I’ve had a fair amount of jobs in my lifetime which were completely unrelated to what I now do for a professional living. Here is a quick glimpse, starting with the first work I can remember doing in the 4th or 5th grade:
-lawn boy (I mowed several in our neighborhood, using the family’s push mower (and gas). I never considered charging over $5.00 per lawn for some reason)
-worm counter (my grandfather owned a bait and tackle shop which my father inherited. Someone has to count a dozen worms into those small containers, you know)
-dairy farm (don’t talk to me about a pungent smell that’s hard to get out of your clothes or skin until you’ve cleaned cow barns. The benefit was Aunt Jute’s tuna fish sandwiches and a glass of ice-cold milk straight from the cow to the milk chiller)
-bottle boy (it was common when the 5-cent redemption law was first enacted for people to bring entire pick-up trucks full of bottles and cans – mostly unwashed – to turn in. I counted and sorted them all)
-dishwasher (nothing helps your middle school or high school reputation more than being the person that gets to wash out the filthy hot fudge sundae dishes that everyone else just used after coming to the one restaurant in town after the dance or big game at school)
-overnight stock person at the local grocery store (this was a promotion from bottle boy, but going to sleep just as everyone else is waking up every weekend was another way to increase popularity in high school)
-delivery person (did I mention that the bait and tackle shop sold wholesale supplies to other stores? Well, it did. And I was the person driving the delivery van each week – often after working overnights as a stock person at the grocery store)
-roofer/general construction (I learned – for the first time – how to slow down and build things correctly so that they would last over time. My boss was a true “Jack of All Trades” who was also the high school shop class teacher)
-college admissions office worker (the Work Study Program at my SUNY school set me up with a cushy job of licking envelopes and making copies. Friends who were placed in the kitchens of dining halls on campus made sure to remind me how good I had it)
-bartender (the same restaurant that employed me as a dishwasher in high school promoted me to bartender when I returned from college. It’s a great job for a budding alcoholic!)
-traffic counter – England (this job was only part-time, and involved standing on a roadway and writing down all of the specific vehicles that went by on a pad and paper. It’s when I learned that “Lorry” is another word for “Truck” in England – and “Robin” is a three-wheeled vehicle driven by Mr. Bean)
-police lineups – England (another way to make a few extra Quid. The local Bobbies would pay us to stand in a lineup with the guilty party. I was always anxious about being falsely accused of a crime)
-pub bartender – England (instead of leaving tips, customers often said “and one for you mate,” which meant that you could take the price of a drink out of their bill – or you could pour yourself a drink – which I often did “see bartender is great job for an alcoholic above”)
-door-to-door climate advocate (This may sound vague. It was. When I moved to Boulder, Colorado, groups of us would “canvas” an area. This meant dividing up the neighborhood and knocking on doors to ask for contributions for an environmentally- conscious cause which was difficult to give specifics about. I was fired after asking for these specifics from the guy who ran the operation – he was the first person with a “man-bun” that I ever met)
-sub shop employee (Also in Boulder. My boss opened the first Blimpie’s Submarine Sandwich Shop in CO. I was hired as a sandwich maker and soon promoted to do anything and everything the store needed. I continue to prefer Blimpie’s to Subway sandwiches – but Aunt Jute’s tuna fish sandwiches beat them all)
-Overnight Custodian (just down the road from the Boulder Blimpies was the Ball Aerospace Company. I was fascinated by all the cutting-edge Apple Computers which had recently been invented)
-Airport Van Driver (there was more money to make by picking people up at their home and driving them to the Denver Airport than I was making as a custodian. The Airport was being rebuilt into the newer facility at the time. You haven’t driven in a snowstorm until you’ve driven in a CO snowstorm in a rear-wheel drive 15 passenger van with mostly bald tires).
