I heard that old line again, this time from a friend.
“It’s like they say: do something you love, and you’ll never work another day in your life.”
Hogwash, I say.
It’s been almost a year since I left the practice of law. For eleven months, I’ve been doing the thing I love most–writing, editing, mapping books for some fine folks–and I can say this with great clarity: every day of the work I love is a war of attrition.
The work of creation is unrelenting. It looks something like this:
Make the phone calls.
Write, write, write.
Break for lunch, maybe grab an apple and handful of carrots, something scarfable at the desk.
Make more pone calls.
Follow more leads.
Edit, edit, edit.
There is a Skype meeting, another spent hour.
Keeping up is a chore.
I love what I do, feel like the luckiest guy in the career counseling office, and still, I’m grinding gears and burning it at both ends.
I think of my friend Jason, one of the finest attorneys I know. (And as far as integrity goes, he’s a bit unicorn among lawyers.) Every day is a war of attrition for him, too. He makes phone calls, follows his own leads. He drafts and drafts and drafts. He strategizes for some of the state’s brightest minds and business leaders. He is accomplished. His job gives him the things he wants: security, relevance, and import. He does what he loves and is rewarded, but every day is a grind. It’s work.
I consider Rob, a by-God saint who works to break cycles of human trafficking. Could there be more fulfilling work? And yet, his list of work obligations reads like a laundry list of horrors. His work is his passion. In a sense, he loves what he does. There’s no denying it though–Rob works.
Last night, as I watched Jason Isbell tear the roof from Cain’s Ballroom, I considered his touring schedule. He puts in the long hours on the bus, crashes in hotel bed after hotel bed. There are soundcheck in towns where everyone knows his name but nobody knows his momma. There’s no doubt he’s doing what he loves, but isn’t he working harder than anyone I know? Isn’t he a glorified long-haul trucker with a guitar.
That job you wish you had, the grass-is-greener career, it’s not your ticket to a workless life. So before you make that jump, know this: there’s still heavy baggage, the grind, the frustrations of working that thing you love. Work is still work. And that brings us to the career truth of truths (take notes so you don’t forget): find something you love, yes, but if you do, know you’ll work every day for the rest of your life.
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