This will be a rough draft, stream of consciousness and entirely unedited or proof-read. I don’t have the time. I have work in the morning, and approximately 70 unread emails I should probably at least glance at before I go to sleep. You know, to “lean in,” and “plan ahead for the day.”
I have in the morning, and I’m miserable just thinking about it.
I recall a few years ago, when the buzz around increased automation in the workforce was just starting to build; outlets like Bloomberg had interviews with our Silicon Valley overlords, and asked them what they were ultimately solving for.
One of them – and I can’t remember which – said he was shooting for a world where work was unnecessary. No one would have to work, because the robots would do it all. What would human beings do with all that free time? Pursue leisurely interests, he said. He glossed over who would sit atop this new world order (or profit from it), and didn’t really broach the topic of why certain leisurely interests – video games, for instance – would exist if there were no economic incentive for anyone to create them, but still…he seemed fairly convinced of his mission.
I’m a bit weary of Silicon Valley’s self-righteous bullshit, if I’m being honest, but a few years on, I’m kind of rooting for this guy. A world without work? I’m unclear on what that would look like, but at least I know what I’d potentially be leaving behind.
From about 4pm this afternoon, the joy of the public holiday started to slowly fade, as I thought about the mountain of work, and began to process the set of meetings I need to navigate between 8am and 2:30pm ET tomorrow. Sunday blues. I’ve had them on the last day of every weekend for the past 5 years. Rough math says that means I’ve spent ~130 days over the past 5 years simply dreading the next day. That’s awful.
Then there’s my parents, who – at 60+ — still work to meet their obligations. It hurts to see them still fret over the occasional bill, still work through interpersonal politics, at an age I like to imagine I’d do nothing but tend to the goats on my gentleman’s farm and dispense unsolicited marriage advice to any young people within ear-shot.
I’m not sure why we all pretend to love work so much. The whole thing reeks of too much protest, in a Shakespearean sense. The glorification of the grind feels like self-denial, if I’m to judge from the conversations I’ve had with friends and family any time ever.
And yet I’m afraid. I know that the same culture that glorifies work has institutionalized rewards for those who play along: the longer the hours you put in, the higher the priority you give work over other areas in life, the more you’re like to get paid. So if I rebel, will I go broke? Will I begin to fall behind? So far behind that I can’t ever catch up again?
It’s a bit scary that I think these thoughts every weekend. Scary that *so many* of my friends have confessed to thinking and feeling exactly the same. Scary that we all simultaneously worship work and thank God it’s Friday. There’s some weird dissonance there that we’re either all lying through blissfully unaware of.
I’ve begun trying to put a price tag on my happiness: how much of a pay-cut would I take just to have a bit more “me” time? Last week I felt like I could stomach a 40% pay-cut if that’d get me to a steady 9-5. This week, I’m more envious of a friend who simply quit her job. 100% pay cut.
I’ve forgotten what “free time” feels like. Vacation days feel like merely a count down till I’m back at my desk. I really want to play the new Total War without feeling like I’m wasting time. I don’t want to go to work in the morning. I never do.
How about you?