Rethinking work in the 21st century

The danger of using superlatives for describing one book is when you read the next one, and find it gives you a verbal bear hug every bit as strong as the previous one. Nonetheless, the joy is all mine in reading the latest contribution from Ellen Ruppel Shell. The Job: Work and its future in a time of radical change  (2019) As I was reading it I couldn't help but think: I wish this was the book that I had been able to write five years ago when I was deep into my own story (see left side bar link). It acts as a perfect sequel to the musings from my slim volume.

Shell is a professor of journalism from Boston University. She has provided her thesis with an enviable depth of research that, at last, has given her subject the gravitas it deserves. Chapter 8 in particular made me feel vindicated in a way few other authors have articulated. Mind the (skills) gap elucidates the fantasy of widely available stable, living-wage jobs, and characterizes this wishful thinking as "toxic alchemy." This truth alone, makes it harshly obvious that if the poor have no choice but to take any job they can get, then they are participating in the precarious, low-wage jobs that keep them poor in the first place. Perfectly stated this way:

“Because it incentivizes more people, no matter their skills, to accept any job they can get, it reduces the need for employers to create better jobs, or to open up better jobs to people closed out of them, people who may lack credentials or a certain pedigree but who, like Susan and Leroy, are willing and able to work.”  “The idea that a lack of skills is preventing many people from working their way out of poverty is wrong,” Edin said. “‘Skills’ is a smokescreen for other things.”

Also:

"This "skills gap" finding was so widely quoted that it became a sort of cultural meme. But other than the say-so of employers, there was little if any evidence to support the vague and slippery claim."

We are often told that the future is an open field for those educational concentrations involving science, technology, engineering and math, but she reports that the supply of STEM graduates is 2 to 3 times larger than demand. Even Paul Krugman has coined the term "zombie idea" to indicate beliefs that have been "repeatedly refuted with evidence and analysis but refuse to die."

This ruse does not escape the notice of grads:

 “Smart students preferred not to invest their hopes, efforts, and intellectual capital in sectors that no matter the hype dumped workers at the least provocation, sometimes only to replace them with cheaper workers, whether they be domestic or from abroad.” 

Then in Chapter 11, The Finnish Line, when you are good and ready for some solutions, Shell delivers with a truckload. Finland certainly wasn't on my radar, but putting it there was a welcome education. We are introduced to Pekka Pohjakallio, whose firm is rethinking work for the 21st century. In contrast to how most Americans conceptualize the urgent call to innovate, here a more realistic version prevails.

 “The innovation bubbles up most often when the brain is relaxed and deep in thoughts beyond the particular problem at hand—that is when we seem to be least productive.”

“Reflection is what makes most of us more efficient, not less, Pohjakallio said, “But we are given no time for reflections because it’s impossible to measure, and impossible to bill against. We are constantly fixated on the ends, not the means, and that holds us back. If we really knew what was valuable, many of us might easily be able to accomplish what needs to get accomplished not in ten or twelve hours a day but in four.” 

If you are hungry, even starved, for hearing about methodologies that function at human scale this book doesn't disappoint. In fact, it elevates the reader's potential to believe that improvements are possible. Shell refers to our current system as our nation's work disorder, and rightly partners with those who predict it will not be solved by technology, but by a change in the rules.

And it gets better: 

Chapter 12, Abolish Human Rentals. In this chapter Shell makes clear that the very basis of our interactions binding us to forces of commerce create in us a violation of what would otherwise be an equalized sense of duty to each other, collectively.

“Regarding ourselves as “human rentals” makes it more difficult for us to make meaning of our work, for the very reason that we are human and therefore subject to certain assumptions, including what social scientists call the “reciprocal obligation.” In employment context, the reciprocal obligation involves a psychological contract between employers and employees--the implication that each party will work together for mutual benefit. Employment at will essentially breaches this implicit contract: since it allows employees to be fired for almost any reason, or no reason at all,…”

In every subsequent passage and chapter the author never backs down from revealing every layer of sham contrivance made for the advantage of the employer. And then, in Chapter 14, Homo Faber, I came across an explanation I've wanted to hear for a seriously long time.

