“The old and honorable idea of ‘vocation’ is simply that we each are called, by God, or by our gifts, or by our preference, to a kind of good work for which we are particularly fitted.” — Wendell Berry
Work is not just our jobs. Work is energy spent to change something. Yes, we can do that at our jobs—but also on our block, in our kitchen, or in a conversation with someone we love.
Not all work is good work. We call this drudgery. But we know the good stuff when we see it—that messy, sweaty satisfaction that would otherwise make no sense.
Good work—work that is truly satisfying to us and others—has three characteristics:
It requires something of us: an investment of time, attention, effort and skill that exacts a real toll. We should finish tired, but not depleted. The difficulty is what helps us grow. No, insurmountable isn’t helpful—what kills you doesn’t make you stronger. But if it is too easy, if we care more about looking good than giving it our all, we leave the same as when we started.
It aligns with our unique gifts, our motivated abilities. We won’t love every part of it, and we shouldn’t expect to. But, on the whole, we enjoy the work for its own sake because we can sense that this is something we are good at and want to do better and offer as something unique to the world. This is the kind of work that in some way reveals and reflects who you really are.
It is effective. It’s the kind of work that leads to a positive change in ourselves, in others, or in the world around us—the effects of which can be seen or felt and carried forward in minds and bodies.
Sometimes this happens quickly, like when you mow the yard. Sometimes the change takes quite a while, like when we choose to exercise regularly. And other times the impact of our work is perpetually nebulous, full of doubt and only glimpses of what we have truly helped make real. Parenting is one such experience.
Good work is not guaranteed.
In part, because no one can make us work. We have to choose to give ourselves to something—to give ourselves away.
And having overcome the gravity of comfort or boredom or tranquility, we only arrive at the beginning. Now we have to fight—hammer and chisel, books and nap times, date nights and phone calls—to keep work good.
That is our life’s work.