Work = misery?

There's an essay circulating the blogosphere written by Linds Redding, an advertising executive in New Zealand who recently died of esophageal cancer at age 52. In his essay, "A Short Lesson in Perspective," Redding comes to the conclusion that he duped himself into believing that his work was more important than sleep, holidays, birthdays, school recitals and anniversary dinners.

It's the now-that-I'm-dying-I-realize-I-spent-too-much-time-at-the-office cautionary tale that seems to surface in the collective consciousness of the rat race Western world every few months or so, much like the recent article in The Guardian about a hospice nurse who wrote a book called the "Top Five Regrets of the Dying." The biggest regret, particularly among men, was missing out on watching their children grow up and spending QT with their wives because they were too busy working.

These articles always make me think about my relationship to work and whether it's true that we define ourselves too much by what we do. More specifically, I wonder whether I'm so busy "doing" that I'm not spending enough time "being." My answer is typically yes, although I've gotten much better at it in recent years, both by force and by choice.

I've always been good about taking vacations and spending time with family and friends. I've never understood coworkers who brag about working while in Florida at their cousin's wedding or never taking a day off. I don't think they're noble. I think they're stupid. (I'm still working on my issues with judgment.) It also bothers me when people can't seem to turn off their Blackberries during lunch. Are they really that important?

One thing that's helped cure me of my addiction to work is getting fired (that's the forced remediation part). Part of the reason I was fired from a job I loved four years ago was my passion for my work, which sometimes veered into self righteousness that wasn't appreciated by upper management (but should have been, dammit. I WAS WORKING SO HARD.)

I always thought that if I was really good at what I did, I would be valued. Not true. You have to be good at what you do and get along with people, especially those you consider impossible. They are the ones who will come back to bite you. And if you have to choose one: being good at what you do or getting along with people, you're better off getting along with people — a reality that perfectionists like me hate to face. Can't my work just speak for itself?

Getting fired has helped me tread more lightly in my current job and not care so much. I still strive for excellence but I'm not as intent on being right (which gets exhausting by the way). I shut down my computer by 6 p.m. and rarely check work email at home. I mean, it's not like I'm a doctor or IT support. What kind of writing emergency is going to happen?

Late nights at the office are also fewer and farther between, along with working on weekends, particularly now that I have a child. The other day I was sitting on the couch with my laptop doing something I'm sure was super important when Dave brought Owen in from taking his nap. Owen's cheeks were red from being smooshed into the mattress and he had that stunned I-just-woke-up-and-my-brain's-not-working-yet look on his face. I always smile when he looks like this because man, can I relate.

Dave put him down on his playmat and instead of ignoring Owen and letting him entertain himself like I sometimes do, I closed my laptop and stood up. I switched my iPod to my favorite pop songs and laid on the floor next to Owen. I took his arms and bopped them back and forth to "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen and "We Found Love" by Rihanna. I put my hands under his hips and jiggled them up and down to the beat of "Payphone" by Maroon 5.

Owen giggled and smiled, even as I sang to him that "We are never, ever, ever getting back together" along with Taylor Swift. It was the most fun I'd had in weeks.

Disconnecting from work and being in the moment like this is not something I'm always willing or able to do. That's another thing I've learned about "being" vs. "doing." It's a process. Sometimes I'd rather stay immersed in some project than play with Owen. And that's okay. The more I notice and accept the fact that I'm caught up in the compulsion to do at the expense of the ability to be, the more I want to play with Owen later. The human psyche is funny that way.

Another point that I appreciated in Redding's essay is his discussion of how the Internet age has sped up the turnaround time in the advertising industry so much that he and his colleagues no longer had the luxury of sleeping on an idea. As a consequence, they became more conservative. Without the time to let inspiration marinate into innovation, they stopped taking creative risks and fell back on tried and true techniques. It perfectly illustrates the cost of "doing" at the expense of "being."

This is my favorite part:

The trick to being truly creative, I’ve always maintained, is to be completely unselfconscious. To resist the urge to self-censor. To not-give-a-shit what anybody thinks. That’s why children are so good at it. And why people with Volkswagens, and mortgages, Personal Equity Plans and matching Lois Vuitton luggage are not. It takes a certain amount of courage, thinking out loud. And is best done in a safe and nurturing environment. Creative departments and design studios used to be such places, where you could say and do just about anything creatively speaking, without fear of ridicule or judgment. It has to be this way, or you will just close up like a clam shell. It’s like trying to have sex with your mum listening outside the bedroom door.

Forget the fact that I have both a Volkswagen and a mortgage, I laughed aloud at the part about having sex with your mom outside the bedroom door. Talk about inspiring nothing but inhibition. In my quest to become better at "being," there's a safe and nurturing place I go every Wednesday night where I can speak freely without fear of ridicule or judgment (okay, sometimes we judge each other a little).

If you don't have such a place, go find one. Otherwise you'll end up having to write your own now-that-I'm-dying-I-realize-I-spent-too-much-time-at-the-office essay.