This IS what I do. Really, it is.

“What do you do for a living?”

The question came before I launched into my usual witty and entertaining introduction that sets the class at ease. It breaks the ice with equal parts informative, humorous and self-deprecation sold with charm and a smile. Class was about to start as I quickly sorted out additional tasting plates for the two unexpected last-minute registrants.

I get this question all the time, but this was at the end of a particularly trying week. He delivered it pointedly with enough volume to get the other 8 participants attention.

“This,” I answered.

“This?” He cocked his head in a way indicating my answer did not satisfy his curiousity.

With a lump of dignity stuck in the back of my throat, I pridefully added, “Well, I used to be a mechanical engineer.” It was tinged with a bit of shame about my original answer. I felt like I was apologizing for my lack of an acceptable vocation.

I still am. A mechanical engineer that is. I still am a mechanical engineer. I didn’t relinquish my master’s degree when I opted to no longer work as a mechanical engineer. If I really tried, I could probably even do some calculus or material property calculations or rocket trajectories or thermodynamics or something else very mechanical engineer-y, like maybe build something, with tools and machines and computers.

But whether I can do engineering is beside the point.

With mouth agape and dripping with incredulity he blurted, “You gave up being a mechanical engineer to do THIS?”

The metal taste of feeling apologetic flooded my saliva, again. While the class itself, 2 hours exploring one of humanity’s age-old, earth-shaking dilemmas – pairing cheese with wine, was worthy enough to shell out 85 bucks to attend, my value as a productive member of society was in question. Is that ironic, just regular hypocrisy or simply lacking in plain old self-awareness?

I smiled a spiteful, half-cocked smile and proclaimed “Well, “this” is what I decided to do when I decided I didn’t want to spend my waking hours in a cubicle any more. You know, engineers are not all building rockets. Most of them sit in a grey cubicle all day and push papers.”

Then, my pride took over and I was helpless to stop explaining myself and justifying my worthiness to this man. A freight train of words kept tumbling from my mouth.

“Well, I am also writing a book.” I am not; not since I canceled my contract.

“I also do other writing.” Sure, stuff like this with a tiny smattering of paid gigs.

“And, I do have plans to open my own storefront.” After some thoughtful math, that option seems less likely.

“I also taught kids classes all week. . . during vacation week.” I did, but after completing my third round of kid’s vacation classes, I won’t do that anymore.

“And I do this, several times a week at several places.” Even though I feel it is insufficient as a full-time, full-fledged vocation, this is actually true.

“What do you do?” is one of those ubiquitous questions. It is an ice breaker. It follows, “Nice to meet you.” It is the topic filling minutes of awkwardness between “How’s about that weather?” and “Pass the mashed potatoes.” It is first-date material, networking necessity and party fodder between mouthfuls of beer while wondering when the burgers will be ready waiting for the fireworks to start.

It is the measure of how we judge the people we occupy space with. It is the gauge of whether the person standing across from us is worthy of sharing the oxygen we breath. It is the quintessential way of identifying each other.

“See Joe over there? He’s a doctor.”

“That’s Mary. She’s a Real Estate Agent.”

“Annie there is a stay at home mom.”

“Bob, that guy? Oh, he’s some kind of cubicle troll. He goes in to work every day and sits at a computer pounding away at a keyboard and printing stuff up to give to the lady in the cubicle next to him and then he goes to a meeting to plan a new plan to make something that the company makes. Yeah, he’s cool”

I struggle with this interaction. I am so accustomed to my identity being defined by my occupation. I find it hard to peel who I am away from what I do for work. Admittedly, I am insecure about it. I find it hard to admit I just teach recreational cooking classes. I find myself continuing to identify with my former life because it sounds more impressive, worthy, accepted. I didn’t always struggle with the question of my occupation. I used to be useful. I used to be important. I used to be a worthy contributor to society. I used to have self-worth and value. I used to be cool. I used to be a mechanical engineer, a program manager, an innovation manager. I used to earn every cubic inch of oxygen I consume.

Now, what am I? I don’t really know. I was tired. I decided I needed a change. That change is ongoing. I am forty something. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. My occupation is under construction and thus, so am I – my identity, my answer at the BBQ and around the dinner table and during small talk and on social media and everywhere. I am under construction and that pretty much means I barely exist.

Mostly, I teach recreational cooking classes. Sometimes, I help out with organizing a conference or an event. Always, I try to figure out how the hell to make this new gig work and make some money. Unceasingly, I struggle with accepting my value is not about what I do for a living but what I do to be alive.

This is what I do for a job, really it is. That’s all. I don’t wish to justify my value by explaining that I used to exist as a full-fledged human being because the job I used to have made me worthy and now I don’t exist as such because my job isn’t so worthy.

What do I do? I do a lot of things. Ask me about them, then we can cook together…

break bread and toast together…

ride a motorcycle together…

ride a bicycle together. . .

hike together. . .

advocate together. . .

protest together. . .

yoga together. . .

adventure together. . .

grow/buy food together. . .

walk dogs together

make something together and more . . .

Intriguingly, there was an actual rocket scientist (astrophysicist) in my class. He too was not building rockets.

What does he really do? I dunno, but he did enjoy a good Italian Taleggio paired with a crisp Riesling.

Happy Cooking!