Am I a Workaholic?

No, but...

I frequently work long hours. Most weekends, it’s rare for me not to work at least a few hours. My friends say that the suitcase of books I ship ahead to my vacation spot is really work. And most conclude I’m a workaholic. I disagree.

I recall one Friday in the late 1980s when I was driving to work. My commute took me straight through the centre of London, from Stockwell in the south to Elstree Studios in the north of the city. I was in the midst of making a film and there were a lot of details that demanded discussion and decisions by the end of the day. That evening I had friends coming over for dinner so I needed to leave the office in time, crossing the city again, to get to the supermarket, buy food, make dinner, drinks, set the table. At the time, I was widowed and living alone, so the only person to get this all done was me. It seemed like a lot of driving, a lot of chores and not much time. I felt very stressed.

And then, driving down Park Lane, I thought: hang on a second. You really like the film you’re working on, and the team you’re working with—they’re great. You love the friends who are coming over tonight; it’ll be wonderful to see them. You enjoy cooking, and feeding people. All of this is your life—and it’s full of people and work and all kinds of things you relish. So…what’s the problem?

Bear in mind, this was decades before anybody was talking about work/life balance. Which was a bit of gift because I had to think about my stress without the handy shortcut of jargon. And I realized that my stress came from thinking about the different parts of the day as somehow separate, even competing, compartments. Once I thought about them collectively as My Life, full of great stuff, my shoulders dropped, I relaxed and enjoyed the day, and the night.

Discussing this one Sunday morning with my husband, as we walked to a meeting about an environmental project that I run locally, he said that most people thought of me as a workaholic. Just look: it’s 10 a.m. on a Sunday and I’m going to a meeting! But, after knowing me for a long time now, he had concluded I wasn’t a workaholic; I was a lifeaholic. I put a lot into, and get a lot out of, life and I don’t easily say ‘no’ to it.

I don’t think this can be separated from my having been widowed. That experience left me with a profound sense that it is always now-or-never time. We none of us know how long we will live and if there’s something to be done, I have a strong desire to do it now. I recognize that I’m extremely lucky to do work that I love, and I feel a sense of obligation to share my good fortune. ‘You can’t just consume, you have to contribute’ was the mantra of my kids’ childhoods. This makes me a little resistant to the school of thought that we should all kick back, chill out, take things easy. Especially when the planet’s on fire.

So now, when I read about work/life balance, I look askance at that backslash. Everything we do—the chores and the fun, the obligations and the freedoms—are elements of a whole life.

The backslash shouldn’t be there. I’ve no interest in this thing called work/life; for me the concept amplifies stress; it depletes delight. But I have a passion for worklife or better still, lifework. A single word for a blended life.

What are its unifying principles? When choosing the work I do, I tend to ask myself three questions:

1. Does it sound fun?

2. Does it have potential for some social good?

3. Are the people interesting?

If at least 2 answers are positive, then I’m attracted. All three, and I’m committed. I don’t really like repeating myself, so if I am likely to learn something, that also reinforces the appeal. Much that I do pays well; much does not. I’ve always lived on what I earned: sometimes very well, sometimes on a shoestring. Knowing I can do, and have done, both gives me a great sense of freedom.

This does not mean that every day in MargaretHeffernanLand is unadulterated bliss. Sometimes, the work isn’t fun. Or the people are great but stiffled by bureaucracy. Over the years, I’ve got better at gauging how satisfying the work will prove, but I still get that wrong occasionally and finish an assignment swearing: Never again. That’s learning too. The one thing I know for sure is that joy in the work is a direct function of having enough time to do it well.

What I do not think about is balance. My very varied career has been punctuated by long periods of intense activity, followed by substantial periods, sometimes a year or more, of regeneration and change. I have faith that these will lead me somewhere new, and they always have. So I’ve learned to trust my periodic need for inertia. It might be that, over a lifetime, there is balance, but since I won’t know until it’s over, who cares?

Both the action and the inaction require energy, tolerance and discipline. Both give me energy, ideas, agency: a tangible sense that I’m not helpless. Which is what keeps me, proudly, a lifeaholic. Absolutely addicted to lifework.

Want to go further?

Matthew Bell has just brought out a phenomenal report on the impact of the arts on mental and physical wellbeing. I’ll be writing about this in more detail soon, but a mountain of evidence shows such positive impact of the arts on all aspects of life that it raises a big question about why governments don’t embrace this.

For the beauty of it

I spend so much time with words that, when I stop working, I want to wallow in music and/or pictures. I loved Chila Burman’s exhilirating illumination of the Holburne Museum in Bath and I’m lucky enough to own one of her neon pieces. It never fails to delight adults and children alike.

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