I had a friend, an intelligent and very learned man, who gave no hint of having been in the least troubled by time. He was a university teacher, who taught well but scarcely bothered to publish. After his retirement from teaching, the one mild pressure in his life, meeting with his classes, was removed. He rose, read the daily press with a mordant eye, watched one of the morning television talk shows with his second cup of coffee, drew a bit, read some, taught himself (slowly) the rudiments of Chinese, wrote comic letters, looked up French words, considered etymologies of English ones, gave delight to his friends, took pleasure in his food and drink, and thus lived out his days until a benevolent (or so it seems in retrospect) heart attack took him out of what seemed a not very taxing game. It seems rather pointless to say of him “May he rest in peace,” since, as near as I can determine, he pretty much lived in peace. I’m not sure he owned a watch. Not a man, clearly, on a schedule.
Did he, I have often wondered, have any doubts? Had he got the most out of himself? In suppressing ambition, did he not also kill a certain kind of joy—that very genuine joy connected with achievement? He left no children. His friends, those who have not already died, grow old. His memory will fairly soon be extinguished. He was too clever a man not to have thought about all this. He lived, if not all that intensely, still almost entirely in the now. He met all his obligations, not least among them giving pleasure to his friends, though apparently he never felt that he owed any obligations to the future. Was he more or less intelligent than I in eschewing the notion of a schedule?
— Joseph Epstein, “Time on My Hands, Me in My Arms,” With My Trousers Rolled: Familiar Essays
My gym is looking to hire a new overnight cleaning service. They already have a few interviews set up, but they posted a notice at the front just in case any of the clientele might know a guy, etc. I’ve been pestering the Lady of the House ever since. This is my dream! Working a night shift by myself? Cleaning? In the gym, where I assume my membership might even be comped? Come on, I said, let’s sell the business and get back to the simple life!
I’m kidding, but on the square. If I were financially set for life, that is precisely the sort of work I’d do. The Lady is fascinated with business qua business; I’m not. I’m just a draft horse. (Thankfully, she keeps her Napoleonesque urges under control, so I don’t fear becoming another Boxer.) I can work as hard as anyone, but I have absolutely no interest in CEO-level stuff. Just give me my menial task and let me get to work, preferably while listening to music, ideally without any personal interaction at all.
Me and my friends sell ourselves
Short but feel very well
We feel fine, ah, we feel fine
Small stakes ensure you the minimum blues
But you don’t feel taken and you don’t feel abused
Small stakes tell you that there’s nothing can do
Can’t think big, can’t think past one or two
— Spoon, “Small Stakes”
Sounds to me like Epstein’s Epicurean friend had it all figured out.
August 16, 2022 @ 3:20 am
Agreed. My job consists of sitting at home amending boilerplate legal documents from instructions whilst I listen to music or podcasts all day. I might talk to someone once every three days. I dread the day it comes to an end.
August 16, 2022 @ 5:16 pm
Is it only temporary work, then?
August 17, 2022 @ 1:52 pm
No just a prime candidate for automation unfortunately. Very doubtful I’ll be able to retire doing this kind of thing.
August 16, 2022 @ 8:30 pm
But I would miss you on your night shifts too much. Let’s compromise, I’ll make you a janitor in my fancy offices xox
August 17, 2022 @ 9:18 pm
It’s a big gym. I’m sure I’ll need a helper. Ahem.
August 17, 2022 @ 1:28 pm
Just finished re-reading the essay mentioned from Joseph Epstein. I have collected most of his books of essays. One of the many pleasures, while re-reading his essays, is he will produce laughter for me.
Anyway, I always agree with James and You. I work in chemical plant. I am referred to as a Raw Material Unloader. We, (there are four of us), unload railcars and trucks of Acetic Acid, Hydrogen Peroxide, Sulfuric Acid, and three others, into storage tanks on the facility. We just want the weekly schedule and complete the tasks at hand and punch out for the day. We certainly do not mind working hard because it makes the shift go by quickly and we avoid interacting with our boss or engineers that are roaming the plant.
August 17, 2022 @ 9:17 pm
Reminds me of a couple things Eric Hoffer wrote:
“It may be true that work on the assembly line dulls the faculties and empties the mind, the cure only being fewer hours of work at higher pay. But during fifty years as a workingman, I have found dull routine compatible with an active mind. I can still savor the joy I used to derive from the fact that while doing dull, repetitive work on the waterfront, I could talk with my partners and compose sentences in the back of my mind, all at the same time. Life seemed glorious. Chances are that had my work been of absorbing interest I could not have done any thinking and composing on the company’s time or even on my own time after returning from work. People who find dull jobs unendurable are often dull people who do not know what to do with themselves when at leisure. ”
“To me there is an aura of grandeur about the dull routine of maintenance: I see it as a defiance of the teeth of time. It is easier to build than to maintain. Even a lethargic or debilitated population can be galvanized for a while to achieve something impressive, but the energy which goes into maintaining things in good repair day in, day out is the energy of true vigor.”
I still remember the foudroyant effect all those years ago of discovering Hoffer and his example of balancing manual labor with the life of the mind. He’s always been something of a role model for me.