Does what we do matter?

Something worthwhile…

All my life I have wanted to do something worthwhile. In pursuit of this, I ended up working on a hospital ship in Africa for two years. We were doing amazing, life-saving, work. I was finally doing something meaningful.

That is until one afternoon, when I was down in the hospital wards, playing UNO with a kid whose face had been eaten away by a flesh-melting bacteria (he was due for a brand new nose the next day). I played my last card, winning for the umpteenth time, and realized that I was not enjoying what I was doing.

I wasn’t enjoying UNO or helping these kids, or bringing hope and healing. The quintessential meaningful experience—volunteering abroad—was not bringing me any great feelings of meaning. What was I doing wrong? Where were the fulfilling moments?

One clear thought came to mind. Once a week I facilitated a group discussion on the ship where the young men on board gathered to talk. Sure, we discussed our days, the work we were doing and who we had a crush on. But we also discussed our fears, our anxieties, doubts and dreams. We were vulnerable and supportive and these talks gave us the encouragement we needed to get through the often demanding work. We were able to do our jobs better, which helped the entire ship. In a very real way, this weekly meeting was a lot more worthwhile than my evening card game. Anybody could go to the wards and dominate at UNO; not everyone can (or wants to) facilitate a heart-to-heart with a bunch of guys on a hospital ship.

The realization was a powerful one. I had found something that felt worthwhile and meaningful and it was leading me in a new direction. Soon a friend of mine was running a similar group for the young women on board. I was helping people, just not in the way I had expected. And that is what led me to what I’m doing now—writing about self-improvement.

I finished my story and sat back. Sebastian had been nodding along, listening intently.

“I don’t think mine is so exciting,” he said. “I got to fly home and see my mom at Christmas. She was very sick. But she is feeling better now.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.” His office was right around the corner, a repetitive, but stable job that required him to live thousands of miles away from his family—the source of his most meaningful moment.

I nodded. I had to get going too. My shift started in a few hours. A shift at a job that was as far removed from writing as you could get.

And that moment led to a new question: If it was so easy for us both to think of meaningful moments, why were we not living them? What are we supposed to do when our jobs are so disconnected from what really matters to us?

Everyone has a different definition of meaningful. But it seems to me there are common threads in people’s answers to the question above; we find meaning in connecting with people we love, in learning new things, achieving goals, facing our fears. We have all experienced moments that are deeper and more satisfying than simple day-to-day pleasures, decisions and actions that felt profoundly worthwhile. These are the things that matter, the moments that people on their deathbed smile about.

But what about the rest of it all? What about all the hours we give to our jobs and workplaces? Do they matter? I have seldom had someone answer that ‘meaningful moment’ question with a story about their job. And when they do, it sounds more like this:

There is no doubt these experiences were meaningful, but most of us aren’t volunteering abroad or saving people’s lives. Is it possible for the normal jobs that the rest of us have to be meaningful?

This question has been haunting me lately. Over the past few years, I have watched more and more of my friends abandon their dreams and take jobs that seem completely random—jobs that I’m sure would make me miserable. Will they be able to live a meaningful and fulfilled life when they spend eight hours of their day doing something their past selves would have scoffed at?

The why

The truth is that there are many thankless jobs out there. We can’t all work within our passions; only a few of us even get close. Luckily, the Internet is full of articles with tips and hacks to help make our ‘normal’ jobs more meaningful. So then why aren’t we fulfilled when we come home in the evening? Are we doing something wrong?

Before I explore that question, let me pose one more: Why haven’t you quit your job?

For most of us, the reason why we work is simple—we need money. The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche summed up a lot of human existence when he said: “If we have our own why in life, we shall get along with almost any how.” Perhaps the modern equivalent would be: “He who has to pay bills can bear with almost any job.” Only once we’ve paid the bills can we can start saving up to travel, or buy our kid new shoes, or invest in fancy oil paints so we can finally finish the masterpiece collecting dust in our closet.

Nietzsche nailed it. We don’t quit our jobs because we need money. Simple! Problem solved. Normal jobs are meaningful because they allow us to survive in this modern capitalist society. If we didn’t have to make money there would be no reason to get up in the morning!

