Why do we do it: A response to Bukes.

Bukes asked, in response to a somewhat dour previous post, why we continue to toil in the fleshpots of metaphorical Madison Avenue.

Well, Bukes, I am old and I think you are young. So maybe my answers won’t apply to you. Nevertheless, I will do what I can to provide “illumination.”

We work—for idiots, inside of idiot systems—because there’s a natural human want to overcome things. None of us, even those who were born with a lot, have all the cards handed to us. Work is what we do to get more of those cards.

It’s how we provide.

How we are provided for.

How we prove ourselves.

How we define ourselves.

How we create.

How we think.

How we battle.

Make friends.

How we find laughter.

How we find ourselves.

Work is a place to go.

Work is people to be with.

Work is problems to solve.

Work is a force that gives us meaning.

Work has never been about pure and unvarnished happiness and fulfillment. In fact, true happiness comes not from accomplishment but in the struggle for accomplishment.

The fight.

Which means the losses.

Are as important as the wins.

Rare as they are.

Work isn’t something you should look at every day.

It’s something you should look at from a year’s distance.

Or a week’s.

Or five year’s.

Or in my case, 25 year’s.

What have you learned?

Who have you loved?

Who have you helped?
Who’s helped you?

What have you made?

What have you done?

These aren’t simple answers.

And the best laid plans of mice and copywriters are often skewered by the

petty,

the stupid,

the ego-driven,

the economy.

But that’s the point.

Who you become, who you are, is based on how you handle the downs.

How you take the hits.

How you keep on keeping on.

Work is worth it every day,

even those days when it’s not worth it.

Because work, if you’re working at it,

is what makes you a better person.