Finding purpose in work when things are bad. Or really bad. (They're pretty bad.)

We can't all fight on the front lines. But we can do something.

I later learned that it had been a supply closet, rapidly converted for the arrival of the new junior copywriter.

It didn’t matter.

I was so proud of that first office with my actual name on a plate outside the door — drab, windowless, narrow, with fluorescent overhead lighting that revealed every worn patch of the red carpeting. The generic plastic waste basket under the desk crunched and deformed from the weight of my legs over time; I never liked writing with my feet on the ground.

(Metaphor? Who knows.)

I spent so many early mornings and late nights in there, trying to push my work through an ad agency that didn’t quite want the “modern” creative ideas I had to offer, but somehow appreciated me anyway.

On a January night midweek, my radio was on for company. (I had a corded black desk phone too, a chonky Apple Mac II Classic, and a dot matrix printer by my feet; clock that!) I toiled into the night for an upcoming presentation, which I often did. If we stayed past 7PM, the $9 dinner stipend kicked in. Past 9PM, I could expense the ten-block taxi ride home to my apartment.

I would have stayed anyway, of course. But a free dinner on my salary wasn’t something I was quick to turn down.

I was working through a list of potential rhymes for “Baby Ruth” in a jingle (an egregious task that I still resent) when my music was interrupted.

Missiles had started firing on Iraq. Our missiles.

We could hear them exploding, live.

We were at war, the man said on the radio.

I ran upstairs to alert the senior colleagues who were huddled together in an office, prepping for the next morning’s presentation.

“We started bombing,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach. “We’re at war.”

They looked toward me in the doorway and paused in silence. They stood still for the briefest moment.

Then they did the last thing I expected:

They turned back toward the presentation deck pages spread around the table and resumed their conversation exactly where I had interrupted it, without so much as an “oh no,” or a “that’s terrible.”

I remember thinking, How is anyone supposed to work at a time like this? Do they understand we’re going to war? Where are the priorities? What’s wrong with these people?

“We’ve still got a presentation tomorrow, Liz,” the senior account manager said, without lifting his eyes from the table. “So…let’s find a way to focus and get back to work.”

I walked the stairs back down to my office, listened to the news until I realized I had no focus left in me, then finally gathered my things and left the building to hail my free cab home.

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That would hardly be the last time I had to find some way to commit to an obligation, even when the world felt like it was (sometimes literally) being torn apart.

I remember, so vividly, my desperation in trying to feed my day-old baby (latch, dammit!) while horrific reports poured in about a deadly London Underground bombing on the hospital room TV.

Or hiding behind dark glasses hours after waking up to unimaginable election results — an entire classroom full of parents palming crumpled tissues and feigning weak smiles as our sixth-graders proudly read essays about their favorite historic heroes.

Or writing an article from my stuffy, overcrowded apartment with expert tips to help parents get through the pandemic, against the live soundtrack of neighbors clanging pots and pans out their windows in celebration of our first responders.

Or taking a kid on public high school tours and asking questions about AP classes and art programs, the same day I watched violent maniacs storm the US Capitol while our elected leaders hid under chairs and barricaded themselves in their offices.

There are so many more examples.

You get it. You’ve been there too.

But I see now see stark difference between these moments, and that night in my office at the start of Desert Storm.

There is no shame in throwing yourself into work to distract yourself and reset. I have done it many times and will continue to do it. It is incredibly effective, and hey, often we have no choice. (We all have bills to pay, right?)

In fact, as I started writing this yesterday, I came across a thoughtful, short piece from Rob Schwartz on the magical healing power of productivity to give your mind time to process bad things in the world. I appreciate the advice, and he’s right.

But if I may “yes, and…” his suggestion: Try distracting, healing, and refueling by imbuing your work with purpose and finding a way to do good for someone else.

We can’t all be teachers and firefighters and activists and healers. But we can mentor someone younger. Help a customer. Look the cleaning staff in the eye and say thank you. Propose a social good initiative. Ask the receptionist if you can bring them a cup of coffee. Help someone solve a problem. Say something encouraging. Be kind.

At least for me (and I know for Rob), I’ve come to learn that it takes more than “I’ve got work to do” to refuel me for the long haul.

Let’s try to be the people who find all the opportunities we can to put something good and meaningful into the universe, no matter what it is we do, so we can go to bed knowing that at least a small part of our day was well spent. And maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll have planted a seed that can grow into something bigger.

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The world needs that.

We need that.

I need that.

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Some posts that made me think this week:

Rob Schwartz on getting back to work

Michael Ian Black on self-censorship in the age of Trump

Karen Walrond on talking to strangers and being present

Frederick Joseph on the death of social in social media

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