EX VOTO “Life’s Work/Life is Work” TS

The Hardest Work That Ever I Done, Was Eatin’ Chicken Pie
by Tripura Anand



That’s a lyric from a depression-era song off an album called Boomer’s Story by Ry Cooder. Well the hardest work that I ever did was commercial salmon fishing. The longest hours and the most demanding physical and mental labors over an extended period of time. I call them my Macho Years, ca. 1970-1975. Women’s Lib was at its height and I had something to prove. I started out deckhanding and then decided to buy my own boat. Looking back at it now, it was like a past-life experience that was never forgotten. Even while it was happening I knew it would make a great story someday, but not right now. I’ve got some other things on my mind that I really want to say about work and me.

Have you heard of the word, “dharma?” Roughly translated, I understand it to mean duty. I think of dharma as special work in the world. You know what I mean, don’t you? What am I really supposed to do in this lifetime? For some strange reason I believe that we all have special work to do and it’s just a matter of finding out what. I’ve been rather obsessed with the question, “What am I supposed to be doing for work?” for as long as I can remember.

I must confess that I am extremely jealous of people who always knew what they wanted to do, and I’m insanely jealous of people who actually did it. In grade six we had to answer the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” We were expected to give a presentation on the topic complete with research into our chosen profession. There was a complete blank in my mind on the subject and so I picked a profession, with my eyes closed, out of a stack of information sheets—“Home Economist”.

Skip forward into my thirties and I am still drawing the same mind blank as I fill out the Scantron bubbles for one of those computerized career search programs. As the data from my replies rapidly eliminates tens of thousands of options, the final possibility pops up—“Hairdresser.”

If you are one of those people who thinks that it really doesn’t matter what you do, then you are probably wondering why I am so hung up on this issue. I can’t explain it but two stories come to mind.

The Ridgetop Voice
The year was 1978 and I was hired to take a woman on her first wilderness canoe trip. I designed an easy 5-day circuit in an extremely scenic area of Northern Ontario, Canada. It was day number four and we decided to climb up to a rocky ridge that we could see across the lake from our campsite.

We paddled to the far shore and then hiked slowly up through the mixed white birch and maple forest. We climbed for quite a long time, stopping occasionally to catch our breaths, until we finally emerged under a clear fall sky onto the ridgetop. We each found our spot, maybe fifty yards apart, and sat down.

The vista was a magnificent carpet of autumn colors; fiery red, banana yellow, green and rust. The sky was reflected in countless little lakes and ponds. This leaf and water tapestry extended all the way to the horizon. So far in fact, that the curvature of the earth was visible.

After some time passed, out into this vastness I mentally flung the question, “What am I supposed to be doing for work?” To my horror a voice said clearly, in my mind, “When are you going to get out of that relationship?” Dear friends, this was the first time the universe had ever answered back. And I was not too keen on the reply. It was true that I was in an unhealthy relationship but did that really take precedent over my query about my life’s work? I had to accept that it did. Still I had no answer.

The Dream
It was 1998, twenty years later. Much to my surprise I had “gone back to school” and finished a BA in Art after a 25-year hiatus. This had come about because a guidance counselor told me that I had “the heart of an artist” and needed to finish my degree in order to “open new doors” for myself. When I got out of school, I applied for two jobs. One was a full-time graphics production job complete with “benefits” while the other was a part-time job as a picture framer for top pay of 7 dollars an hour. The decision was made when I had a vision of myself spending the next 20 years of my life sitting in front of a computer laboring under deadlines and it wasn’t a pretty picture.

So I ended up as a professional picture framer and continue to work as a framer while I finish graduate school in a Masters of Fine Art program, where I am now. I’m telling you this because just about a month ago I had a dream. In my dream I am asking the same question, “What am I supposed to be doing for work?” Upon waking I could still hear the horrible words of the reply echoing in my head, “Since you are not doing what you are supposed to be doing, you can frame pictures.”

Can you beat that? Well I can’t bear it. What is that supposed to tell me? Nothing. Still no answer. Worse, it’s a fucking put down. So I continue to go through life haunted by the question of work-that elusive special work that I’m convinced that I was put on this earth to do. In the meanwhile I have been employed as everything from circus clown to yoga instructor, from fishing boat captain to picture framer. And I continue to suffer the agony of the searching for my dharma working blues.

I slept and dreamed
that life was beauty
I awoke and found
that life was duty
• Ellen Stugis Hooper