It is April 13th, 10:08 AM, writing from Budapest, and I was just thinking about the working life, and how it relates to my Substack publication, which is a massive reflection of my early working life. It occurred to me recently that all of the jobs and essays represented in that collection are experiences I had before the age of 26, 27.
And I would say that I wandered professionally for another five years, and then made the decision to make a big change in my life and pursue writing — and what does that even mean? But that’s another contemplation.
But in 2002, I quit the best paying job I’d ever had as an IT consultant in New York City, and I moved to Budapest. And this morning, I am waking up at a time when it’s an awesome time to be in Budapest. Having moved back here two and a half years ago, at a time when nobody thought anyone would be able to wrest power from Orbán Viktor. Everyone had a very dim view about that. And this morning we wake up and he’s gone, and there’s a springtime feeling of hope and relief that the winter is over.
But that’s not why I grabbed the mic and set it up to record.
I’ve just been thinking about work, and what it means to trade endeavor, capabilities, imagination, intellect, calories for the wherewithal to live. Because that’s what work is. It’s jumping into the fray, into the arena of our communal needs as a society and as a people, as a culture, and playing a role. And in exchange for that role, you get the means to live, which almost always means money. It takes currency to survive in the modern world. And so that is the exchange. That’s the contract we’ve arrived at: play a role, help the ship sail, and you too shall be rewarded with the wherewithal needed to live. Fine contract.
There’s nothing wrong with that. And it would be dishonest to think or even suggest that we are not a species inclined toward laziness. Idleness. We have tremendous capacities for producing, building, improving, creating.
Those two tendencies are on a fulcrum. And at the fulcrum point, one tiny step to either side enlivens an inclination toward that distal tendency. So the second we indulge our laziness, indulge our love of idleness and the time to relax, it’s pretty easy for our habits and routines to form in that direction.
So we need something to coax us back onto the other side of that fulcrum. Where we do produce and create and tap into our inner capabilities and skills and gifts, because everybody is wired differently.
And I believe in the realm of human endeavor, considering the individuals that we are, I don’t know if this is a part of some sort of cosmic design or if it’s just the way we’ve evolved, but not everybody has the same gift.
Some people can naturally cut into the human body and repair an organ and sew it back up without losing their lunch. Some people are uniquely capable of imparting knowledge to young people who would rather be outside on the playful side of the fulcrum, running around and making believe and playing.
Some people are leaders naturally inclined toward wrangling humans and bringing out the best of their capabilities toward some sort of common good, some sort of common goal. Everybody has a different gift, and when you blend up all these gifts and encourage everybody in the direction of their gift, I think we as a people, a community, a culture, a society — we’re elevated.
You turn everybody into a factory worker or a laborer and you’re gonna hit the glass ceiling of social evolution pretty quickly. And it’s drab. It’s a drab existence. And somehow this does touch on art, because those gifts I spoke of — making the perfect croissant, or you see those officers who get out and direct traffic with every bit of enthusiasm and grace and purpose as someone conducting an orchestra.
All of those things are people’s art.
It’s that thing you do that brings you joy, that almost seems effortless, that other people can’t imagine doing with the amount of fluidity that you do it, and whatever it is that you do, it brings some degree of ease, joy, purpose, healing to other people. That’s art. Art is not paintbrush on canvas or voice to microphone or pen to paper.
It’s those things too. But that’s a very limited view of what art is.
And when I reflect on my own journey and my working life, it was all about taking the steps that I needed to take to find my own art. It just so happened that it was writing and storytelling, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t know that for sure until my mid to late twenties. I had suspicions.
There was also the possibility that it was just a hobby? And that wasn’t how I was gonna make my way in the world. And I certainly would not have been able to imagine back then the life that I lead now, which is 90% storytelling. I love percentages and ratios and fractions. I don’t know why.
Stupid. It’s not stupid. Don’t use such negative self-talk. It’s funny though. I notice other people doing it. I’m like, yeah, I do that too.
But the majority of my work is storytelling.
I don’t know why I grabbed the mic today.
I just wanted to reflect on what all these little anecdotes about my working life tell me. What do they tell the world? I don’t know. Maybe that’s why I’m collecting them and putting them all in one place, so that maybe around this time next year — maybe April 13th, 2027 — I will stand back and look at the constellation of working tales and I will find some higher truth in it that you can be very certain I will share with you.
But until then, I’m gonna keep collecting them like little fragments of a puzzle. Snap ‘em into place. Actually, right now, I’m not even snapping ‘em into place, as you can see. I’m just dumping them on the table.
So that’s it. For now, that’s what I wanted to think about. So wherever you are, whoever you are, whenever you’re hearing this, whatever chair you’re sitting in or whatever ground you’re walking on, or whatever vehicle you’re operating — I hope you have a good day, a safe day, and I hope that you’re bringing your art to the world.
