By Morf Morford
Tacoma Daily Index
Among the many unexpected cultural trends of 2020 and 2021 is a clearly defined nostalgic longing for commuting.
It turns out that the act of stepping out the door, driving or catching a bus or other transit vehicle was a defining feature – literally making a physical distinction between home and work life.
Getting dressed and prepared for work, leaving home, and then, of course, the return trip after a day of work were rituals that defined us.
We might have cursed them at the time, but now, oddly enough, many of us miss them.
Have you noticed, on news shows for example, how some people are all dressed up for the short segment (probably the highlight of their day) while others don’t bother?
Some dress for (Zoom) success, others are crumpled, with snacks or pets visible in the background.
And of course, the background itself. The interwebs are abuzz with discussions of bookshelves (who would have imagined that books organized by color would be a thing). If you don’t have an imposing bookshelf packed with ponderous, serious-looking texts, you can buy books by the foot (https://www.booksbythefoot.com/) to make public your smartability quotient.
By theme, age range or color scheme, you too can impress your colleagues and supervisors by your brainiac (literal) background.
But nothing can beat that actual departure and stepping out into the grown-up world of commuting, work and office space.
I actually do miss my office. And even the rare alone-time I had getting there.
Apparently others do too. I have heard of some who, to make the kinetic distinction between home and work, get dressed for work, step outside, maybe walk to the car or street, turn around and make a deliberate entrance to “work”.
After a specified time, they reverse the process, gather their things, walk out the door to the street or vehicle, turn around and come “home” again.
It might appear ridiculous (and probably is) but it’s also a very powerful reminder of the importance of definition and ritual as we structure our work day – maybe even our career path.
Will any of us put “worked from home” as a section on our CV or résumé? Probably not.
But it will, in its own way, be a defining feature of work and, perhaps even a phase of our careers that we will look back on and, perhaps marvel at. Or in years to come, for many at least, the pre-2020 mass ritual of commuting will have its own wonders and near-mythological appeal.
Work, as many have mentioned before, is about far more than money.
Work is about identity (as much as it makes me crazy, the near universal question to strangers – “What do you do?” is actually quite revealing and evocative), structure, belonging, social contribution and much more.
What we “do” – either professionally or without pay or public recognition – does, whether we like it or not – define us, both to ourselves and others.
Back in the days when I would travel or attend conferences, I would introduce myself as either a teacher or writer, depending on the situation.
The different responses were quite remarkable.
Who, after all, doesn’t know (or have a history with) someone who is a teacher?
Teachers, for better or worse, tend to get a lot of sympathy, even pity, but there’s a lot of immediately common ground (and certainly not always positive) between almost everyone and some formative, hostile or inspiring teacher.
Writers are a different animal entirely.
Some people think writing must be the easiest job ever – all you do is make up stuff and write it down.
Of course writers don’t “make stuff up” – we listen, pay attention and catch the odd glimmer of hope or meaning that others might miss.
As Earnest Hemingway put it – “…writing is something that you can never do as well as it can be done. It is a perpetual challenge and it is more difficult than anything else that I have ever done—so I do it. And it makes me happy when I do it well. […]
“I have to write to be happy whether I get paid for it or not. But it is a hell of a disease to be born with. I like to do it. Which is even worse. That makes it from a disease into a vice. Then I want to do it better than anybody has ever done it which makes it into an obsession. An obsession is terrible. Hope you haven’t gotten any. That’s the only one I’ve got left.”
Writing is very close to teaching in terms of content, but writing is usually solitary, and any writer’s career is packed with rejection notices.
Writing is almost mystical. We take an idea or a snippet of a conversation and nurture it, like a spark, into a rousing flame of an idea to inspire, encourage or inform others.
Writing on a schedule, or at a set location doesn’t always work for me – inspiration comes – or refuses to come – no matter where I find myself.
Like many others in this very strange time, I find myself missing the structure of schedules that tells my brain and even my body to get into “work mode”.
Besides missing my office and my commute, I miss being that “other” person – that person who rushes off to work, who puts on the attire and attitude of one getting down to business.
I’m sure I will also miss working from home.
Which was more “productive”?
Who knows?
Commuting, like almost everything else, became just another habit.
Will we miss it enough to go back to it? Will some of us abandon it altogether?
The workplace, the work schedule, even the place and purpose of work in our lives is all in question now.
But I am convinced that this season will define us for years to come.