-Cross Country Tour Guide (Similar 15 passenger bald-tire vans driven between the Trek America offices in NYC and LA. The cheapest way for Europeans to visit American cities and National Parks. Not only did I do all the driving, but I was the sole tour guide. This seemed like a good job for an alcoholic, but the driving and being responsible for other people part of the position soon took a toll)
-School Bus Driver (I drove the longest route in a small, rural district for a few years. I went into the job swearing I never wanted kids and came out of it ready to be a parent. Of all my past jobs, this is the one I would be most likely to return to as a retirement job – because kids are our best hope to save what’s left of the planet)
I was pondering these various jobs and my overall relationship and feelings about work as the last Labor Day weekend rolled around. I often say that my work goal now is to do less and get paid more for it. But that’s just bluster and sarcasm. If it was truly my intent, I’d be failing miserably. The proceeding list stops when I entered my current profession as a substance use disorder counselor two decades ago and then transitioned into a professor of addiction studies for the last 11 years. Currently I have anywhere from two to four part-time jobs depending on the time of year, what bills are due, and my overall motivation. In my spare time, I volunteer to help out and advocate for recovery-related issues. At home I research Youtube for countless hours, seeking out video tutorials on how to fix the car, sand and seal the wood floors, or complete some other project around the house without calling someone that will charge me to do it. Most recently I completed a novel that encompassed seven years of joy and toil.
So I can’t really say I’m working less. I’m making more than the five dollars I charged for mowing lawns, but becoming financially wealthy has never really been the goal for me. As I heard a colleague and spiritual advisor say of the work Helpers and Teachers are tasked with; “We do it for the outcome, not the income.”
I hope that my unhealthy relationship with work has changed over the years. Being raised by two parents who endured and eventually worked themselves out of a childhood spent in poverty so severe that (thanks to them) I can’t possibly imagine, it makes sense that I was instilled with what we then called a “strong work ethic” from a young age. One of my biggest goals and sources of pride throughout elementary and middle school was to receive a Perfect Attendance Certificate (the scratch and sniff variety were particularly coveted) at the end of each school year. In order to reach this goal, I never entertained the thought of staying home when I was physically ill. The newer notion of kids taking mental health days at home would have completely blown my mind back then. I’m fairly sure that mental health issues didn’t exist for kids back in those days. What the hell did we have to be sad about? Showing up for every minute of each day at school (and later for my jobs) was the top priority, negating all else. The scratch and sniff certificate gods demanded it!
And that attitude served me well in many ways. Besides the sweet-smelling awards, these ingrained habits earned the respect of most teachers and employers. Being the person who “was always there” also gave me the ability to make money and support myself (and later my family) by simply showing up and working hard at whatever was assigned. It’s also helped me in recovery. “Suit up and show up,” and “wash, rinse, repeat,” are sayings I’ve heard many times by sober friends over the years. I wouldn’t have completed writing and publishing Deerfield without these consistent mantras and routines.
I’m amazed that the whole concept of hard work and staying employed if one is able to has become such a source of political and social division in our country. I believe that those who are able to pull their own weight by working should do so, and those who are unable to work should be given some help. But I don’t think those opinions alone make me a liberal or a conservative – just a person who has been taught to value the independence and self-direction that making an income has afforded me. My race and gender may have opened doors to educational and employment opportunities not as easily accessed by others, but I can’t discount the importance of taking entry-level positions in undesirable tasks and working one’s way up either. Hopefully my abbreviated resume above supports a willingness to do whatever work I’ve been offered.
However, my purpose here isn’t to sing prideful praises of the accomplishments these beliefs and behaviors around work have helped with. There has been a cost for the top priority always given to work. I’ve learned over these years in recovery that there are diagnosable behavioral addictions (gambling is the most researched and accepted because it’s so normalized and prevalent in America). These behaviors are just as unhealthy and often cause longer term damage than an addiction to a substance. Sex (or seeking new romantic relationships), Technology (in the form of video games, television, or social media), and shopping (or overspending) are other examples of behaviors that are considered addictive because they can negatively impact lives rather quickly. Workaholism is not classified as a behavioral addiction yet, but I think it should be. Here are some criteria for all substance and behavioral addictions:
-A preoccupation with the substance or behavior.
-Tolerance – the need to do more of a substance or behavior in order to get the same result.
-Escapism – attempting to use the substance or behavior to create an alternate reality.
