Do your job, (redux)

Jordan Peterson says that we don’t understand ourselves as well as we think we do. If we observe ourselves, we may learn something that we didn’t know about ourselves.

The other day I learned something important about myself: I do my job.

A projects guy

Years back, I realized that I couldn’t just call someone up and “catch up on life” the way some people can. I relate to people mainly through projects. Give me a project, and I’m happy to talk. No project? Not so interested. Want to have a relationship with me? Find a project.

“I’m a projects guy,” is how I framed that idea about myself. And I wrote a blog post about it.

I do my job

The other day I realized something else about myself.

I do my job.

I may procrastinate and do my job at the last minute, but if it’s my job, I’ll do it.

Here’s the story of how I came to this insight (this time), why it’s important, and why I think it’s going to stick

How I got here

I’ll start the story two days ago, as I was considering a fundamental existential question: of what value is my existence?

In other words: why should I continue to live?

My ADD had been in full rage. I was not getting things done that I wanted to get done. I was frustrated and angry and becoming depressed. And I was becoming too tired to try.

I was not suicidal. I’ve been through this cycle often enough to know this will pass.

But still.

What’s the use of living that sort of life?

When shit like that happens to my brain, I’ve found one reliable way through it.

I pull out a computer or a notebook, and I write and write and write.

Eventually, my thoughts clear, and I can get on with life.

This time they got very clear.

Does my life have value?

What’s the value of my continued existence? I asked.

I know that Bobbi and the kids (including the kids-by-marriage) would suffer loss if I were not around.

For there to be loss, there must be value.

So my life had value—to them, if not to me.

I wanted my life to have a different kind of value, and it did not. But that didn’t matter. It had value to them, and it was my job to preserve that value.

It was my job to keep living for them, if not for me.

How should I live?

I could keep living the way that I was at that moment, miserable and frustrated. Or perhaps I could find a way to be happy.

If I continued to live in misery and hid it from the people who loved me, I would be dishonest. And I place a high value on honesty.

If I continued to live in misery and revealed it, I would make the people who loved me unhappy. I’d be spreading misery.

So this thought arose: it was not only my job to live, but to be happy.

It was my job.

Sometimes, it’s hard to be happy. So what?

Flashbulb memory. I remember sitting in a bookstore, in a sunny place, reading a book of quotations. One, my memory tells me, said something similar to what I had just concluded: that it’s our job to be happy.

When things are going well, it’s easy to be happy. And when things are going badly, it’s hard.

But if it’s my job to be happy, the fact that it’s hard doesn’t matter.

It might take a lot of work. I might try and fail. That’s happened before.

But I can’t think of a realistic situation where I’ve been able to bring about a better outcome by being miserable than being happy.

(To be clear, by “happy,” I don’t mean tra-la-la laughing and giggling. I mean with a calm and aware mind, looking forward to acting to improve whatever situation currently exists, with hope for something better.)

And I think well of myself—or anyone—who works at a job that’s not easy if it’s the right thing to do.

It’s my job

So, I concluded, being happy may take work, but it’s my job.

And just like that, my attitude changed.

I had a job to do.

I remember a favorite scene from “Person of Interest.” John Reese, one of the story’s heroes, has been drinking himself to death. Harold Finch another leading character says:

Finch: I don’t think you need a psychiatrist or a support group, or pills…

Reese: What do I need?

Finch:: You need a purpose. More specifically, you need a job.

Thinking of being happy as a job changed my mind.

That surprised me.

It made me happy.

That also surprised me.

I thought about it for a while and realized in addition to being a “projects guy,” I’m a “do your job guy.” Doing hard things when it’s my job has been a pattern in my life.

Being an extravert was my job

In my working years, I had a lot of public-facing roles. In meetings, I expressed my views. At trade shows, I was quick to start a conversation with a passer-by who might be a customer. On a customer visit, I was happy to be the center of attention. I had little hesitation speaking in front of an audience.

People who knew me in a professional context were often surprised when I said I was an introvert.

“You, an introvert?” I was asked more than once. “You don’t seem like an introvert.”

“I know,” was my answer. “I’m an introvert on my own time. But when it’s my job to be an extrovert, I’m an extrovert. I do my job.”

And that was it for me. I did my job.

Frustrating and loving

Later, after reading Martin Seligman’s book, “Learned Helplessness,” I realized that it was my job as a parent not just to support our kids, but to frustrate them. The idea was to help them learn to deal with frustration so they wouldn’t grow up helpless. I did my job. I wrote about it here.

Still later, after the kids became independent and sometimes behaved in ways that I intensely disliked and thought would harm them in the long run, I realize that part of my job was loving them, without regard to that behavior. I wrote a little about that here (“From Spark to Post”).

I take doing my job seriously.

When I was raising my kids, I sometimes loved them because they were cute and loveable. But sometimes they were awful and unloveable. Still, I loved them. Because it was my job.
So I did my job and did not let my feelings about their behavior get in the way of loving them.

Will the insight stick?

So being happy is my job. Interesting insight. Will it stick?

This blog records other insights that I’ve had and decisions that I have made. Some have stuck. Others have dropped out of working memory. (Fortunately, my blog makes up for my memory failures.)

I’ve had other insights not recorded here—though it might be useful for me to do that—and there’s a pattern to the ones that have stuck.

I’ve written about this idea before:
here (The Stoic Challenger).

I learned that being a father and a husband were jobs that I had. What my kids did or what my wife did was not something I could control. What I could control is what I did, and not always that. But it was my job to do my best.

and here (Do your job!), it hasn’t stuck yet.

I think this is different.

It feels different. But I could be wrong.

We’ll see.

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