This is an excellent piece Dr. Hall. Treating all work and the people who do it with respect is essential to living in a civil society and those who deserve the most respect are the ones who do the jobs that we won't.
Two thoughts come to mind after reading this thoughtful piece.
First, I feel bad for folks who don't enjoy getting their hands dirty. That feeling may be misplaced if their joy is felt elsewhere - like in some artful expression. Or a scientific pursuit. All work that is productive, exploratory or even generous should be honored.
One of my greatest joys is to get on my hands and knees to plant. Getting dirt (soil) under my fingernails is top of list fun. And I get to cook and eat the results. We currently are in week three of our annual asparagus festival. We planted four beds of this Earth's Treasure in 2019 and 2020. We have three more weeks of culinary heaven. The beds are now so productive, we get to share the bounty. Giving food to friends and neighbors is almost as rewarding as getting dirty.
The second thought is that I do love the word "honor" when it comes to work. For our society to function properly we NEED people to do all manner of jobs.
A cashier and bagger at a grocery store. Do we think of them as automatons or people? Do we appreciate them with friendly conversation or take them for granted?
The guy (always a guy) who picks up our trash. Drives, stops, jumps out of the truck, opens a stinky barrel, dumps it into the back of an even stinkier truck. Pulls a lever and the compactor squeezes even more odor into the air around him. Jumps back into the truck, drives, stops - what horrors of olfactory assault will be next? How do we view him?
People who do tedious, repetitive and often "dirty" work deserve our respect. And they also deserve a decent salary, housing, clean water, good food, health care and education for themselves and their kids.
Yet, too many of us take these essential workers for granted.
All work is more than valuable. It is what holds our "village" together. We need that cashier and that trash hauler just like we need a banker or an accountant.
My fear is that we are creating a new feudalism that worships wealth and deprives most people of it. Elon Musk is not more important than the guy who works on that stinky truck. How would life on Jeff Bezos yacht be if nobody cleaned the head?
So Dr. Hall, the feelings you have stimulated in me with your fine letter are appreciation and irritation. Empathy and distress with how so many of us take "work" for granted.
Where are our spiritual leaders in this discussion? Why are the people on so many pulpits spewing hate, fear and jealousy - when the tradition was to spread love? It's as if there is an infection. A plague.
Well done Bill. I note for the record that our trash guy no longer has to jump out at every stop because his truck is equipped with a robotic arm that picks up the cans and dumps them. This gives him enough time to occasionally chat with customers and scratch their dogs. Those who take time to do this find out that he's a really nice guy and has dogs of his own.
I should have paid more attention in school, or at least when I proof read. I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't have a handle on the English language: grammar, spelling, and punctuation. I cain speek it awright but when it comes to putting it in readable form I question myself, and ask, "self; WTF is wrong with you?" And self, he don't say nuthin'. And then he turns around and says, "Foolish fool, it's 3:31 am. Get off the computer."
Dancing in the Moonlight. I had to look up the name of the band that sang that. I didn't know who they were, but I know the song.
Norman Grantz was producing Joe Pass. Joe played a song, soloed, and took it out. Afterward, he said to Grantz, "I want to do it over." Norman replied, "Why, do you want to get it right?"
I want to get it right, when getting it right means that I've said what I've wanted to say and in the way that I wanted to say it. Other than that, no. If the meaning that I intended comes across, I'm pleased. "One never knows, do one?"
Thank you. I don't doubt my ability to write poems. I have a book full of them. Some of them, over time, get edited and clarified. I like to keep it tight, sharp, funny, and occaisonally, illuminating to me.
Deborah, thank you for your insightful comments about work. I agree with you that whatever one does, what is most important is loving your work.
I really loved my work as a university professor —- both teaching and research were wonderful for me.
But regarding your question of what kind of work we would love to do: Although I have written many academic articles and two academic books, what I would really love to do now is write a novel —- a work of fiction woven out of my own imagination. The problem is that I am so busy that I can’t find the time to do it now. However hopefully someday I will have more time, because my novel’s characters and even their names are already living in my imagination.