“For nearly a century, corporate social responsibility was subjugated to--and some argued legally trumped by--a fiduciary duty to make shareholders as much money as possible. This duty--later articulated by Milton Friedman--was first made law through the case of Dodge v. Ford Motor Company in 1919, in which Henry Ford was overturned in his effort to employ as many men as possible so as to spread prosperity (and presumably demand for his cars). Oddly the ruling also thwarted Ford’s efforts to lower the price of his cars, and to raise wages. The Michigan Supreme Court declared that Ford shareholders must take precedence over the needs of employees and even customers. Over time, through both law and custom, the concept of “shareholder primacy” became the default position for all publicly held companies.”

And in this last chapter as much as I could agree with the author, I still had questions I would have loved to invite her to answer. But to prevent this review from going on indefinitely, I'll leave you not only with a hearty recommendation to read it for yourself, but also one last necessary quote:

“Growing efficiencies was a fixation of the industrial age. It’s a fixation we can no longer afford. We must quell the GDP fetish, a metric that overvalues work of the sort that brings outsized profit to the few and underrates and even fails to measure what matters most--work of intrinsic value to those who do it and to those who need it done. …”

 Amen!

Writing the never ending story

How do you know when the book is finished?

Earlier this year someone advised me that maybe I was too hasty in wanting to finish the production of my book.

More editing, more revisions. I realized that I already knew my energy was spent. If I had forced myself to go through more rounds of revisions, I would have created a different work, but would it be better?  Everything in me said: No. I'm done.

For better or worse, my book became its present form from that decision. I realized that so many of the things I touched on, especially in chapter five and the epilogue, could have been expanded and made more elaborate. That would have taken more time, effort, ruminating.

Ah, rumination. It is what cows and goats do. When you have multiple stomachs it comes easy. I only have one and I have to save it for current nourishment. I can only be an expert in how to manage my own life. I look to the experience of others to see if anyone else is doing it better or smarter. The people I mention in the book are prominent in the area known as "thought leadership." It is a useful term.

It is difficult to describe or explain that sense of knowing that the finish line has been achieved. To give you a Hollywood metaphor, it is similar to when George Bailey, after having seen life in Bedford Falls without his presence, realizes he still wants to live.



He tells Clarence that he wants to live again. "Please, God, I want to live again." At the invocation of the deity, it begins to snow and Bert shows up to take him home.

The events described in the book changed me. Some for the better, some definitely for the worse. Some tendencies I already knew I had were made deeper and richer, but not in a good way. I've mixed a sort of gallows humor with all the characteristics of a classic misanthrope. Even as I think the human species is worth saving, I think it shouldn't be. I'm kind of beginning to see why the major world religions believe in a god oriented toward punishment. If I were god, I'd say we're long over due for a plague of some sort. But wait, you could argue we are in multiple global ones right now, and we just don't see it. But all that is just mind play at the moment.

I want to get back to real life. Even though it may be economically hindered, it is still mine, and I'll take whatever I have left of it. I'm ready any time, Clarence.

The Quest 2016

Today's response prompt asks:

What I most need to tell myself about 2016 is....

Relax.

You already know that you're connected with the people who can help you piece the puzzle together. You are not alone. Your work will become as visible and embraced as you want it to be. I'm willing to support you. Are you willing to support me?

No question will go unasked. No question will go unanswered.

May there be laughter along the way.

