On the first day of any new class, I ask my students to describe themselves in three to five words. Often they misunderstand the task and begin by saying, "Hi, I'm Maria, I'm 26 years old and I'm an architect". Not only do I remind them that they sound like they're attending an AA meeting, I raise an eyebrow and quietly ask if their jobs define who they are.
I've spent my entire Sunday morning preparing for a class. It's the weekend! I should be cuddled up on the sofa with a movie and a cup of tea. I could be brunching with friends. Actually, I've woken up with tonsils the size of rocks, so I won't be going anywhere today, and to tell the truth, teachers often spend their free time preparing lessons. When else would it get done? But I normally assign a week day for my prep, which is better for my mood. I like to think that my weekends are for whatever I choose to do, and not for slaving to the almighty dollar. But this morning I again found myself pen to paper, cheerfully attempting to bridge a gap I have in a new class. So I have to ask, am I merely taking part in some creative brainstorming, or do I over-identify with my job?
I think to some extent, most of us identify with our jobs. If I didn't identify with being a teacher, then why would I be doing it? It's certainly not for the money. But how do I know if I work to live or live to work?
I've been an ESL teacher since university; it helped pay for books and rent and made me feel somewhat independent. In Montreal in 1998, there was lots of work for peppy twenty-somethings who could clarify English grammar, and I was hired without any qualifications. Since then, ESL has always been there for me, like an old friend who takes you in out of the rain when you've missed your bus. It was only after I hit my ten-year mark that I started to realize it had become my career. But I knew right from the beginning that I loved it-and that students liked what I brought to the classroom. I had found my niche, but admitting that to myself wouldn't come for another twelve years.
Am I always working? Well, no. Am I always on the lookout for new material? Yes. Do my days revolve around my job? Yes. Is my self worth based on my performance at my job? Not entirely. Do my moods fluctuate according to the ups and downs of my job? Yes. Do I hide myself in my work to avoid feelings of boredom or restlessness? No, I feel those things anyway. Do I feel like other activities not related to my job have less intrinsic value? Uh, yes.
I only have to look as far as my dad to realize that this kind of thinking could get me into trouble. My dad completely identifies with his job, to the extent that he refuses to retire and continues to perform tough physical labor for the thrill of being part of a team and the opportunity to showcase the technical skills he's honed his entire life. At work, my dad feels needed and valued, and quickly gets depressed when he's at rest. Surely, he's not the only one to shun retirement, but this tendency to over-identify with your job isn't universal.
The world's highest concentration of Centenarians live in Okinawa, Japan, and there is no word for retirement in Japanese. Dan Buettner, a writer for National Geographic, explains how ichigi (ee-kee-guy), which means 'reason to get up in the morning', is one of the factors that may contribute to elderly Okinawans' health and longevity. Personally, I don't think it's a far leap to assume that knowing what your ichigi is, and incorporating that into your daily life translates into more happiness, and even into higher immunology or resistance to illness. Other benefits of having your passion in life separate from your profession are plainer to see: an easier transition into retirement, or if you lose or job or become unable to work, a lower risk of depression and stress-related disorders, as your ichigi can function as an anchor.
Of course, there are some lucky people whose jobs are their passions in life. And while a gnostic might warn that over-identifying with anything outside of the self is dangerous, I maintain that it's how resistant you are to change which determines how you'll hold up when things go pear-shaped.
Evidently, I do identify with my job more than I realized, but is it such a bad thing? Being fully engaged in my job allows me to provide a better service, makes me feel better about my performance and ultimately leads to heart-centred exchanges when student-teacher relationships develop as a result of this service. Teaching connects me to my community.
As long as I'm not ignoring other psychological issues by hiding in it, work can be a healthy part of my coping mechanism. But it's not the only thing I turn to for answers. Spiritual practise like meditation and creative pursuits like cooking, along with excercise help me to stay centred in the now and keep me from over-thinking. What's important is that I'm consistently reflecting on my values and relationships, but also to remain plastic so I can re-calibrate when I notice I'm starting to slip into negativity.
But I'll stop giving my students a hard time about the ice-breaker.
Cheers,
Croaker
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Beginnings
The Web-log as a means of living more consciously.
Today I got up early just to sit in bed and come up with ideas. I am an idea monster: ideas come to me in huge waves, and I spend oodles of time trying to keep up with them, evaluating whether they are worthy to pursue. I elaborate on the ones I think are going to be lucrative or make me happier in some way. This takes even more time, as I end up day-dreaming and spinning my fantasy web. It's an addictive feeling. You start thinking about a goal, and after you plan it all out in your mind, you feel like the creative process is done. Like an orgasm, the fun part is over and all that's left is work (for the other poor sap). Invariably, I end up skipping the actual production part of the process. But perhaps the flaw lies in my compulsion to so thoroughly evaluate the goal instead of just diving in.
