I do not dream of labor
a restful musing
Dreams are a powerful thing.
A dangerous tool,
when put side by side with the way
reality fills up a room.
I am often asked what my dream job is. If I could have anything to do in this world, what type of job would I want to work? I am always perplexed because if I’m honest…nothing. I heard a quote, sometimes attributed to James Baldwin, sometimes to others years ago that says “I do not dream of labor.” This struck me to my core because for most of my young adult life (and early 30s) I was obsessed with collapsing myself into the box marked vocation and “calling.” I wondered what my purpose in life could be. It was never clear to me. Although for some reason I wanted to be a marine biologist as a young child1, I have never felt passionate about a “calling.”
I simply wanted to exist.
I wanted to be happy.
I wanted to love people.
I wanted to be safe.
I wanted to have the bookcases that I saw in the Beauty and the Beast.
In my wildest dreams, I am “lazy.” I am given the permission to lie down when my body is tired. I am happiest because I go in and out of nature, enjoying the earth. I laugh with my friends for hours over a meal. I drink wine. I go on runs in the most beautiful places. I play piano for hours, with a love song on my lips. I read in a coffee shop until I fall asleep on the table. In my dreams children are safe.
Maybe my naive is showing again. And some will pushback and say “if a man doesn’t work he shouldn’t eat!” And, I suppose I don’t know what to tell you. Labor has been so infused with normalcy that we are stuck. Toil seems to be our portion in this life. I’m sorry that this reality has pressed in on you to the point that divesting from labor feels like violence. I truly am. But, these are my dreams.
I ponder why humans could have shaped the world in any way that they chose to but they willingly chose (and choose) to exploit. To dominate. To commodify. This world is someone’s dream whether we like it or not. How frightening. No, my dreams aren’t for labor. I dream of being left alone to be mediocre and happy. I dream of days looking at the sun and whispering to God. I dream of dying naive one day. Happy. With a smile lightly sketched upon my beautiful brown skin.
*I am praying and dreaming of life beyond labor today. I hope that for a little you can escape with me.*
This dream is made funnier by the fact that I can’t swim and was not great in science. I have no idea where I got this notion from but it was a strong impulse as a young child.
Mary Oliver on the Zen of Creative Artistry:
"It is six A.M., and I am working. I am absentminded, reckless, heedless of social obligations, etc. It is as it must be. The tire goes flat, the tooth falls out, there will be a hundred meals without mustard. The poem gets written. I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light and I have no shame. Neither do I have guilt. My responsibility is not to the ordinary or the timely. It does not include mustard, or teeth. It does not extend to the lost button, or the beans in the pot. My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive. If I have a meeting with you at three o’clock, rejoice if I am late. Rejoice even more if I do not arrive at all.
There is no other way work of artistic worth can be done. And the occasional success, to the striver, is worth everything. The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.
“I dream of being free.” A whole word