What Do You Do?

Terry Tempest Williams, a naturalist and writer, is the Annie Clark Tanner Scholar in Environmental Humanities at the University of Utah. In an interview with Krista Tippett, broadcast last week, she recalled that when she was recently asked at a dinner party “what do you do?” she responded, “about what?” She believes that it would have been so much better to have asked her “what do you see?” or “when was the last time you were afraid?” These questions probe the essence of a person, in contrast to the question “what do you do?” which she considers superficial.

The unfortunate person who asked Ms. Williams “what do you do?” expected of course a response such as “writer,” but that's only part of what she “does.” She’s not only a writer of books and op-ed pieces, but she’s also an educator and a campaigner for the preservation of the environment. Those are some of her public roles but she must have private ones too involving her family, friends, and neighbors.

Her remark might not have resonated with me were I not retired, no longer teaching, directing dissertations, writing academic articles and books, or addressing professional conferences. In the past, if someone asked me what I did, I would say I was a university lecturer and give my departmental affiliation. The question may have been superficial, but my answer, I felt at the time, defined me.

I retired young enough for people to continue asking ask me what I did, a question that persisted for another five or ten years. It seemed pretentious to say I was a writer, even though I devoted much of my time to writing, since my writing earned little money and I published little after I have retired. So I would respond by talking about the book I was currently trying to write. Now that I’m no longer writing books, I can't do that. It doesn’t matter, though, because nowadays no one asks me what I do. No one asks me the universal question that academics at research universities ask each other, “what are you working on?” I’m too old, I guess, for people to assume that I’m doing much of anything at all.

But in fact, I’m occupied all day long, carrying out various clerical and domestic tasks, writing letters, fulfilling familial obligations, maintaining friendships, keeping abreast of current events, reading novels, and so on. Of course, I also did those things while I was employed, even if I allotted less time to them. (They require more time now. A few years ago, a college classmate observed that he spends more and more time doing less and less.) As Terry Tempest Williams implies, I did much more than carry out my professional obligations. We are more than our careers.

If someone were to ask me how I occupy my time now, I'd say that I'm trying to squeeze as much experience as I can from each day. I'd also say that I'm trying to maintain and strengthen my friendships and family relationships. Pursuing these goals, which I once viewed as tangential to my "real work," are now a central occupation. Had I said so thirty years ago, people would have looked at me askance. And it would have been an odd response, for men defined themselves, still define themselves, by their careers. Perhaps it would still seem odd, but it would be the truth. My perspective has changed, now that I'm acutely conscious of how little time is left. That consciousness drives some former colleagues to write one more book, one more article. Not me. I no longer view those academic goals as crucially important. I no longer aim to accomplish anything beyond experiencing as much as possible and strengthening my most important relationships. Those would be accomplishments enough.