by David Wann
In our more “civilized” times, the mob only watches. Though watching sports in person is often more energizing than on TV, the escalating cost of tickets is one reason (among many) that American savings rates have gone negative in recent years. Typically, the players on a star-studded team make more money than a majority of the fans in a packed stadium, combined. Meanwhile, back at the ranch house, a family has just invested three hours of sitting in their “home theater” watching a losing game. Watch out—the whole evening could go up in smoke. Unless, that is, the game is about something more than winning, like being together as a family, or being immersed in the sport itself. Let’s say we know enough about the sport to be fascinated with its strategies, or maybe we go outside at halftime and throw a football around with our son, rake leaves, or talk with a neighbor. Think how much postgame depression and sports-induced suicide can be avoided if we take the hyped-up games on TV a bit less seriously, not letting them become addictions that substitute for life itself.
The Evergreen Cougars, including Libby Wann, take the 1997 state high school title after a double overtime. © Dennis Schroeder/Rocky Mountain News
Psychologists tell us it comes down to involvement. From long-term studies of human behavior, psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi finds that the more expensive and energy consuming our leisure time equipment, the more detached we are from the activity itself. Despite incredibly intricate camera work and awesome television technology, our huge-screen TVs don’t take us any closer to reality. In fact, many times, we are only half-present as we watch, suspended in an ether of virtual reality, with distant voices calling us back to reality—where we could be feeling alive. Hobbies like playing music with friends; playing amateur sports such as softball, bowling, and skill-intensive fly-fishing; reading a great book; or conversing at a dinner table make us happier, because we participate in them. (The root meaning of the word “amateur” is “I love,” not “I’m not very good”.) These activities require less expensive equipment and consume less energy, but demand a lot of psychic energy and focus. Teacher Phil Lohre not only coaches sports, but also offers an elective class in card games that his grandmother taught him—hearts, spades, and bridge—all of which involve teamwork, concentration, and involvement.
In Csikszentmihalyi’s research, U.S. teenagers only experience flow about 13 percent of the time while watching TV, compared with 34 percent while doing hobbies and 44 percent while playing sports and games. Yet these same teenagers spend at least four times more of their free hours watching TV. What’s going on—is it hypnosis? We adults, pioneers of an electronic generation, don’t seem to be faring much better. “Instead of playing music,” says Csikszentmihalyi, “we listen to music by billionaire musicians. We spend hours each day watching actors who pretend to have adventures.”7
We’re socially conditioned to believe that passive relaxation yields the greatest happiness, and that consumption and possessions help us relax. We imagine them to make our lives so convenient, so easy. By using various machines, media, and consumer products, we believe we can remove “distractions” like cooking, walking, and even thinking, so we can fully relax. But there’s a critical difference between passive relaxation and restorative relaxation. We all need time to unwind, and we are usually refreshed by the beauty of nature on a hike, a depth of calmness when we meditate, or the sense of gratitude and delight we get from playing with our kids or the dog. I think of these activities as restorative and creative relaxation. But when we are simply under the spell of commercial stimuli on the tube or at the mall, we aren’t creating ourselves but rather allowing ourselves to be created. We aren’t aligning our actions with our values, but aligning our inactions with someone else’s values.
Getting Unstuck: The Playground Is Us
Residents of the average American household will spend about a quarter of a million dollars over the course of their lives, trying to entertain themselves—with tickets, electronic toys, sports equipment, vacations, and all the rest.8 (Of course, a very affluent American household could spend that much in a single year.) The question is, what sort of value do we get from these expenses—what exactly are we trying to buy? And what percentage of those expenses results from social pressure and commercial persuasion? Not only do we want to have fun; we also want to appear to be having fun, because of its social currency. We want to tell stories about sports and vacation adventures because everyone else is telling their stories. In effect, we buy leisure partly in self-defense.
However, in a less consumptive lifestyle, the most valuable leisure equipment is free—our minds and bodies. The equipment we were each issued provides almost infinite opportunities for play, from sex to sudoku. The leisure industry can’t sell us our own bodies, and though our minds are often easier targets, we can develop the natural equivalent of pop-up blockers if we work at it. Industry-sponsored media love to portray the American lifestyle in terms of what we buy and own, but a more centered, calmer American lifestyle is now digging out from the avalanche of hype that just about smothered us. Millions of people, including some of my friends and me, are getting their fun and entertainment from activities that don’t cost a dime. Instead of buying entertainment, we are creating it.
For example, organic gardening gets a huge exclamation point in my life because of its many intrinsic rewards. I burn calories digging soil, turning the compost, and gathering organic materials to grow high-quality food; in turn, the food gives me more energy. It just makes sense. In the neighborhood garden, I work with friends to devise strategies to beat the heat or outwit invasions of villainous insects. (The challenge is similar to a video game, only real; and the solutions use martial arts approaches rather than handheld missile launchers.) In the garden, we constantly use all our senses—including the climactic experience of tasting a fresh peach or a salad of juicy tomatoes and basil—all within prescribed rules that avoid the use of hazardous chemicals. It’s a game you can eat. Skillful gardening is as challenging as golf or downhill skiing but instead of costing $50-$100 a day, it yields an ongoing income. The time span may be seasonal and the feedback slow and steady—a drawback for those addicted to constant hits of stimulation—but for me, and many others, slow time is luxury time. What’s the hurry?
