Job Description

MANY writers have discussed how a sudden and unexpected event in one's life can sometimes lead to a positive revitalisation of one's energies. For George Gurdjieff it was an awakening, for T. E. Lawrence an absorption, for Jean-Paul Sartre an expression of freedom, and for Colin Wilson the development of a super-consciousness.

Most people assume that they live very mundane and meaningless lives, but I have often found that a prevailing sense of negativity or lack of self-respect can be reinforced by the manner in which they describe themselves. When one individual asks another what they "do", the predictable response is invariably related to a job description of some kind and their companion inevitably relies upon limited terminological expressions such as "bus driver", "plumber" or "bricklayer". In reality, however, whilst the person in question may well be employed in one or more of these categories, the man or woman who sweeps the streets by day could just as easily be a poet or musician by night. So which description, therefore, is more accurate? Is someone condemned to be known as a "window cleaner", simply on account of the fact that others are unaware of the additional dimensions to their character that have added further strings to their bow?

We all have our inherent strengths and weaknesses, but a gift for numerology, origami or dance can be a vocation. Polishing hotel door handles, on the other hand, is not. As a result, I have often mentioned this disparity to those whom I feel have certain attributes and who, by withholding their innate talents, are inadvertently hiding their light under a bushel and falling into the trap of self-deprecation. Strangely enough, there are exceptions to the rule and, whilst most of us usually feel more valued if we are pursuing a higher calling of some kind, in Journey to the East (1932) Hermann Hesse recounts the tale of a man who seems to yearn for a life of increasing simplicity:

"I, whose calling was really only that of a violinist and story-teller, was responsible for the provision of music for our group, and I then discovered how a long time devoted to small details exalts us and increases our strengths."

In the words of the famous seventeenth-century idiom, it takes all sorts to make a world.