I have an extended reply on this topic , so rather than hi-jack the original post I thought it might be more polite to simply start a new thread: a spin off as it were.
Do I enjoy my work ? No. I was taught , like so many of us , that if it were "enjoyable" they wouldn't bother paying you. Nor would you care if they paid you , it's just that pleasurable to perform the task(s) ! This reflects a work ethic, an attitude or belief system of work that was handed down from a father who grew up on the tail end of the Great Depression in rural East Tennessee. Generation after generation of this culture slugged it out in coal mines, the timber industry, and scant farming concerns only to have their labors reap next to no reward and provide only the most meager means for survival. "You work to survive, not for pleasure" was the unspoken ethic, and ALWAYS go the extra mile even if you get nothing in return because in this way you get to keep your job... the one that dominates your every waking hour and allows you simply to eat in order that you may return to work more the following day.
But the culture I grew up in ( my parents laid down their roots in a heavily populated metropolitan city of several million in the Midwest ) promotes the prevalent "me" culture - " I HAVE to be happy ", " I HAVE to have meaning ", " I can't accept a life of drudgery and toil unless I find it fulfilling ". Yes, there was an internal conflict for me. Do I accept my father's idea of what work should be ? Or chase my dreams, potentially at the cost of sacrificing a comfortable lifestyle for my children ?
Without digressing too much , suffice to say I chose to ( attempt ) to be a provider and abandoned my idea of an ideal and rewarding career for myself. Yes , I stepped into the dreaded world of "the trades". Those skilled occupations that were once the backbone of American know-how and "can do" values. Now I am not, by nature, technically minded and tend more toward the artistic qualities that remain on the fringe of our ( or most ) societies in the Western world. It seemed wise therefore that I invest myself in a skill that could incorporate practical knowledge and artistic values in order to satisfy my need to CREATE and the world's need for functional, tangible commodity. I became a Woodworker !!! I can build everything form a beautiful decorative mahogany bar fit for the Ritz, an heirloom Maple and Cherry hutch with joinery capable of surviving generations of use, Walnut entry doors that have been installed in multi-million dollar homes, all the way to simple cabinets, tables, and bathroom vanities. I have built a conference table of Ebony and Brazilian Rosewood with Wenge inlay (that sits as I write this diatribe in the Pentagon, in the Office of the Secretary of Defense).
All of this work I created under the employ of others , as a hired , skilled craftsman. I am not one to start my own business for I have no capacity for business and the headaches that accompany it.
After 15 years of pursuing my "passion", I am now unemployed. The most recent employment situation (from which I fled), was a dirty,dimly lit factory producing casework and cabinetry , all from particle board and plastic laminate for national hotel chains and restaurants. The modern economy ( i.e. Ikea and Walmart ) has dictated that we as a population cannot afford quality craftsmanship. The modern methods of work in my trade rely on Computer Numerically Controlled automation and only a semi skilled workforce capable only of parts assembly and nothing more. The worst aspect for my personality type is the demeaning nature in which those of us with true skill are treated. Essentially as slave labor. There is no value in my knowledge or experience when the company's owner, the shop manager, and the foreman know NOTHING of what it takes to produce even the simplest , cheapest version of the product. My "superiors" could not even build a bird house if their lives depended on it. We are simply seen as monkeys with nail-guns in our hands and every job is a rush. " You will arrive on time, stay chained to your work bench, and eat only when that buzzer goes off --- and careful how much time you spend in the bathroom because we are watching you ". There is no recognition of skill or craftsmanship , it is impossible for these American factories to support that value since they are now competing ( and losing ) to 12 year old workers in Chinese factories producing the cheapest, most poorly built furniture and casework the world has ever known ... and ( the factories, not the 12 year olds )are making billions doing it !
This is not what I signed up for. At 43 years old, I find myself desperately hopping from shop to shop , in search of a livable work situation only to find it does not exist and that I have all but exhausted all the options in my city. I have literally worked in at least 20 different settings since the market went down the toilet in 2007-08.
I am a tree hugging , dirt worshiping , hippy, commie liberal and I see no good end to the system we have created. Is our standard of living better ? Do our children have a shot at a better life than we did ? Is the world really better off with all the technology we could ever want
( while this technology gives us nothing we NEED ) ??? I'm baffled and disenchanted by the whole of this system, this country, this culture , and this world.
I find myself now weighing those values of my father and struggling with feelings of inferiority and guilt. My path has led to a dead end and now I must and will reinvent myself , professionally speaking. I may go back to school at some point and perhaps study English Literature in some small , historically rich liberal arts college and pursue a writing career. Or I'll sign up for art school ... but wait - I have to feed my kids ! Oh well, I suppose I'll take another low wage , health threatening, factory job and forego the dreams. That's the reality and that appears to be the consequences of my past choices. But I'm not happy about it.
As you see, I have a lot to say on this topic. So much that it's obviously difficult to 'nutshell' my thoughts. Basically, no , I don't like my work.
