What You Lose When You Lose the Title

I used to have manager in my title.  It was followed by “at XYZ corporation”.  I won’t say where, but you’ve heard of it.  It was impressive enough that at parties I didn’t have to explain further.  When someone asks you what you do for a living, they’re giving you a little test.  “Are you smart?”  “Are you successful?”  “What kind of person are you?”  (But really, “Are you important?”)  If you beat them at the title game they change the subject.  If they are a doctor or a lawyer or higher up in the food chain, they wait patiently for you to ask, “So, what do you do?”  They clear their throat, thoroughly pleased.  “Well, interesting you should ask.”

It wasn’t until I shed this superficial definition of myself, that I realized how heavily I relied upon it.  It told an entire back story about me, how I went to college and worked hard and moved up in the world.  Now I say, “nothing” and smile.  It’s a little shocking and less than what I do, but it avoids an entire complicated conversation I don’t want to have.  Saying, “writer” brings on the second test:  “Where have you been published?”  They are deeply disappointed when they haven’t heard of the places I list.  Saying, “blogger” is slightly more shocking than nothing, but then they want to know How and Where and How Much I Make.  They might have a cousin who blogs and they’re thinking about doing it too.  I love talking about blogging, but not in this context.  In this context, I’m on the defense, trying to explain why it is Valuable and Important.  I’m fighting for the cred of all bloggers.  I just want another drink.

When I had a job and a regular paycheck, I hated it.  But now, two months into my travels, writing full-time and sans title, I’m staring down a different barrel.  “So what do you do for a living?”  Good question.  In my heart, I’m a writer, and some people think I’m good at it.  A lot of editors don’t agree.  The other day I applied for a writing job that I considered well beneath me.  It paid practically nothing.  Other writers scoffed at it.  And I got declined.

Lesson #1: If you are going to base your self-worth on your career, don’t be a writer.  The daily rejection will have you crying in the shower faster than you can say “lack of health insurance”.

Being self-employed or creatively unemployed or however you chose to name it, requires a re-engineering of your core coping skills.  You’ve been living with this crutch and those muscles that hold you up and say, “I am not my job” have atrophied.  At first you’re flopping around like a fish out of water (well, you are one at this point) trying your best to talk your way out of a conversation that has uncomfortably turned towards what you’re going to do after you’re done “playing around”.  Or you might use the “I used to be a…” cover.  However, it won’t be long before someone calls your bluff on this little device.  Ultimately it’s all the same vacuum, sucking your energy to fill in the spot where that all-defining title used to be.

Eventually, you shake it off.

I have this conversation now, and watch from a few feet above myself.  I’ve lived on the other side, I know the old reaction.  Now, people will feign interest or politely smile, but there is always this hint of judgment.  They wonder what anyone would.  I’ve given them no clues about me; I haven’t comforted them at all.  I lost my title, but I’ve also lost the shorthand we use to communicate characteristics about ourselves.

Lesson #2: If you are going to tell people you do “nothing” for a living you better have a good joke or be fast with the drinks–before they have a tiny seizure.

The first thing you forget when you take the leap, is that not everyone has taken it with you.