What is work anyway?

And are we allowed to enjoy it?

I am coming to the end of my first month as a PhD student in Creative Writing at the University of Lincoln and taking stock of where I am. In some ways it seems much longer since I attended my Induction, yet the days are streaming past at a far greater rate than they ever did when I had a ‘proper’ job.

This first month has been a period of adjustment. Not knowing what I’m doing and learning to be comfortable with uncertainty, which has never been one of my strengths. Feeling out of my depth, convinced that I can never do this then suddenly rays of light – inspiration and rushes of confidence. An awareness that this is the’ easy’ bit and fear of how I will cope when it gets harder.

Meeting and liking my supervisors but then not wanting to let them down. Wondering how they perceive me? Do they think I’m capable of this level of study? Are they just being kind.  All my insecurities making themselves known.

But the biggest challenge has been allowing myself to let go of previous attitudes about ‘work.’ I have never had a job I’ve really enjoyed. As a solicitor and a mediator there were elements of the work I liked, things I was good at and times when I thought I had made a difference to a client, which was deeply satisfying. But I never thought the was what I was ‘meant’ to do. It never aligned with my purpose, if there is indeed such a thing as purpose. It has been hard to let go of the idea that ‘work’ is something separate from my life. Something to be tolerated and got through so I can resume my ‘real’ life which was, for thirty years, lived at weekends, in the evenings and on holidays. I was fortunate to be able to expand my holidays so that eventually I was working three days a week and taking practically all the school holidays off. But I can see now that this was disguising the problem. That I didn’t want to be doing the work at all.  All those hours, particularly before Covid when it was all office based. I would have finished what needed to be done and yet I was compelled to sit at my desk until the virtual bell went and I could reasonably go home.  That sense that I was wishing away my one ‘wild and precious life.’

I understand that most people have to work and often in deeply unsatisfactory jobs. I know it isn’t possible for most of us to find work which aligns perfectly with who we are and how we see ourselves. But should we just accept that? Go along with the idea that for most of us work will only ever be a means to an end, a way of surviving? I don’t know. I’ve spent a lot of my working years being unhappy, dissatisfied and feeling guilty because of it.

So now, when reading a novel does constitute work and walking the landscape constitutes work and going to the archives and talking to historians and librarians is what I’m supposed to be doing, I find it hard to accept that I am allowed to enjoy it. I keep saying ‘well today was great but I’m sure I’ll start to hate it later on.’  Like I’m only allowed to enjoy working at something if eventually it becomes unpleasant.

I have no doubt that the PhD will become harder, much harder and there will be days when I hate it, days when I want to give up. But today I’m having a lovely time. And that’s allowed. I can spend today doing something deeply satisfying, which feeds my soul. It’s an adjustment but it’s one I’m beginning to make.