Do I enjoy my work ? No. I was taught , like so many of us , that if it were "enjoyable" they wouldn't bother paying you. Nor would you care if they paid you , it's just that pleasurable to perform the task(s) ! This reflects a work ethic, an attitude or belief system of work that was handed down from a father who grew up on the tail end of the Great Depression in rural East Tennessee. Generation after generation of this culture slugged it out in coal mines, the timber industry, and scant farming concerns only to have their labors reap next to no reward and provide only the most meager means for survival. "You work to survive, not for pleasure" was the unspoken ethic, and ALWAYS go the extra mile even if you get nothing in return because in this way you get to keep your job... the one that dominates your every waking hour and allows you simply to eat in order that you may return to work more the following day.
But the culture I grew up in ( my parents laid down their roots in a heavily populated metropolitan city of several million in the Midwest ) promotes the prevalent "me" culture - " I HAVE to be happy ", " I HAVE to have meaning ", " I can't accept a life of drudgery and toil unless I find it fulfilling ". Yes, there was an internal conflict for me. Do I accept my father's idea of what work should be ? Or chase my dreams, potentially at the cost of sacrificing a comfortable lifestyle for my children ?
Without digressing too much , suffice to say I chose to ( attempt ) to be a provider and abandoned my idea of an ideal and rewarding career for myself. Yes , I stepped into the dreaded world of "the trades". Those skilled occupations that were once the backbone of American know-how and "can do" values. Now I am not, by nature, technically minded and tend more toward the artistic qualities that remain on the fringe of our ( or most ) societies in the Western world. It seemed wise therefore that I invest myself in a skill that could incorporate practical knowledge and artistic values in order to satisfy my need to CREATE and the world's need for functional, tangible commodity. I became a Woodworker !!! I can build everything form a beautiful decorative mahogany bar fit for the Ritz, an heirloom Maple and Cherry hutch with joinery capable of surviving generations of use, Walnut entry doors that have been installed in multi-million dollar homes, all the way to simple cabinets, tables, and bathroom vanities. I have built a conference table of Ebony and Brazilian Rosewood with Wenge inlay (that sits as I write this diatribe in the Pentagon, in the Office of the Secretary of Defense).
All of this work I created under the employ of others , as a hired , skilled craftsman. I am not one to start my own business for I have no capacity for business and the headaches that accompany it.
After 15 years of pursuing my "passion", I am now unemployed. The most recent employment situation (from which I fled), was a dirty,dimly lit factory producing casework and cabinetry , all from particle board and plastic laminate for national hotel chains and restaurants. The modern economy ( i.e. Ikea and Walmart ) has dictated that we as a population cannot afford quality craftsmanship. The modern methods of work in my trade rely on Computer Numerically Controlled automation and only a semi skilled workforce capable only of parts assembly and nothing more. The worst aspect for my personality type is the demeaning nature in which those of us with true skill are treated. Essentially as slave labor. There is no value in my knowledge or experience when the company's owner, the shop manager, and the foreman know NOTHING of what it takes to produce even the simplest , cheapest version of the product. My "superiors" could not even build a bird house if their lives depended on it. We are simply seen as monkeys with nail-guns in our hands and every job is a rush. " You will arrive on time, stay chained to your work bench, and eat only when that buzzer goes off --- and careful how much time you spend in the bathroom because we are watching you ". There is no recognition of skill or craftsmanship , it is impossible for these American factories to support that value since they are now competing ( and losing ) to 12 year old workers in Chinese factories producing the cheapest, most poorly built furniture and casework the world has ever known ... and ( the factories, not the 12 year olds )are making billions doing it !
This is not what I signed up for. At 43 years old, I find myself desperately hopping from shop to shop , in search of a livable work situation only to find it does not exist and that I have all but exhausted all the options in my city. I have literally worked in at least 20 different settings since the market went down the toilet in 2007-08.
I am a tree hugging , dirt worshiping , hippy, commie liberal and I see no good end to the system we have created. Is our standard of living better ? Do our children have a shot at a better life than we did ? Is the world really better off with all the technology we could ever want
( while this technology gives us nothing we NEED ) ??? I'm baffled and disenchanted by the whole of this system, this country, this culture , and this world.
I find myself now weighing those values of my father and struggling with feelings of inferiority and guilt. My path has led to a dead end and now I must and will reinvent myself , professionally speaking. I may go back to school at some point and perhaps study English Literature in some small , historically rich liberal arts college and pursue a writing career. Or I'll sign up for art school ... but wait - I have to feed my kids ! Oh well, I suppose I'll take another low wage , health threatening, factory job and forego the dreams. That's the reality and that appears to be the consequences of my past choices. But I'm not happy about it.
As you see, I have a lot to say on this topic. So much that it's obviously difficult to 'nutshell' my thoughts. Basically, no , I don't like my work.
Re; Do you, ( or did you ), enjoy your work? My abusive lover- Capitalism
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