I set out to publish this post at the end of a two-month work hiatus that gave me a lot of free time to think about the place of work in my life. After a period in which I felt that work had taken over not only every moment of my life, but worse, most parts of my being, I had grand visions of all the books I would read, articles I would write, exhibitions I would visit and exercise I would do, once freed from nine-to-infinity hours. The day finally came and … I did hardly any of it. I didn’t anticipate that I would rather sleep 10 hours every night (by the end of the two months, I literally had backaches from sleeping so much) and that it would take me hours to have breakfast, get myself ready and go to the gym without the pressure of a commuter train to catch.
For a while I think that’s what I needed. But then the suspicion slowly crept in that some external structure and limits on my time, could actually help me do the things I truly aspired to do. I guess the completion of this article is the final proof of the power of limitations as it comes about after my return to work, albeit with some adjustments.
Looking back on it with the gift of hindsight, I am puzzled that it has taken me so long to realise what works (ha!) best for me.
1999
It’s the summer before I start primary school. I wander past the kindergarten sandpits that I am about to leave behind for blackboards and exercise books and think wistfully that I will never be this free again. That’s the moment I officially became the weirdest 6-year-old in my village. But I also think it’s kind of eerie that already then I sensed the grown-up struggle between pleasure and work that lay ahead.
1999 – 2012
I dedicate most of my time to studying to eventually become a productive, fully fledged taxpayer. I truly believe that academic achievement translates into job security (so cute yet so sad).
2012
My first summer job, feeding pages into a conveyor belt to bind them into catalogues and magazines. It’s the first time I experience how the prospect of money does relatively little to ease the pain of the paralysing, minute-stretching, innards-wrenching boredom that comes from doing one repetitive task for 8 hours.
I rhyme:
Monotonie, Monotonie,
Die Zeit endet nie.
Stunden stehen still,
In denen ich nach Hause will.
7 bis 15, 14 bis 10,
Ich will doch nur nach Hause gehen!
I get promoted to printing sex shop catalogues.
I stop rhyming.
I resolve to excel in my studies and never return to these cock-ringed centrefolds ever again.
2012-2016
I study more in pursuit of more job security (How did this belief survive the 2008 financial crisis?!).
2017
During a summer internship, I get completely absorbed in a task I am doing. Time stands still yet passes at rapid speed . I discover that this feeling is called ‘Flow’. I want to have this feeling every day I work. However, I also need to eat and the contract they offer is crap, so…
2017-19
… I study some more in pursuit of better working conditions (Seriously?!). It gets to a point where I try to be productive every waking hour in a desperate attempt to get on top of my coursework. But like silicone, work seems to expand with every additional hour I spend until it fills up my entire day. My performance suffers. I learn: I think best, when I rest. Apparently, I have more in common with a bunch of Victorian guy scientists than I thought (More on that in Rest by Alex Soojung-Kim Pang)
2020
My first proper contract. The first time contributing to a proper pension. The first time I don’t use up all my monthly income to cover basics. Money. does. bring. peace.
A little while later in 2020
But alas, now that I’ve got the basics covered, it’s time for some existential crisis stuff. How predictable (see Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs). I read about happiness. Hedonic adaptation means that, once you pass a certain income threshold, infinite money doesn’t translate into infinite happiness. But I am thousands of pounds away from having to worry about that.
2021
My friend recommends I read Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman. There are an infinite number of things to see and do on this earth but only finite lives. Somehow that makes me feel exhilarated. Given that we can never do it all, I decide to really enjoy the few things I choose to spend my time on. I don’t feel pressure anymore to check off things to visit, do and see. On good days, I think this freedom from chasing the new, next, best thing means that I want what I have. The definition of contentment. On bad days, I wonder whether I am depressed.
Despite all this new-found wisdom, I can’t totally shake the feeling that I need to always aim higher at work.
2022
I change jobs. A bigger title. More money.
More work drama. Less free time.
I become miserable.
2023
I quit and buy myself time. What a splurge: ‘When time is money, as it is now, free time is never free. It’s expensive.’ (Eula Biss). I didn’t realise how true this was until I stopped earning and started haemorrhaging money.
To make it ‘worth’ it, I strive to live like an 18th century aristocrat i.e. read, study French, play the piano (Eula Biss again, capturing exactly how I felt).
Instead, I become a Couch Panini (best SNL sketch ever). What does this say about me? I use episodes of The Office (all 201 of them) to drown out the lurking identity crisis and growing financial anxiety. All time, no money, apparently not the way to go.
October 2023
I negotiate a new work contract and get to choose: 20% more money or free Fridays. It feels wrong not to choose the money. What a privilege to even have that choice. If I accepted the money, it would be more than I have ever earned. But I also remember the last time I ignored everything that I had read and chose money over time (see 2022) and how miserable I was.
I choose Fridays.
November 2023
On my first free Friday I feel a weird sense of guilt. For 30 years I had been taught that being less than 100% productive means you’re either ill or caring for someone, most likely for free. However, I’m reducing my work output without any medical justification or dependants. How dare I?
And I have no one really to commiserate with. All my friends work on Fridays. While I have escaped the capitalist narrative of striving for maximum productivity to a certain degree, I still followed a neoliberal logic in my tiny act of resistance by going it alone.
Perhaps I should use this new time to join my union and fight for everyone’s Fridays. For now, however, I use market vocabulary to reassure myself that I have made a good choice: after all, I’m investing in my wellbeing, right?
None of the experiences I describe above are particularly unique. But it’s curious how for some things you have to have been there yourself to really understand them. I’m sure I would have struggled a lot more if the books below hadn’t given me a different way of looking at life and work:
The title for this post is taken from Studs Terkel’s Working
The Happiness Hypothesis by Jonathan Haidt
Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman
Rest by Alex Soojung-Kim Pang
On Having and Being Had by Eula Biss
Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi
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