I Work, Therefore, I Am: An Insider's Look at Unemployment, Underemployment, and Identity (Part 3 of 3)

by Emily Walls

If you missed them, here are Parts One and Two.

Employment: I'm Somebody now. (The new phone books are here! The new phone books are here!)

When it arrives, gainful employment usually greets you with a slap in the face. You may have been searching for it for months, years maybe, but when it comes, it most often finds you. Employment plays one sadistic game of hide and seek.

Here's Jobby?

The good jobs I've gotten have most often come at recommendations from friends, and the companies have asked me to apply. Never mind that for a year straight I've been frantically sending resumes to every business that has ever been, only to receive polite, grossly delayed, negative responses.

I've also noticed that employment often brings its friends. Three opportunities will arrive simultaneously, precisely when I've given up all hope, because that's how the universe works.

On occasion, employment requires a terrifying leap of faith. A year ago, Jonny and I had to decide if we were going to stay in Oregon or move to California. If we were to stay, I would continue to work a steady job for a solid company where I might eventually get promoted. Jonny, on the other hand, had few prospects in media and no opportunities in film. If we were to move to California, we would have to move for the fourth time in our 1 1/2 year marriage, start with nothing (again), and pay the first month's rent without knowing how we were going to pay the second. On the other hand, we would be in the midst of the film industry. We moved. I cannot yet say we made a smart fiscal decision, but I can report that we have not repented. Our future is wide open now, and even if we bust, we'll never have to wonder "what if?" We made it through the first months, and we're continuing to make it now. Hopefully, we'll be ok tomorrow, too.

When the work comes, the payoff is glorious. It means haircuts and doctor visits, shopping trips and restaurants. It is a giant sigh of relief. I remember so well the day after my dad got his first job out of seminary. He had been in school for four years while simultaneously sending my older sister through college. My dad was unable to work much in those years, certainly nothing full time, so my mom supported us all through her teaching job. Let's review: one 6th grade teacher, two students in higher education, two teenagers. My sister got married during that time, so for good measure, let's throw a wedding into the mix, as well. Those four years were slim in the Jones household, but we held together. The day after my dad was offered his job (a good one), my mom took me shopping for clothes. I remember her joy at being able to give me what she had been unable to up to that point. We went to the shoe section in a department store, and there were two pairs of heels that I admired. I couldn't decide which one I liked better, so my mom said, "We'll take them both." I looked at the price tags with wide eyes, looked back at her in disbelief, and saw that she had the most enormous grin on her face.

When you're employed, you give the parties. You start the day with neither shame nor guilt, and you sleep peacefully at night. You do, therefore, you are. You have made it!

Haven't you?

Employment and Identity: Who am I really?

By our very natures, we humans identify ourselves by our modifiers, e.g. I am mother, I am student, I am serial killer. Sometimes the modifiers are formal: Prince John, President Truman, Captain Crunch. Sometimes they are informal: Single, white female seeks married, albino transsexual.

We take the Myers-Briggs and buy J. Crew and read Dickens, and we tell everyone, "I am a well-dressed, well-read ENFP. What do you think of me?"

Far too often, we treat employment as the holy grail of modifiers. It moves beyond something we do to meet our physical needs and engage in humanity and creation; instead, it becomes our definition. If we fall to this fatal misconception, we spend our lives discontented by the unattained dream, absurdly prideful and protective of the realized profession, or devastated by loss of work. When we equate employment with identity, we build our houses atop fault lines. Inevitably, the houses collapse, and we are utterly destroyed.

I believe it is important to choose a profession carefully and to cultivate skills constantly. I believe integrity and enthusiasm are vital for every position--even menial, mechanical tasks--and grumbling does not belong in the workplace. I believe co-workers and clients should be treated with dignity. Mostly, I believe that profession is just another modifier, and while it forms part of our picture, it is not the paint.

I could easily lose a few modifiers tomorrow. Emily Walls: Proofreader. Yes, that could go. Emily Walls: pianist. Yep, I could lose my fingers or memory. Emily Walls: Jonny's wife. Death is inevitable for us both. Ultimately, I have one modifier that is eternal, and it is the very simple Emily the Daughter. My name is engraved on the palms of one who defines himself only as "I Am." Whether I am wildly successful by profession or not, in the end, I can only say, "I am with Him." That is enough.