Thanks for encouraging me to write my novel. But although I appreciate your suggestion that I use my cell phone to record little chunks of it, when can I find the time to put them together into a novel?
The problem for me is that the older I get, the less time I have.
I know someone who turns fallen trees into practical art. He accepts its gift of life and gives it another one. We should all be so lucky as a fallen tree.
Its grain flows where it has to, in its struggle for survival, and its lifeblood has a distinctive aroma in which most H. sapiens find pleasure.
In his hand, with the help of machinery and creativity, trials and errors, and tried and true experience, he makes a family dinner table, or a multi-generational dresser that will move forward in time after he doesn't.
He doesn't sell it. He puts himself into it and in turn, loses himself. Losing oneself into art and work is its own reward that money can not hope to replace.
Losing oneself in work is a singular mystery of our consciousness that makes us feel beyond our grasp. This work is sublime.
The word has mixed meanings, both good and not so good.
Good work is different than work. A lotta work may not be so good.
Constructive activity that allows you to forget yourself seems like a good definition for good work. But there's not a word for that kind of work, is there?
"In the moment" work. That's closer to my meaning. Washing dishes... in warm, soapy, water, rinsing them clean, and adoring the shine. Now, you put them away and leave a cleared counter top, turn out the lights, and you're ready to serve another meal, later. It's poetry, really, isn't it? It's beautiful, poetic work that helps you close and open a door for one of the nice parts of life - eating a nice meal. Is washing dishes like this, work? Nah. But it can be.
I did a lot of things in my professional life, and looking back several made me proud. My 14 years as a teacher was work I believe to be notable and worthy.
But all of that pales in comparison to the pride I took (and still take) in being a good father to my three sons. Not even close.
I truly envy those whose work was/is their passion. My work was a compromise. I did it well enough and took some pride in it, but it was a marriage of convenience. I was raised to value having a stable job above all else. Work was what you endure to be able to do a few things you enjoy later in life. I kept my head down and plowed through for 32 years catching what joy I could along the way. I was raised by parents who dropped out of high school and my grandparents had come through the depression. A job was important. I still find it difficult to do things I love even though I have the time and the means. A sense if obligation rules me. I had no problem leaving my work and retiring, my career and I had a transactional arrangement. My biggest struggle now is what to do with the freedom and time I now have.
One summer when I was 16, I was flown from L.A. to Detroit, then driven up to the Canadian side of Lake Ontario, onto an island where my uncle had a summer home, to celebrate my cousin's Bar Mitzvah. I was give the keys to my uncle's Cadilac and drove my cousin all around the island. it was my first experience of real luxery and I was enjoying it. One afternoon, my uncle told me that he'd pay for my college education anywhere in the world if I wanted to become a dr. or a lawyer. Then he asked me what I wanted to do? I told him that I wanted to be a musician, He said, "Musicians are bums." End of conversation. I spent the next 60 yrs. as a musician. My father told me at age 18, that since I couldn't do anything, I should make a career out the army. Same responce, same result. The late UCLA basketball coach, John Wooden, said; "Failing to prepare, is preparing to fail." I prepared, I succeeded. One of the biggest tradjedies is not following your dreams. As always, you inspire me to remember how I got here. Thank you.
You’ve got us thinking again! At this stage of my life I’m not looking to di something new, but rather to continue to do what I love best. My mother was never proud of my choices because they weren’t her own. The validation I received of being a good and worthwhile person came from our military when I started to send care packages overseas during the war. A package received from a total stranger holds a special meaning and invaluable importance for morale, and it makes you feel like a good and caring human being. I still send a couple of boxes a month, so I can continue to feel good about myself. My other love is being in the garden surrounded by beautiful flowers. That makes me feel good about being alive, something that’s been missing in this house I’m living in that I hope to correct soon.
This is an excellent piece Dr. Hall. Treating all work and the people who do it with respect is essential to living in a civil society and those who deserve the most respect are the ones who do the jobs that we won't.
I am learning from you, Dave
That is a profound
and deeply moving insight.
You have the heart
of a servant leader.
Thank you Deborah. To the extent that I was effective as a manager, that's a big part of the reason.