I hope you can sense my sarcasm. Because it only takes a few probing questions to realize that this theory doesn’t hold up to much scrutiny. For most of us, money in and of itself is not our true why. We work normal jobs, enduring all sorts of hows, in order to make money that allows us to do or have or be something. Whatever this something is, it is bigger than money and more meaningful, even if we can’t see it right away.

The how

Meet my friend Jason. He recently took a job as an electrical engineer with the city. This is not what his six years of University prepared him for, but he decided that being an English Professor was not the path for him. Since he seemed to be pretty content with his new how, I wanted to hear more about his why.

“Eventually you realize that you’d rather make the people you love be happy.” His voice was calm and thoughtful. “It’s still sort of selfish though. This job gives me great vacation time, I can work on my hobbies, and I have the freedom to be with my family.” The word sparked something in his voice. “Freedom. I think that’s what it’s about. I now have a lot of freedom.”

I wasn’t convinced. “But isn’t taking a different job the opposite of freedom? Aren’t you now forced to disregard your degree and take this less desirable job in order to provide for your family?”

“Not at all,” He shook his head. “I chose to do this so that I can provide for my family. Now I can work towards the life I want to live — my wife, a garden, lots of books. If I had become professor things would look very different. Sure, I love literature, but first I’d have to do another four years of school, at least two of those in another city away, which would mean being away from my wife. Plus, the last thing I want to do after a long day at school is read more books. I worried that a career as a professor might have killed my love of literature! No, this city job is way better.”

Jason’s why clearly isn’t money. He didn’t mention salary or income at all. Instead, he works so that he can better enjoy his meaningful relationships and activities. With his goal clearly in sight, he is able to enjoy (or at least tolerate) a job that the Jason I knew in high school would have mocked. So what is the why behind your how?

The things that matter

For some of you, the answer to that question will be clear (or at least more clear than it was 10 minutes ago). Hopefully, this reminded you of your why or inspired to think about the importance of your family, hobbies, and goals for your future. These things matter and thus the means of achieving them matter too.

So do the jobs we do matter? Yes! Or… No! Or… Maybe?

If for some, the answer is still not clear, I think the problem is that our why and our how are so far apart they don’t even appear on the same map. This creates a gap into which dissatisfaction and cynicism can creep.

So, for the rest of us whose jobs do not seem to be moving us any closer to the meaningful aspects of our lives, we return to Nietzsche and his idea of being able to get along with almost any how if we have our own why. I first came across this idea in Victor Frankl’s book Man’s Search For Meaning which I read shortly after returning from the hospital ship in Africa.

Frankl, a psychiatrist, author, and Holocaust survivor, used his experiences in Auschwitz as a way to expose the need for purpose in life. He claimed you could always tell when another prisoner had lost their why; they would smoke their last cigarettes (which were invaluable trading items) preferring simply to enjoy their final few hours. Usually, they were dead by morning. It would look like Typhus or some other disease, but everyone around them would have seen it coming.

Frankl’s own faith for the future was tied up in a desire to write a book—a Holocaust account which would double as the introduction to a new theory of psychiatry called Logotherapy. He claimed it was planning this manuscript that kept him alive through those horrid years. Because of his unique experience and ideas, he was the only one who could write it. Others may write similar books, but only he, a psychiatrist and author keenly devoted to observing and understanding ideas about meaning, could write this particular book. It was almost as if Life was expecting him to write it. He had a why. And with it, a reason to survive his unspeakable how.

I vividly remember finishing the book and putting it down in astonishment. Could Life expect things of me? Is that how I could find my meaning? The hospital ship had been full of enthusiastic UNO players (most of whom were better at letting the kids win than I was), but I had been the only one there who had felt the desire to organize discussion groups. Was I the only one who could have done that thing in that way? Had Life been expecting me to do this?

I don’t know. I often find myself arguing against my why. Sometimes it feels like anything I accomplish could have probably been done better by someone else. Victor Frankl was unique: a Holocaust survivor, a psychiatrist, and writer—life was practically demanding that he write a book! But Frankl anticipated this argument and also insisted that there exists at least one unique why for each person.

