(originally appeared in Sense and Psychotherapy, Spring 1999)
We’re all familiar with the question “what do you do?” Everyone understands it’s about work, which isn’t surprising since work represents, for most of us, our most concentrated and materially productive hours. All the detail, variety and routine of our workaday lives, from what we actually “do”, to the hours we spend engaged in it, the people we interact with and the place or places we go to do it, dictate how we spend many of our waking hours, and absorb, for most of us, the largest share of our intellectual and emotional attention.
Because work is “what we do”, it becomes, to a significant degree, who we are. Nearly all of us are intimately familiar with the language and routine, the rhythm and detail of our jobs. Even if we’re adamant about our right and our ability to take off our “work face”, the skills and talents we develop in the course of our careers are a part of us. They color everything from our language and interests to our interaction styles and problem-solving strategies. In the parlance of my profession, work is part of our “identity”. Think how often we answer “what do you do?” not with “I work at…” or “I do…,” but “I am…”
While there’s no absolute, direct connection between work and identity, it’s important to remain conscious of the influence work has on our lives, and to understand that, in choosing what we do, we can have a significant impact on who we are, and who we will become. Many of us have had (or will have) multiple careers, some perhaps lasting decades. Career paths are almost infinitely varied. Some are straight and narrow, others seemingly random in scope and direction. Often our career changes either spring from, or precipitate, major shifts in our lives and in our sense of who we are. In the best cases, that’s exactly what we want, and why we contemplate changes in the first place.
To some degree, our career decisions are (and must be) guided by basic material and logistical considerations. On the other hand, this is only part of the story, and usually seems to occur more in its early chapters. With so much identity tied up in “what we do,” and so much time and energy spent doing it, it’s only natural that we eventually start asking more fundamental questions about the nature of our work and its effect not only on who we are, but who we want to become. As we grow older, “success” often comes to mean something less tangible and infinitely more complex than the standard cliches.
It would be wonderful if each successive career represented the blossoming of some cherished talent, or the exercise and development of some set of intrinsically rewarding skills. Of course, opportunities of this sort are rarely laid in our laps. Much more often than not the price is sacrifice, and courage in the face of the daunting unknown. Many of the people I meet in my practice are wrestling with difficult choices involving their careers. I often wish I had a ready supply of easy answers, but I don’t. The simple fact that they have taken it upon themselves to examine what they do and explore the connections to who they are is clearly a step in the right direction, wherever their path may lead.