For Gary and Patricia, nothing beats a day spent on a photographic adventure, either in the city or out in nature. They love to forage for images on hikes and seasonal explorations. Instead of taking along credit cards, they bring lightweight cameras and tripods. Instead of mindlessly obeying advertising images, they create their own images with skill and curiosity. At the end of the day, they bring weightless digital treasures back to their computer lab to see what beauty, mystery, whimsy, and irony they’ve captured.
Creative sewing gets Susan’s recreational juices flowing. Since her early days, when her grandmother taught her to sew on a treadle sewing machine, she’s learned how to create just about anything with fabric: a wedding dress for her daughter; a slipcover for a long, sectional sofa in her son’s family room; silly Halloween costumes for skits at work; and stuffed animals like the two-foot-tall, jagged-toothed Tyrannosaurus rex that now prowls her grandson’s bedroom.
For Jan, contra dancing is a great way to end the week. She loves the lively jigs and reels that have survived from another time, and the nonverbal communication and customary exchanging of dance partners. Her steps, skips and twirls connect her with the kaleidoscopic pattern of the whole group. Even though I myself have been left scratching my head at such events—wondering where I was supposed to turn—I understand the giddy appeal of being in motion in this conspiracy of joy.
How many people do you know who have a trapeze in their high-ceilinged living room? Edee and Bob also stay in condition by taking turns balancing each other on their outstretched legs—an exercise in trust and coordination, and also an impressive parlor trick at parties! Once the Michigan state pogo stick champion, she claims to be able to bounce no handed and one legged at the same time, though I h
aven’t confirmed that one yet. She’s the queen of ceremonies and celebrations, recently orchestrating a wacky neighborhood parade complete with streamers, noisemakers, and a marching band of kazoos. We carried cloth banners and pulled toy wagons decorated as floats, and Edee marched beside us in a drum majorette outfit, blowing a whistle as cadence. Says Edee, “Parades are like fresh flowers. They are momentary splashes of color and energy and then they’re gone.” Bob’s passion is designing and building things, preferably out of salvaged materials. I’ve watched him over the course of ten years, remodeling houses, building handrails for elderly neighbors, crafting artful sand containers to prevent falls after a snow, and making sturdy compost bins and cold frames for the community garden, enabling something to be grown every day of the year, even in Colorado’s erratic climate.
Gary Galger and Patricia Lynn Reilly love to spend their time lost in the deep play of looking for great photographic images. Credit: Gary Galger
In a single generation, we’ve forgotten that conversation is an art. You set up unspoken “rules,” as you go; you find areas of common interest, you entertain each other with stories and jokes, you comfort each other, all free. John de Graaf explains how we’ve abandoned gatherings around the table: “Think about it. Who has informal chats at the kitchen table? How often do we use our dining room tables for company or our coffee tables for gatherings with neighbors? ‘Having people over’ has been reduced by nearly half in the last forty years. Instead, we’re eating fast foods alone in our cars.”9
What happened to charades and scavenger hunts—which bring people together, don’t cost anything, and are uncomplicated fun? What happened, I think, was they fell out of style because there’s no money to be made. Nobody advertises profitless people-games that don’t require products. In a world of affluenza victims, public relations professionals—who create the image of our lifestyle without our permission—don’t promote self-created, free recreation. However, in our style-oblivious neighborhood, Nancy orchestrated a great scavenger hunt recently, leaving intriguing clues to go to various locations, like, “How exciting when told, A surprise this cabinet will hold.” (The storage box for packages left by the mailman.) On our team, we sent the kids ahead, telling them to find each clue and bring it back to headquarters, where we sat drinking beer. In a pinch, we sent adult members into action—on the run, of course, because the other teams were right on our tail. Who needs reality shows when reality is even better?
Sometimes the universe itself is playful. I love it when a belly laugh washes over me from out of nowhere, as one did in a Mexican fishing village a few years ago. I was sitting in the shallows of the surf, trying to put on a pair of flippers to go snorkeling. But every time I made the attempt, another wave mischievously knocked me over, and the joke carried me to a wonderfully humble place that made even the seagulls cackle. It was hilarious how small I was compared with the ocean!
Dawn, who tells stories about swimming with whales and dolphins, tells another story of what happened when a blue jay attacked a robin’s nest in her backyard, knocking the baby birds to the ground: Dawn quickly built a nest out of a breadbasket and dried grass, lashed it onto a tree limb, and carefully tucked the fallen babies into it. Mama Robin, who watched the whole scene, quickly abandoned the old nest and moved into the new one to take care of her family. Dawn swears that Mama returned the following summer, landing on her windowsill to say hello.
Other friends of mine are learning to speak Spanish, largely for the challenge; volunteering to do ecological restoration; and becoming knowledgeable about citizen involvement in the political process—from caucus through election night. The fine line between play and work begins to dissolve when we enjoy doing things that are also useful.