No one can be the wife, or husband, or parent, or friend, or colleague that you are. Others may fill these roles, but they will never do them the way you do. Only you can make that creation you’ve dreamed of making; it may not be perfect, but it is uniquely you. There is someone out there that only you can help, provide for, nurture, inspire… something you can fix, create, build upon… something that Life is asking you, and you alone, to do or be or make.

Only I could write this article the way it is currently written. Only I can strive to make my parents proud—to make them feel like they did a good job raising me. Only I know the secret ingredient in my super-hot spicy popped-yolk eggs (it’s hot sauce… but I’ll never tell which kind). So what is Life asking of you?

What keeps you going?

Frankl makes it very clear that the book (and the revolutionary new therapy it led to) did not justify his suffering in the camp. But at the same time, you could argue that it was only because of this suffering that he was able to create the book and, in turn, help countless people in the years thereafter. To reconcile this, I think we need to misquote Nietzsche just as Frankl did: A person who knows their why can bear with almost any how, but you have to be able to bridge the gap between them. That is one of the unique things about Frankl’s story—his how and why were so closely connected that there was much less space for dissatisfaction or cynicism.

After the war, Dr. Frankl was fond of asking his psychiatric patients a rather intense question: “Why haven’t you killed yourself?” I don’t think modern doctors could ask this (nor does it get great reactions when I pose it to others on first dates or at Christmas parties). But because it is such a sharp and pointed question, it serves as an incredibly straightforward method of getting to a person’s why. And the interesting thing is that it’s almost impossible to answer “money” to this question; I haven’t found anyone who has held off on suicide in order to pay their next utility bill.

So what is your why? What is Life asking of you? What keeps you going? Even the best workplaces will sometimes involve (relative) suffering. Every job will feel pointless and meaningless some days. And even if you’ve fully articulated your why, sometimes the how can feel so far removed from it that working to get there doesn’t feel worth your while. So what do you do when you can’t seem to bridge the gap between them? What do we do when we’re locked into something that doesn’t seem to be taking us anywhere near our reason for living? How can we make our how more manageable?

1. Know your why and your how. This bears repetition. None of this will make sense otherwise.

2. Find something at your job that you can do or change in order to make it more meaningful. At the very least, set up and surround yourself with reminders of your why.

3. The biggest gap between our how and why is often temporal. Maybe you promised yourself this job would only be for a certain period of time. Have you gone past your imposed deadline? Consider moving on to something else—a different how.

4. Quit. Sometimes the job you’re working simply will not get you to your why no matter how much money you make. It could be time for a career change. If this isn’t an option, focus on #2 or #5 or #6.

5. Make an Action Plan. Where do you want to see yourself in 5 years? What can you change about your situation in order to move towards that? Maybe you learn some new skills on Udemy or Lynda.com, or download a language learning app so you can one day travel or live abroad, or check out Meetup.com to find other people doing that esoteric hobby you’ve always wanted to get into. Or heck, grab some books at the library on how to crochet winter hats, set up a website with Wordpress, and start that online business you’ve been thinking about.

6. Prioritize your why when you are not working. Make sure you are spending your free time pursuing meaningful moments. Is family your thing? Binge less Netflix and instead cook a meal for them. Are you my friend Jason? Go do some lamp-lit gardening. Are you a helper? Volunteer in your community. Everyone else? Call your Grandmother or get involved at your church or find moments to take in the beauty of nature or read a good book (may I suggest Victor Frankl).

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There will be days when this will seem impossible, when cynicism will sneak in despite your best efforts. Sometimes you will feel completely stuck where you are. On those days, when that happens to me, I often think of one of the best scenes from Simpsons—that animated and satirical depiction of working-class life. Homer, after having to crawl back and beg for his job in the nuclear plant, is presented with a de-motivational poster that says: Don’t Forget You’re Here Forever. Later, when his kids ask why there are so few baby pictures of Maggie around the house, he responds that he “keeps them where he needs them the most.” And then the scene cuts back to his office where he has wallpapered the giant poster with pictures of Maggie in a pattern that covers up some of the letters. As a result, the de-motivational phrase now reads: “Do It For Her.” Say what you will about Homer Simpson, but the man knows his why.