Two thoughts come to mind after reading this thoughtful piece.
First, I feel bad for folks who don't enjoy getting their hands dirty. That feeling may be misplaced if their joy is felt elsewhere - like in some artful expression. Or a scientific pursuit. All work that is productive, exploratory or even generous should be honored.
One of my greatest joys is to get on my hands and knees to plant. Getting dirt (soil) under my fingernails is top of list fun. And I get to cook and eat the results. We currently are in week three of our annual asparagus festival. We planted four beds of this Earth's Treasure in 2019 and 2020. We have three more weeks of culinary heaven. The beds are now so productive, we get to share the bounty. Giving food to friends and neighbors is almost as rewarding as getting dirty.
The second thought is that I do love the word "honor" when it comes to work. For our society to function properly we NEED people to do all manner of jobs.
A cashier and bagger at a grocery store. Do we think of them as automatons or people? Do we appreciate them with friendly conversation or take them for granted?
The guy (always a guy) who picks up our trash. Drives, stops, jumps out of the truck, opens a stinky barrel, dumps it into the back of an even stinkier truck. Pulls a lever and the compactor squeezes even more odor into the air around him. Jumps back into the truck, drives, stops - what horrors of olfactory assault will be next? How do we view him?
People who do tedious, repetitive and often "dirty" work deserve our respect. And they also deserve a decent salary, housing, clean water, good food, health care and education for themselves and their kids.
Yet, too many of us take these essential workers for granted.
All work is more than valuable. It is what holds our "village" together. We need that cashier and that trash hauler just like we need a banker or an accountant.
My fear is that we are creating a new feudalism that worships wealth and deprives most people of it. Elon Musk is not more important than the guy who works on that stinky truck. How would life on Jeff Bezos yacht be if nobody cleaned the head?
So Dr. Hall, the feelings you have stimulated in me with your fine letter are appreciation and irritation. Empathy and distress with how so many of us take "work" for granted.
Where are our spiritual leaders in this discussion? Why are the people on so many pulpits spewing hate, fear and jealousy - when the tradition was to spread love? It's as if there is an infection. A plague.
Well done Bill. I note for the record that our trash guy no longer has to jump out at every stop because his truck is equipped with a robotic arm that picks up the cans and dumps them. This gives him enough time to occasionally chat with customers and scratch their dogs. Those who take time to do this find out that he's a really nice guy and has dogs of his own.
Bill,
Thank you for your passionate
and loving call.
You stand up for honor
and stand in strongly
for our missing spiritual leaders.
They are AWOL
at this crucial time in our history.
There is only silence
in the center
and in the pulpits.
Extremists on both sides
spread lies and calumny
about all the crucial questions.
Indeed, Bill,
there is a plague afoot in our land.
Camus wrote about it
in his novel The Plague
I call it malignancy.
In our America at this time
malignancy is growing on the right
but also on the left,
much of it in reaction to the right.
Each side sees the disease
only in the other side.
Each side believes the other half
of the population
is their mortal enemy.
And that they must not only be defeated
but destroyed.
We are in the prelude
of an ideologically based war
very much like
the Spanish Civil War.
Both sides there-- right and left--- committed horrendous atrocities
as they killed off
thousands and thousands
of their neighbors.
whose views were different
from their own.
Here, Red versus Blue
is quickly moving toward
that same fight to the death
over who defines America
and the core questions of life.
I truly hope I am paranoid
in thinking a bloody national rampage
is gathering steam.
I pray it is a figment of my imagination.
If it is, I will never in my life
be so glad to be wrong.
I should have paid more attention in school, or at least when I proof read. I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't have a handle on the English language: grammar, spelling, and punctuation. I cain speek it awright but when it comes to putting it in readable form I question myself, and ask, "self; WTF is wrong with you?" And self, he don't say nuthin'. And then he turns around and says, "Foolish fool, it's 3:31 am. Get off the computer."
the beauty of it, geo,
is.here we immerse ourselves
in meaning
undeterred by form
we savor the unique language
and ideas of our fellows
as we play fast and loose
with grammar syntax spacing cadence
riffing to our hearts' content
like a band of feral gypsies
dancing in the moonlight 🌙
Dancing in the Moonlight. I had to look up the name of the band that sang that. I didn't know who they were, but I know the song.
