Why Do I Work?

Well, for the money I suppose. Is that all? There are other things. The idea that I’m helping people have better lives. A kind of joy in service. The idea of my particular work allowing me to develop and share creative energies. It all matters.

I suppose that if human sin hadn’t become part of the equation there would be little that we would call “work” in the world. Perhaps a little pruning here or there or some basic gathering of edibles. Maybe building shelters. None of the nine to five and beyond that marks the world of work these days. No need of the constant competition to get our share.

Yet the world is not that way. At best we can hope that our work allows some of what is higher, better, and holy be expressed. We will sweat and push and shovel and move, each in our own way, until the end of our lives. Most of us will place ourselves in cubicles with little meaning except for paychecks and spend our years looking out the boss’ window seeking the sun.

In the end at least part of this is our own choice. The person who works only for money may be the poorest one of all.

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