Work as Life: How to Get New Answers to Old Questions

Sometimes we hear things from those we love and trust, and what we've heard becomes a fact without question when it truly was a lie. It's worse when the lie was never intended as a lie, but as a true belief passed on as training.

I've been haunted for years by one of my dad's oft-repeated old sayings when I was growing up:

There's no better way to kill time than work it to death.

I never questioned the truth of that statement. First, I love my dad. He's a really good man. Second, work is good. Third, work is what we're all about, right. Right?

We spend more time working than any other activity. Most of us sleep less than eight hours a night, yet we work more than eight hours per day. Our most important relationship is with those we love at home. Yet we spend most of our time, with colleagues who love us very little. And those at home (who love us most, remember?) get the tired, grumpy, raggedy remnants of the "best" self that we tried to be all day.

Work became something different for me about 10 years ago when, in one of the many heart-to-hearts between me and my oldest son when he was feeling his way through high school, he said, "Work is evil for you." Evil is a strong word, never to be taken lightly. At first, I thought maybe he was just angry because I didn't spend enough time with him. But he didn't seem angry. He was just telling me what he believed. He couldn't elaborate, but at 16, he opened a wound that didn't heal quickly. It festered for years as I thought about that: How could work be evil if my dad said it was the best way to kill time?

I was on the fast track in the newspaper business with a great job. As a young man, I had climbed much of the corporate ladder in a field that demanded 24 hour-a-day response. When my radio (before cell phone proliferation) crackled my name, or the phone rang, no matter what time, I had to respond. It didn't matter if I was celebrating a holiday or a child's birthday, I was on call.

But I had a good job. People respected me. I was providing for my family. I was living, and buying into, all three LIES. But as with most addictions -- and work was an addiction for me -- I hit a bottom.

Something had to change. Work wasn't the answer it once was. I changed careers and fields in an effort to control my workaholic ways. For a short time, things were better. But not for long. I discovered that I'd rather work than talk to most folks. And if I'm feeling blue, please give me a hard job to do so I don't have to feel it. Work became a great way to avoid myself.

I needed new answers. I had to throw out old rules that haunted me, and new insights that wounded me. I had to discover what work was to me. Answers came slowly.