Two days into a strike that I can't decide whether I support or not1, I find myself feeling that I've lost something.
This afternoon I realized that I've lost part of my identity. I know that sounds overly dramatic, and it is. I'm fine. No need to call an ambulance.
We clutch so tightly to what it is that we "do" that it becomes part of who we are. Everyone talks a lot about work/life balance and related things, but until something disrupts our daily routine of going to work, we don't realize what it really means. The gutter between work and life is really, really small.
I've never thought of myself as a person who is defined by work, probably because I don't feel like I've ever done anything for a living that really drags who I am to the surface. I'm closer than I've ever been, but I'm still not there.
Because of this, I find myself feeling surprised at my sense of loss. I guess working somewhere for eight hours a day for six years creates a sense of attachment that is stronger than I expected.
At least this disruption has helped me notice the (mostly) hidden lines between life and work.
But in which I am participating. Don't take this post the wrong way and think that I'm considering crossing the line. ↩