Norman Grantz was producing Joe Pass. Joe played a song, soloed, and took it out. Afterward, he said to Grantz, "I want to do it over." Norman replied, "Why, do you want to get it right?"
I want to get it right, when getting it right means that I've said what I've wanted to say and in the way that I wanted to say it. Other than that, no. If the meaning that I intended comes across, I'm pleased. "One never knows, do one?"
For $1US: Why am I still on the computer?
Why are you still in the computer?
Because I have a surprise for you. You are a poet.
You wrote an excellent poem
earlier ( scroll down to find it.)
It begins:
"on the days"
and ends
"bugs to eat."
a perfect
sublime poem
Don't bother trying to refute me.
I know a fine poem
when I read one.
Read it yourself, man.
Copy it into a book file
and allow your lovely words
to start emerging
from your soul.
Now I bid you good night.
You have no further reason
to stay on the computer tonight.
Consider the $1 you now pay me
to be paid back to you
for your fine poem.
That makes your poetic calling
tangible and irrefutable.
Thank you. I don't doubt my ability to write poems. I have a book full of them. Some of them, over time, get edited and clarified. I like to keep it tight, sharp, funny, and occaisonally, illuminating to me.
Good night.
Geo.
Hahahahaha!!!
55555
You got ME!!!
You flew under my radar!!!
(But not for long:)
Bless my soul
this is fantastic.
Good night.
Doc.
Deborah, thank you for your insightful comments about work. I agree with you that whatever one does, what is most important is loving your work.
I really loved my work as a university professor —- both teaching and research were wonderful for me.
But regarding your question of what kind of work we would love to do: Although I have written many academic articles and two academic books, what I would really love to do now is write a novel —- a work of fiction woven out of my own imagination. The problem is that I am so busy that I can’t find the time to do it now. However hopefully someday I will have more time, because my novel’s characters and even their names are already living in my imagination.
A novel!
How fascinating, Patricia!
Your novel is so determined to be born
that it is already coming to life
in your imagination!
Just a thought--
if a scene sometimes comes to mind
in the midst of a busy day--
you could just briefly speak it
into a cell phone recorder/transcriber.
This way you wouldn't miss
moments of inspiration.
You could later pool and revise
your little "chunks" and watch them grow.
My brother, Tim Hall, a civil rights worker
who risked his life in the South in the 60's,
recently completed a quartet
of semi-autobiographical novels
called John Brown's Children
that he is now publishing on his Substack
in written and audio form.
I was the midwife during
the six year birth of his books.
Read every paragraph as it emerged
and kept him moving steadily ahead.
I love to encourage writers.
You can DO this, Patricia!
Thanks for encouraging me to write my novel. But although I appreciate your suggestion that I use my cell phone to record little chunks of it, when can I find the time to put them together into a novel?
The problem for me is that the older I get, the less time I have.
Deborah, great piece!
"All honest work is worthy" - yes indeed.
Sometimes, some type of work are under appreciated until they are left undone.
Everybody contributes to making our system function.
Nobody's work is the most important of all because it can't be done in isolation!
I'd love to be a pilot for a day or week but there's a high barrier to entry for this type of work. 😃
Olusegun,
Thank you for the valuable insights you add.
How under appreciated some types of work are
"until they are left undone."
I am laughing
but this is so true.
The classic example is the so called
"stay at home Mom" who "isn't working" :)
All it takes to dispel this illusion
is one day of the husband
staying home to look after the kids :):)
The heroic full time
plus overtime work of the wife
is suddenly seen and appreciated.
And yes also to your point that
"Nobody's work is the most important of all
because it can't be done in isolation!"
Being such a loner and individualist,
I didn't think of that reality.
But maybe it's the ultimate reason
why nobody's work is superior.
Kind of like the human body:
Is the eye superior to the arm?
No, we are all one interdependent body
physically and as a society.
PS I can see you piloting your jet
all around the world!
Yes!!!! 🤣
Time has taught me to follow my heart but balance it with my head.
