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TheGoodEnoughJob Excerpt
TheGoodEnoughJob Excerpt
TheGoodEnoughJob Excerpt
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and that if the fisherman follows his advice, he could help him
grow his business. “You could buy a bigger boat,” the business-
man says, “and then use the proceeds to open your own cannery.”
“Then what?” the fisherman asks.
“Then you could move to the city to open a distribution center.”
“And then what?”
“Then you could expand your business internationally, and
eventually take your company public,” the businessman says.
“When the time is right, you can sell your shares and become
very rich!”
“And then what?”
“Well, then you can retire, move to a small fishing village,
sleep late, catch a few fish, play with your kids, take naps with
your wife, and join your buddies in town to drink wine and play
guitar.”
The fisherman smiles at the businessman and continues down
the beach.
I love this little parable. It’s an adaptation of a German short
story from 1963 and has since been translated and shared widely.
But there’s something particularly American about the business-
man’s work-centric worldview. The United States’ mantra might
as well be “I produce, therefore I am.”
For Americans, “What do you do?” is often the first ques-
tion we ask when we meet someone new. I remember once ask-
ing a Chilean guy I met at a hostel what he did. “You mean for
work?” he responded, as if I had asked for the balance of his
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from the farmers’ market, fly back to Italy every summer, and
invest in her son’s education.
My dad is also a psychologist, and probably the closest in my
family to a workist. I remember asking him once about the phil-
anthropic cause he cares most about. “I see my work as a type of
philanthropy,” he told me of his psychology practice. “My work
is my way of giving back.” My dad wants to work for as long as
he can still remember his patients’ names. Even during pandemic
lockdowns, he returned to the office whenever he could.
My family history points toward some of the central themes
of this book: that workism is particularly American, though it
certainly exists in other places, too; that workism is especially
common among the privileged, though it also exists in commu-
nities of less privilege; and finally, that workism is a relatively
new phenomenon, more common among my generation than my
grandparents’. The modern ideology of workism asks two dis-
tinct pursuits—money and inner fulfillment—to coalesce. These
pursuits are not always aligned, and yet we increasingly look to
our jobs to satisfy both.
But mostly I share a bit of my family history so you can get a
sense of who I am. My name is Simone, and I’m a workist. Or
at least, a recovering one. Throughout my life, I’ve wanted to be
a journalist, a designer, a lawyer, a diplomat, a poet, and a short-
stop for the San Francisco Giants. I’ve spent my career searching
for a vocational soulmate, for a job that doesn’t just pay the bills
but is a unique reflection of who I am.
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That last sentence shook me. Until that day, I’d believed fig-
uring out what to do for work was life’s ultimate mission. I had
interpreted Annie Dillard’s famous words—“How we spend
our days is, of course, how we spend our lives”—to mean that
my chosen work would define not just what I did, but who I
was. But here was my professional crush, a professional poet no
less, telling me that it’s fine to have a day job.
I recently learned that Dillard’s often-quoted line was never
meant to become a mantra for hustle culture or a justification
for the endless pursuit of one’s dream job. In fact, if you read the
rest of the passage from which the excerpt is taken, Dillard’s
point is to the contrary. “What we do with this hour, and that
one, is what we are doing,” she writes. “The life of the spirit
requires less and less; time is ample and its passage sweet.” Her
words are a call for presence, not for promotions.
A life completely consumed by work crowds out other as-
pects of ourselves. In the words of psychotherapist Esther Perel,
too many people bring the best of themselves to work, and bring
the leftovers home. When we give all of our energy to our pro-
fessional lives, we deprive the other identities that exist within
each of us—spouse, parent, sibling, neighbor, friend, citizen, art-
ist, traveler— of the nutrients to grow.
Much as an investor benefits from diversifying their invest-
ments, we, too, benefit from diversifying our sources of identity
and meaning. Meaning is not something that is bestowed upon
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Here’s how this book works. In each chapter you’ll meet a worker
from a different industry—a Michelin-star chef, a Wall Street
banker, and a software engineer who lives in a van in the Goo-
gle parking lot, to name a few. Through each of their stories,
we’ll examine a common myth that pervades modern work cul-
ture. From “this company is like a family” to “do what you love
and never work a day in your life,” many of the axioms of the
working world become fuzzy and gray upon closer inspection.
What distinguishes this book from other career or business
books you may have read is that the chapters primarily tell peo-
ple’s stories. You won’t find any pages with three easy steps to
separate your self-worth from your work, or ten quick tips to
keep you from lying awake obsessing over your next performance
review. My goal is that you’ll treat this book less like a textbook
and more like a mirror. That is to say, I hope this book prompts
you, as writing it did for me, to examine your own relationship
to your job. Each person’s journey challenged my assumptions
and helped me define the role I wanted work to play in my life.
I hope the same will be true for you.
The stories that follow live in the tension between seeing
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