How does hard work fulfill me?
That’s a mighty capitalist question.
For a significant portion of my life I believed that my worth was tied directly to my worth. As a result, I ran myself ragged. Being discarded by my family of birth meant starting at the absolute bottom, and my failure to transition up fed my belief that I was worthless, and unlovable.
And so I tried harder and harder, it typical people-pleaser fashion, and my willingness to always do more was a neon sign to those looking for someone to take advantage of. (I must be in a mood. I started that paragraph with the word “and” AND I ended with a preposition.)
I’m not saying that hard work has never been fulfilling. I’ve managed to pull off some pretty impressive feats. My fulfillment, however, isn’t tied to how much effort I put in, or how much exhaustion I’ve earned.
My fulfillment lies in the worthiness of the task.
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