In this time of Covid 19, how do we view ourselves? Especially those of us who have lost jobs, who have been ‘downsized’ and now are struggling to find another one.
Many of us will descend into a kind of depression, believing there is no more hope for us. We are too young for another job. We are too old. We are too this, or too that. We fill out applications to companies we have never heard of. We send our personal details to unknown data bases in mysterious countries with poorly understood privacy laws, hoping that ticking the box “I Agree” will somehow give us another chance. Somehow not send all our personal information to some creepy part of the Internet.
For some, families or loved ones subtly (or not-so-subtly) give hints that being unemployed is a sign of a loser.
‘What did you do this past week?”, they carefully ask.
When you say something like “Oh, I looked after my garden, and watered my tomatoes”, they say, quietly, “Oh.” Then they change the conversation, away to something more…positive.
Our value as human beings has, until recently, been largely defined by our ability to work or our possession of a job. Job gone, value gone.
In a way, those of us who worked held an entitled attitude. We were proud of working, proud of our status. But did we ever consider those around us who couldn’t work the jobs that were available? The differently-abled, those scarred by abuse, those struggling with depression and other invisible barriers to participation in the labour market. What did we think about them? Did we believe we were that much better?
It’s changed for all of us now.
For many of us now, though, things have shifted. Those of us who easily found jobs have lost them. Those of us still employed glance concernedly over our shoulder, wondering: “am I next?”. Will we be the next ones to take the trip to the bank to plead for more time on the mortgage? Will we ask the landlord for relief?
The fact of the matter is here. For those of us who are unemployed or less-employed, the world of work has changed. The old world, the one with 40 year careers, defined benefits and generous leave, is largely gone.
When, and if, Covid 19 ceases to be a threat, our work life (or lack thereof) will be remarkably different.
Some of this may be a good thing. Writer Seth Godin talks about the end of “factory jobs”, the jobs that generations of school children sitting in rows of neat wooden desks, have been trained for. Those forty year careers were safe, but often deadening, repetitive. What you were at age twenty was pretty much what you were at age sixty, plus creaky joints to massage and vitamin supplements to swallow.
But perhaps we can take this moment and say that it’s time we were celebrated not for what we do, but for who we are. Irrespective of how many widgets we push along the assembly line.
I’ve got one way, a better way of thinking about it, though.
If I can do one thing every day, just one thing, but do that with love, that is enough.
It might be watering my tomatoes. It might be listening to someone rehearse a speech. It might be picking up groceries for a neighbour. It might be as simple as that.
Then, when family members or loved ones fall silent as we respond “I watered my tomatoes” we can think, yes, “I did something with love today.” I didn’t edit any spreadsheets, I didn’t attend ten hours of Zoom meetings, I didn’t ride the subway with hundreds of other poor souls staring at their phones, intentionally oblivious to one another.
I did one thing with love. I have value.
And that is enough.