Epigraphs and anticipation

As I eagerly await this Saturday's event, I'm on a continuous path of imposing organization to my physical environment. Just as I think entropy is going to overtake me, I come across a piece of paper on which I wrote something that I thought was important. Today's finding comes from the wonderful Barbara Ehrenreich:

Never wallow in your troubles; despair must be kept private and brief. This is typical advice, and I've tried to follow it as much as humanly possible. The drawback of being intelligent and well-informed is a dangerous inability to think your despair doesn't matter. Even if you come to the conclusion that ultimately you can do very little about it, you must still, at least, consider the source of it carefully enough to understand the real root.

This is from her autobiography, Living With a Wild God. I have since come across many other quoted sentences that didn't make their way into the book, thoughts from Dmitry Orlov, Chris Hedges, and so many more. It seems there is no end to all the things that might have made their way into the book. The endless process of picking and choosing what to include and how to weave it into the narrative kept me busy for two years.

Now with the launch of my book I'll have to construct conversations around why I did it and what the hell I thought would come of it. At least, I'll have to think about how I might like to answer some of the more typical questions that will arise. As with so many unanticipatable events, I'll probably just open my mouth and start expounding on whatever is forefront in my mind at the moment. I've been living this topic for so long it isn't difficult just to begin. Where it goes from there--Who knows?

There is a certain relaxation you can experience when you realize how worn down you are. Like an old river rock, you've been battered by the endless stream of water washing over you for so long, that now your edges are gone, the surfaces are smooth, you are perfect as an egg, naked, raw, and unmistakable. This is what I aspire to be.

I have no ulterior motives left. Sitting with a certain emotional honesty is all that matters in the end. No one's truth is greater than you're own. We show up so that we can stand in witness with others who are willing to be there with us and if we're lucky they'll say: Yeah, you know, I think I see your point. I still think I would have done it differently, but to each his own....

And so ends this stream of consciousness for today.

Book signing!

Hello my precious, infrequent readers,

(That is only fair; I'm an infrequent blog poster.)

Just wanted to let you know that if you find yourself in the north end of Seattle on the evening of Saturday, November 7th, please consider stopping by the Kerf International Gallery.

Why?

I will be participating in an opening called Thirty women over Thirty. In this case, the art is my recently self-published book, Fallout from the Workforce: Living in a post-career world and the people who teach us.

I met the gallery owner, Dave Felker, this year.
He has taken this little spot in the Wallingford Center (1815 N. 45th St., to be exact), and turned it into a showcase for artists of all kinds. The fact that he invited me to launch my book during the opening of this exhibit tells you a little something about how welcoming he is to creative folks of all stripes. He has a genuine desire to help people bring their work to a wide audience.

Please consider joining us at 6:00 p.m. Saturday, November 7th. I'll be there signing books, fielding questions, and talking about my work.

Hope to see you there.

The first free will offering of 2014

Last week I was leaving the market walking south on first avenue. I passed someone in a wheelchair and a couple steps later heard a faint, "Excuse me".  I slowed down to make sure the request was directed at me. "Excuse me", he said again with no greater insistence, just very calmly.

Often I don't stop, but this time my social filters told me--it's OK there is nothing to be lost here. I walked up beside the young man. I thought he was maybe in his early twenties. He immediately thanked me for not ignoring him like everyone else. He quickly told me his story. Diabetic, wound on his leg, no health insurance, etc. He showed me his wound. His right ankle was red and swollen with large scabs; I could barely look at it and told him so. I immediately apologized. What had gotten into me?

These chance encounters are so full of clues and I felt I was only playing a part in some little drama. When reality is too much I'm just in someone else's movie. It takes the pressure off.

He had a short stack of papers clipped together and a cell phone on his lap. He showed me the name of the drug he was taking. I recognized it as a powerful antibiotic. Underneath that sheet was a bus schedule with a list of figures written in black Sharpie. They were unidentified costs large and small and obviously adding up quickly. Every word from him was matter-of-fact with no hint that any of it was less than true. "I need ten bucks to get out of the hole", he said.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a couple fives. I said something that quashed the gods of self-consciousness, and so was more for me than him. "Some people would say don't trust him, but I don't give a fuck."

