I can be so much more that a retail grunt in a dead end job, but if I limit myself to that mental box there is no way I’m going to be happy. When in the box, any free time or energy gets directed towards inner escapism, to dull the pain the cramped quarters of the box enforce.

I’ve heard it said that our habit of breaking the conversational ice by asking something along the lines of “What do you do for a living?” is a uniquely American question. We, as a culture, derive so much of our self-worth from what we “do for a living,” how we make our money, to buy our things, to escape our dull, meaningless jobs. I’m guilty of this myself, both the self-definition and asking that question; it provides an easy opener to find some common ground.

But why does it have to be that way? One thing being in the SCA has taught (and is teaching) me is how little that mundane, day-to-day life has to matter. In the SCA, you have rocket scientists sitting next to truck drivers, discussing the best way to hit a man in the head, while a scary biker dune (who might be a middle school teacher) knits a cap for one of the children running around. Heck, I have friends in the SCA that I have no idea what they do for a living! It’s of that little importance!

So yeah, I stock shelves. But I am also a martial artist, a writer, a gamer, and might just have a small LEGO problem. I am not my job.

And neither are you.

You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. You’re the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. —Tyler Durden

Today’s quote is a little bit different than yesterday’s, but speaks to another issue I have.

You are not your job.

I have a strong innate tendency to define myself by what I do for a living, both internally and the way I present myself to others. When I was in school, I was obviously a student. When I worked at DU after graduation, I was an A/V technician. I’ve even been a martial arts instructor.

But now?

Now I work retail.

I think it goes without saying that my current job is not one I dreamed about growing up. Somehow, I ended up with a stigma attached to menial, low-end jobs, and having to take one really did a number on my self-confidence and self-image. Did I really want to think of myself as a cart pusher? As a warehouse stocker? As a retail grunt?

That’s when I realized: I am not my job. If I let what I “do for a living” define me, I am limiting myself, putting myself in someone else’s nice, convenient box. And that is no way to achieve fulfillment, or even adequacy. I can be so much more that a retail grunt in a dead end job, but if I limit myself to that mental box there is no way I’m going to be happy. When in the box, any free time or energy gets directed towards inner escapism, to dull the pain the cramped quarters of the box enforce.

I’ve heard it said that our habit of breaking the conversational ice by asking something along the lines of “What do you do for a living?” is a uniquely American question. We, as a culture, derive so much of our self-worth from what we “do for a living,” how we make our money, to buy our things, to escape our dull, meaningless jobs. I’m guilty of this myself, both the self-definition and asking that question; it provides an easy opener to find some common ground.

But why does it have to be that way? One thing being in the SCA has taught (and is teaching) me is how little that mundane, day-to-day life has to matter. In the SCA, you have rocket scientists sitting next to truck drivers, discussing the best way to hit a man in the head, while a scary biker dune (who might be a middle school teacher) knits a cap for one of the children running around. Heck, I have friends in the SCA that I have no idea what they do for a living! It’s of that little importance!

So yeah, I stock shelves. But I am also a martial artist, a writer, a gamer, and might just have a small LEGO problem. I am not my job.

And neither are you.