Work vs. Life: The Pursuit of Wholeness

I’ve recently read a book called "The Good Enough Job" that explores how deeply we’ve come to identify our value with the work we do. Work is an essential part of our lives and has increasingly become a primary source of meaning and identity for many. In fact, one of the first questions we ask when we meet someone new is, "What do you do?"

In the book, the author, Simone Stolzoff, nudges us to diversify our identity and sense of meaning beyond work. How would we describe ourselves if we couldn’t speak to our work? How would we orient our lives if work wasn’t our center of gravity?

Moving from NYC to New Zealand, I’ve experienced a very different cultural orientation to work. What I loved about New York was the deep hunger to do something remarkable and meaningful, to make an impact. There’s a grit and a relentless dedication to excellence that I love about the culture there. When we look at all the daily choices, big and small, there’s a willingness to sacrifice life in the pursuit of this hunger. 

What I love about New Zealand is how much life matters over work. Relationships matter, nature matters, family matters, community matters, joy matters. Work is one portion of life, and all the rest matter more. With all those daily choices, life takes precedence. Taking long holidays is the norm. Sunday emails are extremely rare. People take turning off after hours seriously. 

Both places value both life and work, but there’s a clear priority that’s baked into the culture. These two cultures in many ways represent a core tension I grapple with - a relentless desire for meaning and impact (anchored in what I do and what I produce) and a desire to lead a joyous, balanced life that’s anchored around family, friends, relationships, and nature. 

When I graduated from college, I was hell-bent on finding meaningful work. I turned over a lot of rocks and pursued this goal relentlessly. And I succeeded. When I look back at what my twenty-something self had hoped to do by now, I’m living that dream and enjoying my work a great deal. 

But I also find myself going to the brink of burnout often, and I’m constantly battling my own workaholism and work-related stress. When pressed in my daily choices, I have been prioritising work. My sense of identity is influenced heavily by work; my life does seem to be anchored around work. That shows up as not taking enough time off, not knowing what to do with myself when I’m not working, sacrificing my time and energy too often, etc.

As I unfurl from these habits, I’ve started reorienting my sense of identity. If I were to describe who I am without referencing the work I do, I would say: I am someone who loves spending time in the sea; my relationships are important to me and I’ve been learning to value them and invest in them more; I love creating things, through art or music or writing; I am fascinated by human nature and enjoy exploring and uncovering what drives and motivates people; I enjoy looking for patterns and considering how environments can shape and reshape humans. If I had endless money and didn’t have to work, I’d still do what I’m doing now, but I’d spend more time resting, connecting, and exploring the world. 

I think the key to unlocking this shift in focus is breaking out of busyness. Busy has become such a status symbol in our culture, across most corners of the world of work. We seem to conflate busyness and productivity. But there’s a difference between doing a lot of things and doing the right things. I’m finding that less really is more in this domain and being intentional is a superpower. 

Part of that intentionality is being clear on how I can best use my time and energy to make an impact in the world and simultaneously prioritise my own life. I’ve been allowing myself space to slow down more and spend more time just being without filling up my time and energy with inessential tasks. I think this intentionality has started to level up my productivity as well. 

But Simone reminds me, “We shouldn’t work less just because it allows us to be better workers. We should work less because it allows us to be better humans.” There’s a great study by John Darley and Daniel Batson that demonstrates this point. The researchers had 67 seminary students deliver a sermon on the parable of the Good Samaritan. Some of the participants were instructed to hurry and told they were expected a few minutes ago. Others were told they had a few minutes before they needed to be there for the sermon. Along the way, the participants encountered a man slumped over and clearly in distress. The researchers were nearby watching to see if the participants stopped to offer help. The result: 63% of the participants who had time stopped to help, and only 10% of the participants in a hurry stopped. These participants were rushing to share a parable about helping others, and in that rush, they were too busy to stop. It’s bonkers! But I know if I were part of that study, I probably wouldn’t have stopped. 

Our lives have been overshadowed by the prominence of work and the never-ending to-dos. I’m not sure that’s serving us. I know it’s not serving me. It may take a while for me to reform my workaholic ways, but I’m committed to staying the course. There is something magical about slowing down. As I practice being more intentional with my time, creating more space and less busy, I feel far more present and joyful. 

There’s a lot of buzz around artificial intelligence and fear that the robots are coming for people’s jobs. In a world where people are valued as workers first, and citizens second, that is scary. There’s a huge opportunity to approach this revolution with intention and steer it to be more, not less, life-affirming. I don’t have a crystal ball, but I believe it’s likely the AI revolution will create a whole lot of jobs that are suited especially for humans to do what we do best. But in order to do that, we have to first reimagine our relationship with work.  

In this unfolding narrative, where life leads and work follows, what would change? It's a question worth exploring as we navigate the path of our own human experience.