Preoccupation and tolerance are fairly straightforward. Everyone knows someone who has a hard time leaving their work at work. As a counselor, this can lead to burnout (clinically described as empathy fatigue). I see it happen with other people in the healthcare field and with teachers as well. Tolerance develops as people have a hard time saying “no” when asked to work an extra shift or to put in more work outside of the workplace. Again, teachers and counselors often spend long hours on their computers and doing things related to the job while officially off the clock. The role of escapism for people who might be workaholics is an important one. Ask any parent who stayed home for months or years with infants how much they would have paid to go to a job – with adults, a lunch break, no dirty diapers to change, and a posted end to their shift, and you might start to recognize what a great place work can be to escape your home or your family or the life you’ve created outside of the workplace. I know that I couldn’t wait to get to work during those early days of my kids’ lives (and on some days when they were a bit older)! I’m certainly not proud to admit it, but I was very happy to have a place to escape to, and that going to work was so socially acceptable – especially for men. As a man, when I first meet someone who asks “What do you do,” I know they are not interested in my hobbies, the music I listen to, or how I spend my free time. They want to know my vocation. And over the years, I’ve had to work on distancing who I am from the things I do to support myself and my family. A workaholic, like an alcoholic, or any other “aholic” defines themselves almost completely by something outside of themselves. Gary Zukov, in his book “The Seat of the Soul” defines addiction as anything that a person relies on for external power rather than internal power. In simpler terms, if you take away the booze, or the sex, or the job, how would this person define themselves?
This essay has been a thorn in my side for over a month now, because I’m not sure what the point is. Or maybe I know that I’ve got some work to do as a workaholic, and to preach about it feels hypocritical. I continue to work too much, to worry about what would happen if I stopped saying “yes” to opportunities to make more and do more. These fears and projections of the very worst outcomes greet me most days, peeking over the footboard of my bed, and waiting to follow me around and whisper incessantly about all the bad things that could happen. I’m less likely to listen to them now that I’m sober, and it’s a huge part of why I continue to attend 12 Step Meetings and talk to people working a program of recovery. We’re all survivors of a deadly disease with no cure. I don’t deserve any of the good things I have, and in the end, losing a job, or having less money or prestige, or whatever my current jobs give me wouldn’t be such a big deal. People in recovery are some of the hardest workers I’ve ever known – because they do the difficult work on themselves and try to accept all the things ( and the people) they can’t control each day. I need these sober folks to remind me that I can say “whatever” when the fear and projection hobgoblins taunt me with “what ifs” when I consider taking a day off or saying “no” to more work.
Perhaps the point is finding balance with these things. At two-and-a-half-decades into recovery, I still struggle with the word “balance” in many areas of life. Or maybe the key is prioritizing things that are most important in life (which are never truly things, but moments and relationships and inner peace of mind). As I get older, this truth becomes more apparent, and yet I need constant reminders of it’s relevance to my life. I’ll leave you (and this topic) with an event that I need to replay for myself and the hobgoblins every so often:
I was in the first few years of my sobriety and seeing my first counselor (there have been many since). The counselor invited me to a Men’s Retreat taking place at his cabin in the Adirondacks. I arrived with fishing pole, hiking boots, and a good novel I’d recently started. I was looking forward to some “me time” in the woods. Within an hour of being at the cabin, the twelve men attending the event were all given notebooks and pens and asked to complete an assignment which we would then share out to each other. We needed to write out our own Eulogies. And within this writing, we needed to consider the following:
-What would your family say about the life you lived and the legacy you left?
-What would a coworker say were your biggest strengths and weaknesses?
-What would you say about yourself and how you want people to remember you?
I never got to read the novel that weekend. But I did download some vital information about the man I want to be and the legacy I want to leave. It’s a decent roadmap for my life and one that I need to consult every now and then. I won’t tell you what my answers were, but the scratch and sniff certificates aren’t mentioned at all…
Wow, powerful exercise, Brian. Might try that myself. Eulogies are tough. I love the one from Waking Ned Devine. Two stories come to mind as I read this. When dad told his buddies in the Navy he was getting married, they asked, How is that possible? You always work. His answer was, I met her at work! When he threw his back out, he wanted me to strap a board to the brake on the school bus, so he could reach it. While in England visiting relatives, they told me of a Durkin who was retired. He still wanted to go to the pub in the afternoon. However he was ashamed that he no longer worked, so put on his old work clothes for the pub. Lots of history there. Love
Wow, powerful exercise, Brian. Might try that myself. Eulogies are tough. I love the one from Waking Ned Devine. Two stories come to mind as I read this. When dad told his buddies in the Navy he was getting married, they asked, How is that possible? You always work. His answer was, I met her at work! When he threw his back out, he wanted me to strap a board to the brake on the school bus, so he could reach it. While in England visiting relatives, they told me of a Durkin who was retired. He still wanted to go to the pub in the afternoon. However he was ashamed that he no longer worked, so put on his old work clothes for the pub. Lots of history there. Love