What do you do? and why is that so important?
Whenever my 8 year old meets someone new, she’s more often than not, asked two questions — 1. What’s your name? and 2. Which grade are you in?
As an adult, when I meet someone new, these questions get translated to — 1. What’s your name? and 2. What do you do?
I will not lie. Before we took the unconventional route of homeschooling and the answers to these questions started becoming not-so-straightforward, I have also asked kids and adults alike questions similar to these.
When we ask these questions, are we genuinely curious about the grade the child is in, or are we trying to just move the conversation forward? And when we ask an adult — what do you do, what do we really want to know about what they do?
What do you do? — is a question generally asked to know what the person does for a living. The work that we do to earn a living, then unfortunately, becomes the biggest part of our identity.
How many times do we go beyond the standard “what do you do”? I understand if the premise is a work related event or a professional gathering. But in all other walks of life ( and even in professional gatherings), aren’t there better ways to break the proverbial ice? How about asking — what are you currently passionate about? Or what makes you come alive? Or even, what do you do in your free time, what books are you reading or shows are you watching right now?
“When people answer the question — “what do you do?,” they’re usually thinking far more about how others will perceive and interpret their answer than the answer itself,” says Heather Vough, a professor of management at the University of Cincinnati who is conducting studies on this exact question.
“Because our jobs are so close to our identity, people are very inclined to want others to see them how they see themselves,” she says. “So we think: In order for me to continue feeling like I have this identity, I need others to verify it for me.”
Where do you think this is leading us?
In 2018, when I finally decided to quit my job and give more time to my daughter, I thought I was giving up only on money. What I did not realize at that time was, that I was also giving up on a huge part of my identity. I did not realize that the structure of our society makes it difficult if you go the unconventional route, even if you’re privileged enough to give up on a steady source of income for a couple of years.
In her absolutely fantastic Ted talk, my favorite storyteller Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, talks about the danger of a single story. She warns that if we hear only one single story about a person or a place, we risk a critical misunderstanding.
What you do in your work life, is only one story about you. A single story. And that can never completely be your identity.
It is because that has become our biggest story by far, that we are placing more pressure on ourselves. We need it to be big, to have more social capital, more respect. A better identity.
Or do we?
If you were never asked what do you do for a living, if work could never be talked about ( not even on social media :) ), if your value was not even a tiny bit correlated to how much money you make — what would you ask someone you just met? What would you tell about yourself?