Now, I think I'm trying to justify to you why I haven't gotten out of my pyjamas, despite it being nearly noon. Well, I've been thinking about writing a blog. Not just starting it, but actually writing it, like a diary, every day. Naturally, what stops me is the thought that floats through most wannabe writers' heads eighty percent of the time: who would read the drivel I post? After months of neurotic negotiations with my creative spirit, I've decided to get out of the way and give blogging a go. I tell myself this is a writing activity, and not an expose on my uneventful life. Yet, my ego would only agree to this kind of exploitation if my putting into words what I've done in a day would result in my days becoming more interesting. Or rather, if writing about my day to day will give me the courage and accountability to make the most out of my days.
This is a recurring theme for me: adding more dimension into my day to day life. (Alas the name Croaker, as I often remind myself that my time here in Earth is not indefinite). I find that unless I am out walking in a dense wood or telepathically speaking to some stranger's dog on the subway, I crave heart-centred exchanges that make my getting up in the morning worthwhile. I've become a heart energy addict! Creative pursuits help keep at bay the boredom that comes as a result of feeling too comfortable with oneself, too satisfied, too happy. It's easy just to sit in meditation and BE. It's a total high. But when you come out of meditation, then you're left with the banality of doing laundry or washing the car or getting dressed for work. Life then becomes a series of distractions. You delve into your work, where you can at least be creative, or you try your hand at cooking, or you volunteer at the soup kitchen, hoping to get a fix of heart-felt connection. Still, most of the time you are left with a feeling that you are 'acting'- that you are just filling time, when all you really want to be doing is exchanging wordless sentiments with the higher collective.
The Wimp in me really wants this blog to stay invisible, but that would defeat its entire purpose. To my ego: I'm going public, and it's time to play. My blog will address the questions and doubts I have about spirituality and living here and now, in an attempt to bring more creativity and joy. At the very least, it will get me writing!
Cheers,
Croaker.
Today I got up early just to sit in bed and come up with ideas. I am an idea monster: ideas come to me in huge waves, and I spend oodles of time trying to keep up with them, evaluating whether they are worthy to pursue. I elaborate on the ones I think are going to be lucrative or make me happier in some way. This takes even more time, as I end up day-dreaming and spinning my fantasy web. It's an addictive feeling. You start thinking about a goal, and after you plan it all out in your mind, you feel like the creative process is done. Like an orgasm, the fun part is over and all that's left is work (for the other poor sap). Invariably, I end up skipping the actual production part of the process. But perhaps the flaw lies in my compulsion to so thoroughly evaluate the goal instead of just diving in.
Now, I think I'm trying to justify to you why I haven't gotten out of my pyjamas, despite it being nearly noon. Well, I've been thinking about writing a blog. Not just starting it, but actually writing it, like a diary, every day. Naturally, what stops me is the thought that floats through most wannabe writers' heads eighty percent of the time: who would read the drivel I post? After months of neurotic negotiations with my creative spirit, I've decided to get out of the way and give blogging a go. I tell myself this is a writing activity, and not an expose on my uneventful life. Yet, my ego would only agree to this kind of exploitation if my putting into words what I've done in a day would result in my days becoming more interesting. Or rather, if writing about my day to day will give me the courage and accountability to make the most out of my days.
This is a recurring theme for me: adding more dimension into my day to day life. (Alas the name Croaker, as I often remind myself that my time here in Earth is not indefinite). I find that unless I am out walking in a dense wood or telepathically speaking to some stranger's dog on the subway, I crave heart-centred exchanges that make my getting up in the morning worthwhile. I've become a heart energy addict! Creative pursuits help keep at bay the boredom that comes as a result of feeling too comfortable with oneself, too satisfied, too happy. It's easy just to sit in meditation and BE. It's a total high. But when you come out of meditation, then you're left with the banality of doing laundry or washing the car or getting dressed for work. Life then becomes a series of distractions. You delve into your work, where you can at least be creative, or you try your hand at cooking, or you volunteer at the soup kitchen, hoping to get a fix of heart-felt connection. Still, most of the time you are left with a feeling that you are 'acting'- that you are just filling time, when all you really want to be doing is exchanging wordless sentiments with the higher collective.
The Wimp in me really wants this blog to stay invisible, but that would defeat its entire purpose. To my ego: I'm going public, and it's time to play. My blog will address the questions and doubts I have about spirituality and living here and now, in an attempt to bring more creativity and joy. At the very least, it will get me writing!
Cheers,
Croaker.
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