I have been listening to Aesop Rock's fantastic album Labor Days, thinking about work and what it means to me. I did a brief search on the web (Google, specifically) for "work" and found vast, vague returns.
Personally, I maintain that work holds a powerful definition of who we are. While it does not say everything, it reveals much of our personality: either our interests or what we can tolerate; how high we regard money; the ways we prefer to interact with people, be it as little as possible or from a position of condescension; and what our basic abilities and skills are. Of course, there's more to it than even that short list.
Lately I've become more convinced that work has a direct impact on self-esteem. I take great pride in a job well done, but I feel even better when fewer abstractions are involved; the tangible results of work are the most fulfilling. Perhaps the clutter, the paper, and the black holes of the past two years has affected me more than I had ever thought. A mousehole on the landscape has unmasked many illusions.
A distinct sense of accomplishment at the end of the day makes me high, like sunshine on my shoulder or something.


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