Steven,
That is a beautiful lesson
that time has taught you.
Achieving this vital balance
does take time and care.
Your thoughtful and gentle words
in all you write
illustrate your good heart leading
and your good head
providing harmonious support!
I know someone who turns fallen trees into practical art. He accepts its gift of life and gives it another one. We should all be so lucky as a fallen tree.
Its grain flows where it has to, in its struggle for survival, and its lifeblood has a distinctive aroma in which most H. sapiens find pleasure.
In his hand, with the help of machinery and creativity, trials and errors, and tried and true experience, he makes a family dinner table, or a multi-generational dresser that will move forward in time after he doesn't.
He doesn't sell it. He puts himself into it and in turn, loses himself. Losing oneself into art and work is its own reward that money can not hope to replace.
Losing oneself in work is a singular mystery of our consciousness that makes us feel beyond our grasp. This work is sublime.
I am moved by your ode
to the sublime work of this man
who channels forward the gift of life
through transforming a fallen tree
into an immortal and beloved creation.
Yes
to do such work
is indeed "a singular mystery
of our consciousness
that makes us feel beyond our grasp."
Emerson in his profound essay The Poet
describes the work of the poet:
"Genius is the activity
which repairs the decays of things...
the melodies of the poet ascend and leap,
and pierce into the deeps of infinite time."
As you say:
"We should all be so lucky as a fallen tree."
Work...
The word has mixed meanings, both good and not so good.
Good work is different than work. A lotta work may not be so good.
Constructive activity that allows you to forget yourself seems like a good definition for good work. But there's not a word for that kind of work, is there?
"In the moment" work. That's closer to my meaning. Washing dishes... in warm, soapy, water, rinsing them clean, and adoring the shine. Now, you put them away and leave a cleared counter top, turn out the lights, and you're ready to serve another meal, later. It's poetry, really, isn't it? It's beautiful, poetic work that helps you close and open a door for one of the nice parts of life - eating a nice meal. Is washing dishes like this, work? Nah. But it can be.
It doesn't have to be...
Ah, different meanings of work
I had not seen!
So good to see you, B,
and hear your original thoughts.
I have missed you,
our philosopher
who sees poetry
invisible to others.
Yes, doing the dishes can be
beautiful, poetic work.
My hands can't bear to wear gloves.
I would miss the pleasures you extol.
Can abide no roaring dishwasher either.
With hands it is a lovely renewal
gently and quietly accomplished,
clearing the deck
for what comes next!
I did a lot of things in my professional life, and looking back several made me proud. My 14 years as a teacher was work I believe to be notable and worthy.
But all of that pales in comparison to the pride I took (and still take) in being a good father to my three sons. Not even close.
Jim,
It is moving to hear and to feel your deep pride
in being a good father to your three sons.
Congratulations on your ongoing labor of love.
I am thinking that your gifts as a teacher
must have been nurtured
and developed through raising them.
What a joy!
And it all comes with you into your new stage of life.
You are living the meaning of Forever Young.
I truly envy those whose work was/is their passion. My work was a compromise. I did it well enough and took some pride in it, but it was a marriage of convenience. I was raised to value having a stable job above all else. Work was what you endure to be able to do a few things you enjoy later in life. I kept my head down and plowed through for 32 years catching what joy I could along the way. I was raised by parents who dropped out of high school and my grandparents had come through the depression. A job was important. I still find it difficult to do things I love even though I have the time and the means. A sense if obligation rules me. I had no problem leaving my work and retiring, my career and I had a transactional arrangement. My biggest struggle now is what to do with the freedom and time I now have.
Fred,
You are so blessed to have
the freedom
the time
and the resources
to do what you love.
But I hear you
that this is your biggest struggle:
you find it difficult to DO the things you love.
"A sense of obligation rules me."
Yes. You are correct. At this point, it does.
But allow me to ask:
Obligation to what?
Obligation to whom?
It most certainly is not to YOU.
To your freedom and your joy
(which is your TRUE obligation.)
Back in the day
the United Empire Loyalists
were ruled by a sense of obligation.
Obligation to the King of England.
