Every day I think I’m doing the wrong thing. I think of all the possibilities that shape my future–I have been thinking. Since I was a child. What do I want to do. I know the phrase, “I do not dream of labor,” but I do. I do. I dream of the possibilities that labor can show me. Those dreams have been about mathematics, astronomy, law, librarianship, activism, botany, etc. Everything and anything you could read about in a book. I dream of labor because I dream of doing good. I dream of laboring because of love–for my community, for my neighbors, for my cats or kids. I dream where tomorrow’s labor is for the basics: food, water, clothing, cleanliness, etc. and today’s labor becomes hobby.
There is work that is necessary. Energy work. Hospital work. Education work. But when does work become meaningless? When do we start paying people in the economy with more than they are giving back to the community? Billionaires obviously are wasteful. What other jobs? That we could throw away and just give everyone a little less to do. 32 hour weeks. Can you imagine? 24? 19?
Sometimes I dream of ease. Of my old library position where I checked in books, took down holds, and shelved books. The shelving can be hard on the knees, but everything else I practically loved. And I worked 19 hours a week for $16 an hour and I could live on that. I lived in a two bedroom in Iowa City with two roommates–my best friends, a couple, who shared a room. We each paid $350. We shared all expenses, and we shared some of the best times of my life. Almost two years later I yearn for that time.
During that time I did more activism and volunteering than I had ever done before or have done since. I put in dozens of hours a week to the LGBTQ Iowa Archives and Library. In my labor terms, this was my hobby. My labor to the community came out at the public library which I deeply appreciate and see as a community necessity. My hobby then, working for a queer archive and library where I could do things I couldn’t do elsewhere. I could do anything I wanted really, as long as I found a way to. I hosted concerts. I contacted authors. I created space.
I helped host and went to coffee socials, silent book clubs, dating shows, movies–because I knew that what I wanted to do, others did too. There is something to say of community events–that too many organizers do what they want to do, and don’t fill a need in the community. Only fitting the need of themselves. And maybe this is what I did. But as I worked more on my hobby, I cared more. I did research–I began studying social justice movements and organizers of the past. I wondered how I could do the best work I could because I wasn’t worrying about clocking in and out, having to report to a boss regularly, about money. It was a deep privilege.
Now my work is corporate. Education which is important. But is it so important as being a paraprofessional in the classroom? Or a school librarian? Or a teacher? Is my job the job that is wasting time?
I’ve been sabotaging myself. Fantasizing again about a job. I’ve been more present–depressed–but also recognizing what I want in the now and getting it. Acting on it. Life otherwise is illogical. So I dropped out of my master’s program. The academy isn’t the future. Or it shouldn’t be as it stands. So I dropped it. I filed Exempt on my taxes because our government is committing human rights violations daily. And needs to be stopped.
I want to quit working and live with my friends. Find a part-time job and love it (for the most part). In my free time I want to organize and volunteer. Find the places in my new city that don’t require me to make a lot of money, but where I can live happily, cheaply, with my friends. Do research and study what I find important. Worship nature. Have sex in a public sex forest on the Hiawatha Golf Course.
Most of all I want to write. Like I write now. I want to tell stories and influence public opinion. Share those ideas I’ve read about from others and synthesize the arguments of the world into a unified theory of people. Slow the world down and let each of us breathe. Maybe as I write more these ideas will let themselves be known. And shared.
All images are of the public domain.