Getting more out of your work

In building a bridge to where you want to be, you might find that the bridge is something you’re proud of. (Image by Jérémie Perron from Pixabay)

In building a bridge to where you want to be, you might find that the bridge is something you’re proud of. (Image by Jérémie Perron from Pixabay)

How much of what we do in school is intrinsically valuable?

I would argue that everything should be, but often, it’s not.

School conditions us to do the minimum to please the teacher. Very little of what we do is actually worth anything on its own. What a waste of time.

When I solve a problem or a puzzle, I feel a sense of accomplishment that is my own. When I play a piece of music, it is ephemeral but still hopefully brings a moment of satisfaction to those who hear it. And when I finish reading a book, I have expanded my world. Perhaps I can even use these new insights to serve others in some way.

Traditional school is full of mundane experiences and assignments that don’t give us much to show for them. Worksheets, multiple choice tests, and cursory answers to boring questions (“The Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria”) create a limited body of work that can’t stand up to that which was driven by our own curiosity and determination.

The problem is that students may leave school without ever having experienced that curiosity and determination. In other words, they haven’t ever created work that they feel proud of. Not only do they not know how, they don’t know that this is even the goal. Therefore, upon graduation, they pursue their job with the same attitude, doing what has been asked and no more.

To prevent this, the ideal situation is for students have the opportunity to do work that matters to them from as young an age as possible. As a society are pretty good at helping children do this until somewhere between kindergarten and third grade, at which time they must adhere to someone else’s timetable and curriculum.

However, for those who are trapped in regular school (or who spent so much time there that they are having trouble thinking outside of that framework), the shift to make is to see that you are still building a body of work. What books are you reading? What are you writing and creating? How can you make it your own?

A friend of mine, a junior in high school, was recently studying for an anatomy test. The test was regarding the regions of the body and the terms of location. She was not particularly interested in any of this information but wanted to get a good grade on the test.

She has to study anyway. But how does the experience change if she decides that she wants to know these things for her own enjoyment? She might imagine the look on the doctor’s face when she comes in complaining of a pain in the “carpal region” of her body after volleyball. She could anticipate having a deeper appreciation of a medical TV show like Gray’s Anatomy or The Good Doctor. Or she may simply relish the way gaining knowledge expands her capacity for appreciating the world itself (and, in the long run, contributing to it).

In this way, school (and work) can be treated as a game. Some of the shifts may be subtle (“If I use complete sentences here, my work can stand on its own,”) and some are profound (“Why am I even in this career? I have other ways I want to make my mark.”).

Finding a way to feel good about what you’re creating and curating is not only a way to make school and work more tolerable, it actually puts you in a position to make better choices about what you want to do with your education and career. You’ll be on the path to making your life an adventure that even the most banal assignment can’t suppress.