He looked up at me with a stare that said, I can't believe you just did that. And then he said something I knew was not necessarily part of the typical beggar's vernacular. "I'll pay it forward. I always do." Instantly he became a new person, more complete in my mind's eye even as I knew nothing else about him. I patted him on the shoulder probably more forcefully than I needed to and quickly continued on my way lest I became emotional and embarrassed.

My hyper imagination allows random feelings to live too close to the surface. It confuses me. I constantly need to check in with other sources to understand what the hell is going on. One of those sources is Charles Eisenstein.

I recently finished his book The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know Is Possible. It is a series of essays like no other I've ever read. Eisenstein is known for dissecting the underlying currents, or lack thereof, behind currency transactions. The connection I made with this person was so vague and tangential, but it wouldn't have existed at all had I not engaged in some kind of conversation. Of course, I could have taken out a couple bills and stuffed them in his hand and walked away without a word. Then what?

He would have gotten his money just the same, but he would not have had the opportunity to justify the validity of his need and thus to explain the context of his life. By refusing to comprehend my own involvement in a life as fragile as his own I am living a lie that is encouraged by a  silent currency transaction. And so, if one fails to connect the power of money with the power of human connection that power is hideously misused. It is a power that acknowledges only the necessity of the transaction and denigrates the value of the players as if they are only conduits, like having electricity without wires, it is just static that fills the air waiting to find a place to spark. Perhaps that is why it is popular to say that money is energy. This only points out how easily symbols are confused with the real thing. Money doesn't have energy, people do. (Sound familiar?) Redistribution of money sounds like a very unpopular political initiative, but if the comparison to energy is valid why not frame it as realigning chi? Get the flow going. Prevent stagnation for better health. Here the comparison works. Scarcity quickly becomes the lie it is.

***

If the value of money could somehow be conjoined with the idea of caring and sustaining the continuation of life, and simultaneously be dismantled from the idea that over accumulation is the requirement for well-being, then those with way too much of it might want to dispense with their excesses in order to regain some shares of love. What a concept! Obviously, I'm not afraid of sounding a little silly in order to make a point. Conjecture often gets to a version of the truth that works if only in writing. I'd like to think it is self-evident that money without relationship is a cold, dead _______________. Fill in the blank. You'll never get any love from it. This is obvious, but where is the movement?

Emotional fluency

Noticed I've been repeatedly listening to Pharrell Williams's Happy vid on YouTube lately. This is dangerous. You know me. I take a thoughtful approach. I seek to analyze. I look for connections.

And then,....sometimes I just sit back. I relax that mind muscle and wait to see what happens.

I've long known that intellect is highly overrated. It simply does not override all the things that take us for an emotional ride--the kind that helps us lose attachment to time and a certain self-consciousness--the kind that creates in us a sublime openness, a sense of freedom; and even as we experience it we know it is short lived, temporary, and still we don't care. In that moment is the most beautiful complete moment of being human. And silly as it sounds, we are embarrassed by what gets us there. Such is the beauty of a simple tune and a few images of cavorting, dancing individuals who appear carefree and entice us to do the same.

That is why happiness is so benign and its power so irritatingly undefinable. We're embarrassed to acknowledge that we can be so easily manipulated and yet love it and appreciate so much more. That moment when we decide we don't care is probably the most important threshold we will ever cross.

We are living in a space that belongs completely to us, and it is so benign and loving it can't be reached with criticism from any source or at any volume. When we are happy we are untouchable by all that. It is illusive and short lived, and that is its beauty. No wonder.

No wonder at all. 

Happiness then is a release from all the self-consciousness we believe we are compelled to feel, when in fact it is not our natural inclination, but an imposition we give in to grudgingly.

It is the edge of spring on the 47th parallel and longer days will soon be upon us and how are we going to fill them except with being .....happy???

Clap along.