The Puzzle and Paradox of Work
I’ve reached some nice heights performing music, sometimes becoming so involved that it seemed like someone else was singing and playing guitar. When I was back in college playing in an acoustic band, I considered trying to convert that passion into a living, but then I imagined all the smoky bars we’d have to perform in; all the people talking, laughing and drinking beer while we played our best songs. Instead, I decided to try kneading another passion, writing, into a profession. In my late twenties, I wrote a novel that sprouted from postadolescent convictions and was almost published. One of the book’s themes is—guess what—finding meaningful work in a top-heavy, money-obsessed economy. The main character, Josh Watkin, needs to find work quickly, since his wife is eight and a half months pregnant. With the goal of retaining deed to his soul while still making a living, Josh fills out dozens of job applications, each of which seems to have unacceptable linkages with the Growth Machine he despises. In one chapter, he feels existential anxiety about the prospects of finding good work:
The phrase “reason for leaving” may ring a bell as three words that always appear on a standard job application. They want to know why you’d rather be “here” in this job than “there” at your last one. The underlying accusation, of course, is that you were fired, but even if you weren’t, they give you a box about the size of a cornflake to explain why you did leave, when really nothing shorter than a book could tell the story.
Your “reason for leaving” doesn’t have to be an honest one, but it had better sound like everybody else’s reason or you’re automatically out. Be careful what you put in that box! Don’t try to explain in ten words or less that “We need jobs that use our equipment—our bodies—rather than machines, because obesity is becoming an epidemic.” Don’t say, “We need jobs that don’t extract and auction off every last square foot of land and every last particle of soil,” or that, “We need jobs where we don’t lose our dignity; where our voices are heard and our creativity is challenged but not used up; we need work that’s meaningful and important to be doing; where we can feel human, alive, and energized.” Don’t even try to summarize that you “want to feel fulfilled.” It might be honest but it sounds way too earnest in today’s wound-up, cynical world. Do yourself a favor: just put down “money” and you’re on your way.
I guess I didn’t follow my own character’s advice: the money hasn’t for the most part been my reason for leaving the jobs I’ve left. I simply wanted bigger challenges, doing work that I believed in. Admittedly, I was a product of my times: In 1970, 79 percent of college freshmen said their goal was developing a meaningful philosophy of life. By 2005—after the spread of affluenza—75 percent said their primary objective was to be financially very well off.10
Studs Terkel begins his epic book of interviews, Working, with the sentence, “This book, being about work, is, by its very nature, about violence—to the spirit as well as to the body.” The book is a search for daily meaning as well as daily bread, for recognition as well as cash. One of the people he interviewed, editor Nora Watson, says, “I think most of us are looking for a calling, not a job. Most of us, like the assembly line worker, have jobs that are too small for our spirit. Jobs are not big enough for people.” Other people from all walks of life concur: “I’m a machine,” says the spot-welder. “I’m caged,” says the bank teller. “A monkey can do what I do,” says the receptionist. “I’m an object,” says the model. “I’m less than a farm implement,” says the migrant worker.11
Commenting on the way work often dominates our lives, essayist Bob Black writes, tongue-in-cheek, “Free time is a euphemism for the peculiar way labor, as a factor of production, not only transports itself at its own expense to and from the workplace, but also assumes primary responsibility for its own maintenance and repair.”12 True enough, but sometimes we luck out—always in a give-and-take kind of way, of course; no job is perfect. Advertiser H. Jackson Brown Jr. suggests, “Find a job you like and you add five days to every week.”
Yet, a large and very diverse mix of variables determines what work will make us happy. We crave work that has meaning beyond the paycheck; that challenges our creativity and aptitudes; that gives us a sense of being recognized
and remembered; that connects us with people; that’s safe and secure, both physically and fiscally; and that doesn’t strip away all our energy. Much of our enjoyment of work depends on who we are and how we perceive the world. For example, when asked what they were working on, one proverbial stonecutter replied, “I’m cutting this rock into slabs that are two feet by two feet by six inches.” The second stonecutter had a wider view: “I’m helping build a cathedral.” The question is, are we building enough cathedrals? Is our economy moving in a direction that provides great jobs?
Personally, if I were going to work in a car factory, for example, I’d rather it be a factory that manufactures hybrids, safe and durable cars. Traveling salesman Peter Gilbert recently donated his 1989 Saab 900 SPG to a museum after a million miles of service; I’d want to be part of that assembly line or engineering team! If I were going to work as an investment counselor, I’d want to steer clients toward investments that are good for people as well as the environment—so-called socially responsible investing that now screens trillions of dollars. It’s up to each one of us to know why we should or shouldn’t feel proud of the work we do. Brooklyn fireman Tom Patrick, another worker in Terkel’s book, comments: “The firemen, you actually see them produce. You see them put out a fire. You see them come out with babies in their hands. You see them give mouth-to-mouth when a guy’s dying. That’s real … It shows I did something on this earth.”13
