It has been ten months since I last held a full-time job. Despite unemployment and part-time gigs, my savings are dwindling and conventional wisdom, my own wisdom say that I should be panicking, throwing myself at the feet of every potential employer, begging, groveling for the opportunity to sell my time and energy.
I’ve applied to plenty of jobs. These days, it seems every company wants not just your time and effort, but also your heart and soul. Each cover letter is a test of your faith, an opportunity for you to demonstrate your undying passion for floss made of recycled soda bottles, or for bespoke his-and-hers supplements (untested, of course), or for selling some app that promises to optimize some obscure corner of somebody’s business. Before, employers were content to have our hands and our brains and eight to ten hours of our day. But now they also demand our love and devotion.
Maybe the dozens of employers I’ve supplicated with false declarations of eternal love have sensed the insincerity in my words. But is it really possible for them to find the pure devotion they seek? Perhaps sometimes. There are definitely true believers out there, employees who regard their company’s goals as spiritual truth.
But what about the rest of us? The faithless, infidels, the profaners of this holy relationship between corporation and individual? Where do we find our place in the pantheon of capitalism? I’d be content to sweep its halls in exchange for a place to sleep and food to eat. Alas no, it demands our complete and utter devotion or gives us nothing at all.
Why ask for love where there can be none? Faking love is a special skill, and one many of us lack. Let work be what it once was: a simple contract exchanging labor for money. A job is not a relationship, nor is it a means to spiritual enlightenment. Your employer is not your priest, your mother, your lover, or even your friend.
Unless you’re a total nepo baby — in which case, good for you. Put in a word for me?