Giving back: revisited

Back in November, outfitted in my semantic warrior armor I went into battle with the evils underlying the expression--give back.

I hit the nail on the head several times and yet I left so much unsettled. In my fervor to expunge the demon behind the words I did not go nearly far enough. Here is the rest of it:

For some time now I've been searching for some universal principle for how humans might better process their understanding of how to live well in this world. There are many a man-made mechanism to choose from as the founding causal agent of so much grief. The whole idea of worthiness and legal tender gets awfully murky and no more so than the words we use to deflect these entanglements.

So I kept moving these words over in my mind like a worry stone. Take from/give back, take from/give back, take from/give back.

What got me started down a satisfying, civilized path was a quip I made on Facebook last year. It was an observation I made about how differently a person is viewed in that time between birth and death. At birth we are welcomed into the world as a bundle of joy. It is expected that for our growth and development we must take nourishment from those who brought us here. Already the fluid line between giving and taking begins to define itself. Rather than continuing to work from inside this originating mentality of love and acceptance, it is made clear that at some point as one comes of age a break must occur and your taking from is now considered an evil dependence. A rite of passage celebrates the time when you will start learning all the many ways in which you must give back, because surely you will want to show how grateful you are for all the blessings bestowed upon you from birth.

So, dear human, you have just officially been outed. There is, in fact, nothing that you will give without incurring debt, not even life itself. Thus begins the cascade of corrective measures we spend a lifetime perfecting. If we're doing it right, we make our own way in the world. If we are careful we can even save for the future and willingly incur debt without fear. If, on the other hand, we are dealt a setback of immediate consequences we may need to accept charity, a word so heavily burdened with reluctant significance that even the depression era bum angrily spouts: "I don't accept charity."

I remember an old roommate once proudly claiming: "I've never been so poor that I couldn't leave town."

Everyone, it seems, has a story about their pride in surviving, winning, thriving, and doing it on as little as possible. I don't mind the applause. I love a great story. But avoiding material poverty isn't an honest method for inducing pride.

What would it be like if we could flip this coin? 

What if the bundle of joy attitude could last your whole life? I'm convinced that we fail to question ourselves about these ideas because we can't admit to our own self-hatred. There seems to be an inherent impulse toward self-loathing and distrust. Do we really believe that without a governance based on the fear of punishment that all humanity would simply run amok? And yet what is the belief in original sin but precisely that? 

If the life-long messages a person was bathed in were ones of love and acceptance even in the face of mistake or wrong doing, how different would the world be? How would this be tied to exchange and legal tender? Instead of every man for himself amid a hierarchy of social classes, what if groups tried to outdo each other in competitions of generosity? It does sound like I'm veering off into la-la land.

In order to make this fundamental change we couldn't even take our cues from the world around us. This is because from the animals we get the pack, the herd mentality and the pecking order--all hierarchies. Humans have never evolved a more effective social structure than what animal nature provides. We accepted it by default. Most of the greatest advice from one human to another is all about overcoming or coping with what is rather than creating what should be. Thus we perpetuate a learned helplessness about our own nature. Such is the burden of intellect and wisdom when confronting base animal instincts. We can describe and prescribe what should be done, but the realization of our emotional ideals remains ever illusive. 

How do we stay in the lofty spaces of our higher selves? Even if we can agree on what they are, protection and self-defense are powerful forces always ready to create a buffer for us. 

Only two choices

I've always been fascinated with the claim that ultimately there are only two emotions: fear and love. You'd have to admit that humanity has never managed to evolve away from fear and move closer to love. 

But this IS the era of the twenty-first century citizen, is it not? If not now, when? 

'Tis the season after all, the one time of the year when we are enticed to believe that another world is possible, but only temporarily, perhaps as a way to allow us safe passage into the new year. 

And with that, dear reader, this citizen is signing off for the year and wishing you a winter full of love. 

'til next year...

Ciao bella,

Marcella