AND LUXURY
In a large international study of the most meaningful things in life, work was mentioned 44% of the time, ranking second only to family. Of course, if we poll different people at different stages in their life, and from across different cultures—we're bound to get different results. But for many people, work will always be their darling.
One of the most pervasive facets of Japanese work culture is the distinct pride they take in their work. The Japanese call this shokunin; a term once reserved for the domain of craftspeople, today it's seeping into many aspects of Japanese working life with the implicit duty to perform at one's best. Japanese sculptor Toshio Odate explains:
The Japanese word shokunin is defined by both Japanese and Japanese‐English dictionaries as ‘craftsman’ or ‘artisan,’ but such a literal description does not fully express the deeper meaning. The Japanese apprentice is taught that shokunin means not only having technical skills, but also implies an attitude and social consciousness …. The shokunin has a social obligation to work his or her best for the general welfare of the people. This obligation is both spiritual and material, in that no matter what, the shokunin's responsibility is to fulfil the requirement.
Irrespective of who it is or what responsibility they may be fulfilling, many Japanese workers have pep in their step. There are several reasons for this phenomenon, but two reasons stand out. The first boils down to Japan as an island country. Just a bit bigger geographically than Great Britain, their respective island mentalities couldn't be further apart. In Japan, there is a cultural conformity to give everything you got to whatever it is you do. This ‘we're all in this together’ sentiment is reinforced by strict legislation. In other words, if an investment banker in the City of London shits the bed on a deal, he gets fired, but the same banker in Tokyo simply gets transferred to Osaka.
The second reason has to do with family. The drive for this kind of conscientious behaviour in Japanese workers stems from deep‐seated family bonds. It's precisely why out of all the businesses worldwide that have been around for over 100 years, 90% are Japanese. And they all keep it tight with fewer than 300 employees. Instead of striving to grow faster, they endure because they endeavour to grow better.
Whether in or outside of work, what spurs us to integrate is evolution itself. More folks could take a cue from the Japanese where good work, good business, and good citizenry for that matter, envelop a deep personal commitment to making your best contribution.
Take Simon Mhanna for example. Emigrating from Lebanon to Canada, Mhanna has swiftly become a national design leader. The quintessential shaper wakes up each day knowing he's flexing his chance to serve. ‘I worked hard to find opportunities that align with my passion and that allow me to fulfil my purpose. I show up true to myself, my feelings, and my beliefs–which makes it hard for me to separate the self from the work,’ he explains. It's his authentic intention and sense of self that enables Mhanna to deeply connect with his work.
By knowing what you value and how you are valued, you can blend yourself into your work. That feeling that you're making a real difference is unmistakable. And when you're a part of something larger than yourself, meaning is bound to come.
LOVE AND WORK
We glorify love and work and indeed the two are forever enmeshed in an intricate dance. ‘They are also locked in mortal combat,’ claims philosopher Alain de Botton. Like love, work is a practice–a daily operation that, over time, shapes the fabric of our lives.
This business of finding fulfilling work is no easy feat. With less replication, stability, and certainty, we've gained more choice in work, but we've also encountered a sweeping sense of self‐doubt. Never has the burden on the self been so damn heavy. Amidst more uncertainty, we yearn for a sense of control often found by succumbing to that taunting voice in our heads to do more. But we don't need to control everything to get a good outcome.
We have to take time for ourselves to quieten the inner critic, manage our anxiety, and minimise our stress. I'm exhausted just thinking about it, let alone writing about it. This approach all adds up to a thick layer of emotional labour that's rarely talked about or valued, much less quantified or even seen.
Meaning, if and when it shows up, can be beautifully random and randomly beautiful. And work, whether or not we like it, is a popular laboratory for making meaning. Like love, we throw ourselves into it. We encounter it. We fall into it. Sometimes we do so as a diversion from other facets of our lives. Other times we do so to move just that bit closer to our dreams. And in some instances, we do both.
Is it any wonder, then, that we feel stifled when we can't see ourselves making progress in work? That we feel disillusioned when the career ladder has collapsed and our attempts to impact our communities and leave a mark on the world has become more challenging? Work progression now resembles a labyrinth, and we're left feeling stunted as the result. This topsy‐turvy trajectory gets frustrating, even infuriating. But shapers find that it's precisely this psychologically uncomfortable feeling that leads to meaningful change.
These times where things don't quite go as well as expected, can, if we're open to it, lead to the most interesting of new horizons. We have an opportunity to nurture our talent, fuel our interest, and make an even bigger impact in the world. The only question is whether we're ready to do so.
CHAPTER 2 A SHORT HISTORY OF WORK
Throughout history, work was mostly miserable with little if any room for self‐expression. As punishment for the Original sin, drudgery was a potential stairway to heaven. Modern management commands productivity and progress while our attitudes towards work becomes bound to time on the clock. With the advent of the Internet, we are untethered from our desk and provided with endless opportunities to express ourselves. We're now set on giving life to the multitude of selves within us.
The port of Athens, with its colourful walks of life, was the perfect backdrop to waxing lyrical on the best way to live. Plato and his gang (Socrates, Glaucon, and co.) would cruise the buzzing streets of Piraeus intoxicated by the sights and sea. It was in this serene setting that Plato began shaping the world's most important philosophical work.
Platonic idealism (alongside the ancient Greek philosophies) was instrumental in giving rise to democracy and laying the bedrock of modern Western civilisation. ‘There will be no end to the troubles of states, or of humanity itself, till philosophers become kings in this world, or till those we now call kings and rulers really and truly become philosophers,’ is one of his finer lines.
In Plato's Republic, the ideal state is divided into three distinct classes: the Producers, who provide material and functional needs; the Auxiliaries, who defend the state; and the Guardians, who govern it. Justice is maintained when every person within a respective class performs his or her proper function in society.
For a long time, I was hung up on a philosopher who lived some 2400 years ago proclaiming the best way for everyone to live, and in particular how I should live. Oh, the gall to speak of the desires of my soul and then exclude them from expression! Admittedly those were different times and I've grossly oversimplified things.
Still, it would be fun to see the expression on Plato's face were he dropped into a present‐day Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo. Gobsmacked! He rubs his eyes repeatedly, not from the neon lights (although those nearly blind him) but from how technology and mankind move in unison together. With his jaw dropped well below his chiton, we could explain that the world is connected through a vast wired network, that large containers whisk us through the sky high above oceans, and from time to time we travel to other bodies in the galaxy.
Or better yet, if we could travel back in time to Piraeus circa 380 BC and demonstrate our progress as a civilisation. As writer Tom Streithorst hints, ‘With an AK‐47, a home brewing kit, or a battery‐powered vibrator, startled [onlookers] would worship at our feet.’ Imagine still yet, if we were to explain that we've designed machines