Falling in love. With work.

I’m in love with work. Always have been. Doesn’t matter what kind of work. I’ve done it all. Oh, maybe not quite all. But an immense variety. I made my living mostly by writing. For newspapers. Enjoyed maybe 90 percent of it.  Yes, loved it. Work wasn’t really work. More pleasure than anything. Mindfully stimulating. Adventuresome, too. And one summer I worked as a ditch digger. On a work crew reinforcing a railroad bridge across the Fraser River near the Continental Divide in the Colorado  Rockies. Another summer I painted auto tire treads with a gooey tar at a tire manufacturing plant. And I worked at a craft, refinishing furniture.    Spent three years, too, in the U.S. Army, being a goofy soldier. And my first job was delivering a daily newspaper. On my bicycle. And these days, though I’m retired, I’ve become a househusband, of sorts.   Doing household chores and cooking. And not least of all, writing my blog. Daily. There’s no let up in my so-called ‘work’ schedule. Might call me a workaholic. Except for one thing. I’m loving every minute of what I’m doing. I enjoy it. Believe me, it’s pleasure. But still, I hear people complaining about their work. They tell me what they do. And it sounds like mostly pleasure. I’d love to be doing it. But they’ve learned to detest their work.   Sad. Sad. Sad. They are wasting away their work career. By literally making it tiresome, unfulfilling work.    Thing is, work shouldn’t be work. It’s a sin. Making hard, agonizing work of work. I much prefer falling in love. With work. –Jim Broede