Since leaving corporate life, I’ve struggled how to answer the ultimate small-talk question: What do you do?
Honestly, Sharon, this week, I’m eating bonbons in a beehive wig living out my best Peg Bundy cosplay life. But that’s a lie. Like a certain pop star, I’ve been through several eras since unplugging myself from the corporate matrix. I had a music era. I had a writing era. I’m currently on my painting era.
However, I’ve never acknowledged myself as a musician or a writer or a painter. None of those words ever felt right. I’d default to “I’m a stay-at-home house husband.” For tax purposes, I’m a house manager, whenever that comes up. If it’s someone who clearly has a sense of humor, I break out the ol’ “Stay at home kitty daddy – because if I don’t teach my cats to read, who will?
This is how conversations die.
Worse, they follow up with “What did you used to do?”
“Oh, Sharon, I was fooled into believing that I belonged in a dead-end office job would somehow be satisfying because I could cling to the idea that was something good in that version of life. Would you like me to continue, or are you going to charge me by the hour to verbally relive all of my past trauma? Do you accept Cigna?
I was once at a bar and met a friendly man to whom I opened up the tiniest bit about my former career, and he revealed he worked in an associated industry. A connection was made – for him. He unleashed a flurry of questions, but I had one goal: to stop the small talk.
“I don’t discuss my previous employer.”
“Ok, but which brand…”
“I don’t discuss my previous employer. That was a very difficult time in my life.”
“Yeah, it can be really tough. Did you ever encounter…”
“I don’t discuss my previous employer. That was a very difficult time in my life. AND I’m still under an NDA.”
“Fascinating. Tell me more.”
“Fuck you.”
This is how conversations get murdered.
Today is Super Bowl Sunday, and the Chiefs are in it for back-to-back wins, and Kansas City is hyped today. We went into a local gift store after coffee, and Midwestern Nice has given over to Midwestern Overeagerness. The city is incredibly friendly today. I love living in a happy city, and a big championship trophy sure does make a city happy.
The enthusiastic store clerk was exceptionally chatty today in a great way. She was genuinely excited to be working on the big day. I usually shun customer service chattiness, but those darn Chiefs had me feeling pretty good, too. I made the decision to participate in something that normally terrifies me:
small talk.
Without the assistance of alcohol.
With the assistance of a caffeine boost.
We were able to keep it on the topic of local happenings when she asked my dreaded question: What do you do?
“Well, Shirley, that’s not relevant to this conversation” – would be what my inner monologue would usually tease me to say, but living fully in that moment, I strung together words I had never strung before:
I am a stay-at-home artist.
And suddenly there was connection. Our delightfully bubbly sales clerk opened up a whole wealth of information and insightful questions about what she recognized as my “creative journey.” She GOT it.
And that’s how today I learned what I currently am and what I currently do: I am a stay-at-home artist and proud of it.
Thank you Julia Cameron!