Who Am I Outside of Work?

Remember being asked when you were a kid, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I bet most of us had an answer. Fireman, policeman, astronaut, maybe a professional baseball player.

If you asked my youngest grandson that question today, he’d probably tell you Spider-Man. And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.

I like hearing those answers from kids. Their imaginations haven’t been boxed in by what seems practical or how much something pays. There’s plenty of time for all that.

But I’ve been thinking about the question itself.

Why is it that when we ask children what they want to be, we’re usually asking what kind of job they want to have?

Why not ask what kind of life they want?

I know it’s an innocent question. Nobody’s trying to steer a five-year-old toward a forty-year career. But it does make me wonder how early we start connecting who we are with what we do for a living.

And we never really stop.

So, What Do You Do?

Whenever I meet somebody new, sooner or later the question comes up.

“What do you do?”

And I give pretty much the same answer I’ve been giving for years. I tell them where I work and how long I’ve been there.

I’ve been working since I was in high school. That’s more than forty years of having some kind of job to tell people about.

It’s almost automatic. And I imagine most people do the same thing.

We don’t tell somebody we’re a husband, a father, a grandfather, or somebody who enjoys fishing on a Saturday afternoon. We tell them where we collect our paycheck.

Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being proud of your occupation. I’ve worked most of my adult life, and work has been good to me. It’s helped me provide for my family, put a roof over our heads, and enjoy things we might not have been able to otherwise.

That’s what I believe a job is supposed to do.

Help us build and support a life.

But somewhere along the way, I think it’s easy to let the job become the thing we identify with most.

What Would Be Left Without the Job Title?

Here’s something I’ve been asking myself lately.

If I couldn’t tell somebody where I worked, how would I describe myself?

I’d want to say I’m a good husband. A good father. A good Papa.

Those are the things that matter most to me.

And notice something. None of them requires a job title.

I don’t need to wait until retirement to be any of those things. I’m already living that part of my life.

My wife doesn’t care what title is printed beside my name at work when we’re sitting together enjoying an evening. My grandsons don’t care how many years I’ve been employed somewhere when we’re fishing at the lake.

To them, I’m just Papa.

And I like that.

The Job Has Taken Up a Lot of Space

When I think about it, work has occupied an enormous part of my life.

Five days a week for decades. Getting up at a certain time, being somewhere at a certain time, planning vacations around the work calendar, and looking forward to Friday afternoon.

I’ve spent plenty of time counting down to the day when I won’t have to do that anymore.

But here’s what I’m beginning to realize.

For all the space work has occupied in my life, it isn’t the thing I want my life to be about.

I want to enjoy my marriage. I want to be there for my children and grandsons. I want to have experiences and memories that have nothing to do with where I worked.

And I don’t want to spend the next several years waiting for retirement before giving those things the attention they deserve.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop caring about doing a good job. I still have responsibilities, and I intend to meet them.

It just means I want to remember which part of my life the job is supposed to serve.

Maybe We’ve Been Answering the Wrong Question

I don’t suppose I’m going to start introducing myself to strangers by saying, “I’m a husband, father, and Papa.”

They’d probably wonder why I couldn’t just tell them where I work.

And that’s fine. I’ll probably keep answering the question the way I always have.

But maybe the important part isn’t what I tell somebody else.

Maybe it’s what I remind myself.

I’ve spent most of my life telling people what I do for a living.

I don’t want to forget what I’m living for.

And if my grandson wants to be Spider-Man for a while longer, I’m perfectly happy to let him.