"Crap Jobs" and Surfing
Recently the New York Times published an article titled The Surfer's Secret to Happiness. Nice article that fits well with my last blog post about The Magic Mountain in that it talks about the opportunities that come with acquiring a disability. The writer watches surfers and recognizes how little time they spend shooting down the wave face compared to waiting for a wave, paddling in and out, living their lives off the water and working at their "crap jobs" which they did just to support their real job which was surfing. And that is where in the article that I realized the author hadn't really learned the surfer lesson.
Forget surfers for a moment. We'll get back to them. First, there are no "crap jobs". Our human life, especially in cities, is so complex, it requires a huge variety of tasks to maintain our stable existence. Picking up garbage, cleaning sewers, selling insurance, baristaring, responding to the complaint hotline, making robo-calls, are all jobs with a purpose that support our way of life. You might not choose one for yourself if you are picky enough to be able to choose, but once you are there, among the other workers, doing your job, talking, complaining, and getting your paycheck at the end of the week, would you think of yourself working at a "crap job"? In my opinion, not if you're a surfer.
Even though I'm not a surfer I like to think of myself as one. Riding the waves of life's changes, up and down, until suddenly a big event comes and I participate by shooting down the face, keeping my balance, spray in my face, and then cutting up the face and onto the back side to sit down on my board and paddle out to wait for the next one. The ocean stretching out before me to the horizon and beach to my back, I feel in harmony with the world. Work is part of riding the board.
When I was in college I always worked summers to earn money for the next school year. Some jobs required crawling on my hands and knees through the dirt of crawlspaces under buildings, wiping the cobwebs off my face and rodent feces off my knees. Some involved using headache producing chemicals. Another almost got me killed as we circled a ship that was at risk of sinking during a typhoon off the coast of Japan. A second one almost got me killed as my side-cutters bit into a 440 volt line that was supposed to be dead, as I stood on top of a fourteen foot ladder. The spark melted the pliers and I was unharmed. Were these "crap jobs"? The term never crossed my mind. To me they were education and experience that allowed me the privilege of going to college.
The first time I heard the term "crap job" was out of the mouth of a young woman destined to be incarcerated for methamphetamine trafficking. Is methamphetamine trafficking a "crap job"? For unhappy people every job is a "crap job" because their lives are unfulfilled.
I'm sure that if someone did a scientific survey of the attitudes of surfers they would be a mixed group, which included some curmudgeons. But I am not talking science here. I am talking about the societal myth of the surfer ethos. Surfers epitomize fulfillment because their chosen avocation requires they live in harmony with nature, with the environment of their actions. They know that waiting is part of the game and that wipe-outs are inevitable. And after each ride they get back out there and wait for the next one, peacefully, unless someone is intruding on their turf. But lets ignore that southern California hassle and assume that even intruders are part of the challenge of riding. So, with all the caveats in mind, I try to surf every day by catching at least one good wave every day. And when the last big wipe-out comes, I will know that it is just part of the game. And remember: there are no "crap jobs" if you're a surfer.
Forget surfers for a moment. We'll get back to them. First, there are no "crap jobs". Our human life, especially in cities, is so complex, it requires a huge variety of tasks to maintain our stable existence. Picking up garbage, cleaning sewers, selling insurance, baristaring, responding to the complaint hotline, making robo-calls, are all jobs with a purpose that support our way of life. You might not choose one for yourself if you are picky enough to be able to choose, but once you are there, among the other workers, doing your job, talking, complaining, and getting your paycheck at the end of the week, would you think of yourself working at a "crap job"? In my opinion, not if you're a surfer.
Even though I'm not a surfer I like to think of myself as one. Riding the waves of life's changes, up and down, until suddenly a big event comes and I participate by shooting down the face, keeping my balance, spray in my face, and then cutting up the face and onto the back side to sit down on my board and paddle out to wait for the next one. The ocean stretching out before me to the horizon and beach to my back, I feel in harmony with the world. Work is part of riding the board.
When I was in college I always worked summers to earn money for the next school year. Some jobs required crawling on my hands and knees through the dirt of crawlspaces under buildings, wiping the cobwebs off my face and rodent feces off my knees. Some involved using headache producing chemicals. Another almost got me killed as we circled a ship that was at risk of sinking during a typhoon off the coast of Japan. A second one almost got me killed as my side-cutters bit into a 440 volt line that was supposed to be dead, as I stood on top of a fourteen foot ladder. The spark melted the pliers and I was unharmed. Were these "crap jobs"? The term never crossed my mind. To me they were education and experience that allowed me the privilege of going to college.
The first time I heard the term "crap job" was out of the mouth of a young woman destined to be incarcerated for methamphetamine trafficking. Is methamphetamine trafficking a "crap job"? For unhappy people every job is a "crap job" because their lives are unfulfilled.
I'm sure that if someone did a scientific survey of the attitudes of surfers they would be a mixed group, which included some curmudgeons. But I am not talking science here. I am talking about the societal myth of the surfer ethos. Surfers epitomize fulfillment because their chosen avocation requires they live in harmony with nature, with the environment of their actions. They know that waiting is part of the game and that wipe-outs are inevitable. And after each ride they get back out there and wait for the next one, peacefully, unless someone is intruding on their turf. But lets ignore that southern California hassle and assume that even intruders are part of the challenge of riding. So, with all the caveats in mind, I try to surf every day by catching at least one good wave every day. And when the last big wipe-out comes, I will know that it is just part of the game. And remember: there are no "crap jobs" if you're a surfer.
'Like you countering the giant New York Times with, "there are no crap jobs"... Brave. You had scary encounters in early progression of jobs! Lots of strong analogies for us to visualize as we surf.
ReplyDelete