I'm serious!
They felt OBLIGATED to serve
and stay under the rule
of the potentate who was enslaving them!
They willingly submitted to their own servitude.
They never ALLOWED themselves
to be free.
By contrast,
our courageous forebears the Revolutionaries said:
The hell with THIS!!!
We HAVE no obligation to a despot!!!
The parallel here is:
it is your inner despot (sadistic superego)
that will not ALLOW your ego to be free.
You are not being ALLOWED to enjoy your freedom.
To search for and find your joys and passions
and do what you love.
Revolution is called for.
The days of ego submission will cease
when you continually challenge your own surrender:
"Why do I submit to the inner tyrant's ridiculous command:
YOU SHALL NOT DO WHAT YOU LOVE!"
This pathetic and futile dictum
shall be nailed to the wall of the museum.
One summer when I was 16, I was flown from L.A. to Detroit, then driven up to the Canadian side of Lake Ontario, onto an island where my uncle had a summer home, to celebrate my cousin's Bar Mitzvah. I was give the keys to my uncle's Cadilac and drove my cousin all around the island. it was my first experience of real luxery and I was enjoying it. One afternoon, my uncle told me that he'd pay for my college education anywhere in the world if I wanted to become a dr. or a lawyer. Then he asked me what I wanted to do? I told him that I wanted to be a musician, He said, "Musicians are bums." End of conversation. I spent the next 60 yrs. as a musician. My father told me at age 18, that since I couldn't do anything, I should make a career out the army. Same responce, same result. The late UCLA basketball coach, John Wooden, said; "Failing to prepare, is preparing to fail." I prepared, I succeeded. One of the biggest tradjedies is not following your dreams. As always, you inspire me to remember how I got here. Thank you.
you inspire me, geo,
by telling me the story
of how you GOT here
I love your story
you were handed the keys to the Caddy
...both literally and figuratively...
but you wouldn't sell your soul
for them
you kept your soul
you kept your freedom
you kept your dream
of being a musician
you prepared
and you succeeded
you and your beloved gifted pal David
("I'm far too interesting a person to ever get bored")
had the time of your lives for decades
(are you SURE he's NOT Jewish???
the dude is a mensch)
and here you are today
alive and well
and untrammeled as ever
you rock, geo
If you don't stop, I'll fall in love.
Thank you for responding.
I never know what anyone's response to my posts will be. I write with fear and intrepidation.
You are a rare gem.
I live for this, geo.
Real communication
with real people.
I am bold and direct
and--like you--
never know how people will respond
to me and my ideas.
I am honored that you read me
and share your inner world with me.
Don't worry about falling in love.
Men do, because I love men and they know it.
It does no harm to anyone.
I am like the woman on the mast of the ship.
All the sailors are in love with her
as she leads them home to their wives.
That's better than the Sirens on the rocks leading Odyseus to his potential doom.
On the days when I can't find the words,
I sit and look out the window,
waiting for the wind
to shake the words
out of the trees,
and the tiny grey birds
with pale red heads
to bring them to me
when they fly into the yard
looking for bugs to eat.
You’ve got us thinking again! At this stage of my life I’m not looking to di something new, but rather to continue to do what I love best. My mother was never proud of my choices because they weren’t her own. The validation I received of being a good and worthwhile person came from our military when I started to send care packages overseas during the war. A package received from a total stranger holds a special meaning and invaluable importance for morale, and it makes you feel like a good and caring human being. I still send a couple of boxes a month, so I can continue to feel good about myself. My other love is being in the garden surrounded by beautiful flowers. That makes me feel good about being alive, something that’s been missing in this house I’m living in that I hope to correct soon.
O Joanne,
Your giving heart is reviving
as you send your caring packages full of love
and tend all your beautiful flowers
surrounding you in your garden.
How wonderful that you are resuming
feeling good about being alive!
Your brave resurrection inspires others
who see you, know you,
or read about you here.
We are with you, dear Joanne,
and we are so proud of you.
Beautiful post, Dr Hall.
Thank you, Sam.
That is always
where I am aiming,
and it is so encouraging
to hear you say I got there.