How I Answer the Question “What Do You Do?”

oh, this minefield!

Copyright All rights reserved by evan-etc

Copyright All rights reserved by evan-etc

What people really mean is “what is your job?” But so often we take it to mean “What are you?” In America, it’s how people define themselves. Particularly men, but also increasingly, women.

What they really want to ask, is “who are you?” And here in the U.S. especially, we equate our self-identity with our paid employment.

So what if you don’t have that anymore? Or what if you never did? Or what if it changed, significantly?

“I don’t do anything” is not an appropriate answer, as it could just as easily mean you live in a luxury apartment on a trust fund or live under the freeway bridge. Or certainly, a million other scenarios.

For those pursuing artistic endeavors, especially those that do not pay enough to make a living at (and very well never will), we still don’t want to be defined by our day jobs which have no relation to how we think of ourselves. Always a conundrum!

Say, if you work in the typing pool (or, excuse me, the word processing/admin pool) but you’re using your breaks to memorize the Shakespeare lines for Saturday’s showcase, the last thing you want to answer when someone asks that question is “I’m an administrative assistant.” (Not to denigrate the admins out there, but this person has other aspirations that need to be respected.)

There are those who would kill your dreams and insist that you are what you do for money. They may feel they’re realists, but I think they suffer from a lack of imagination and a soul sickness of advanced consumerism.

I’ve found this puzzle is exacerbated when one gets to, what, well, semi-retirement, or is it just classified as self-employment or part-time work as a result of long-term underemployment? Certainly, one doesn’t want to just blurt out: “Ever hear of the Great Recession, underemployment and age discrimination? Huh, buddy? Well lemme tell you a little story. . .”

Because, well, that would sound like you’ve become Debbie Downer, like you had a lot of self-pity (even if on the face of it it’s pretty darn accurate for millions of people in this country and around the world and god  knows you must remain chipper at all times) but there’s also the stigma of the word “retirement.”  Eeek.

That old definition just screams visions of ill-fitting shorts and golf, cocktail hours with Hawaiian shirts and leis, hours of television in the afternoon. None of which sounds like something to look forward to, at least not to me.

So we avoid that word right now and say instead: we’re moving on to a new chapter in life, which will likely include some work, some creativity, and some leisure. We don’t know exactly what it will look like yet, but it will be different from what came before, and probably endlessly changing.

So, I am a writer. There needs to be no qualifiers or caveats (i.e., “I used to have a long career in PR” or “But I have a part-time job in the design sector” or whatever). This stands on its own.

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