A friend recently asked me if I was satisfied with my job. More specifically, he asked me if I was happy. It's an interesting question, one that seems to ask several other questions at the same time: what do you like about your work; what do you dislike; all things considered, do you feel happy? I think the question of happiness is the most difficult to answer because of its enormous subjectivity, but I'll try. There are many things I enjoy about what I do, but because of the nature of my job I'm not able to enumerate them here. I'll relay them as high-level concepts to protect my employer's identity, and my own.
I enjoy being part of the process of perfecting. Like a good detective, I enjoy the sleuthing, the engagement and necessary creativity it demands. I'm also a medic of sorts, seeking out the wounded and dysfunctional parts of the system that have retreated into the shadows to take refuge in obscurity. I am a white blood cell. I am quality's assuring bodyguard; Cerberus with the head of Humphrey Bogart, Deforest Kelley and Kevin Costner.
To have a voice in the decision-making process of a product used by millions upon millions of people every day is a reward in itself. To have the work you do directly impact the quality and usability of that product gives your job meaning and value - you know that your efforts will improve the daily lives of a lot of people, globally. To work on a team of like-minded people who share the same interests and passion for delivering a quality product is inspiring and helps keep spirits high in the face of an insurmountable workload. I once had a job in New York as a technician - on a team of 100 or so equally passionate technicians - helping to serve (quite literally) a never-ending stream of people, all with unique issues to be solved. For some, that job would have been maddening in its relentlessness if it weren't for the strong sense of camaraderie and pride amongst the team. There was a subtle competition and collective sense of unity that made the difficulty of the position tolerable. My current job is no different.
I've already begun alluding to one of the things I dislike about the role: the hours. I feel like an emergency-room doctor, liable to be called into the office on a sunny Saturday without any notice, subjected to work 60-to-70-hour weeks for months at a time. This has a sickening effect on your soul, because whether you love your job or not, doing anything that much becomes exhausting and somehow manages to strip away all of the pleasure in the thing. It's a job that requires tremendous endurance, the self-denial of relief and gratification. It is a very adult job, with very adult demands. When I say adult I mean we gangbang pornstars from Vivid and strangle prostitutes just to let out steam. Hardcore snuff films play on the televisions near the water cooler.
There is a lot asked of you, the expectations are high and the hours are long. Needless to say, the stress involved is fantastic. There is an inherent fretting in my line of work; the persistent fear that you've missed something. Slipping in during the night through cracked windows and loose doorjambs, it lives inside sweat-stained pillowcases and wrinkled sheets. It's the ineluctable smell of something rotting in your kitchen.
Am I happy? I don't know. I know that I work hard. I know my job is challenging and engaging and the days whir passed with alarming speed. I know that I'm on the forefront of technological change and I have a direct hand in shaping what that future looks like. I know I'm one of the people responsible for its success. It's probably not unlike parenting a child. It requires some self-sacrifice, a relinquishing of things that sustain you. As lovely and amazing as parenthood is, it is still a burdensome responsibility. It is difficult, thankless, scary and stressful. You never quite get the sense that you know what you're doing. You celebrate your small triumphs and bemoan your failings while you wait for someone to reveal you for the impostor that you are. What keeps you moving forward is the desire to help, a belief in the thing you're creating, and then the ability to let it go.
Every day a sand mandala.
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