This morning as I was getting ready for work to begin I was reading an article about Jenna Ortega that regurgitated a bunch of quotes from her appearance on Dax Shepard’s podcast. (Ah, IndieWire. What a ripe environment of journalism we live in.) In it she described, with a bit more candor than the usual celebrity post-big-project, her experience working on the Netflix show Wednesday. Namely, that she spent a lot of time on set rewriting her own dialogue, questioning script supervisors about plot choices, and even convincing Tim Burton to let her choreograph the viral dance sequence. She spoke of an immense dedication to Wednesday Addams as a character and her want to make her more human and ultimately make the show better by doing right by her. Ortega is a couple years younger than me, a thing that fills me with immense fear, because I have seen how the internet has treated her and the Wednesday character. I spend a little too much time on TikTok. Don’t ask how much, I don’t track my screen time for my own sanity. In the couple of months since Wednesday’s premiere I saw the show turn into a ten second shell of itself as immeasurable numbers of users copied Ortega’s dance, set to Lady Gaga’s “Bloody Mary” instead of the show’s usage of 1981 rock track “Goo Goo Muck” to the point I didn’t even realize that the Gaga song was, in fact, not used in the show. I remember one video that was a bit more self reflective where someone lazily did the dance over text that - forgive me for paraphrasing - lamented the exoticization of autistic characters like Wednesday and Stranger Things’s Eddie Munson while declaring that neurotypical people love the brazenness of fictional autistic people while they hate real autistic people. This digression into the ever expanding black hole that is TikTok is to say that Ortega’s work on the show directly led to a brief viral moment. And reading this article, hearing somebody talk about how they had to work around so many other people who didn’t know what they were doing to get something done right makes me feel seen in a way I don’t always enjoy.

My relationship to the idea of work has always been very tenuous. As a reasonably able bodied male presenting person I’ve never been opposed to manual labor, especially when other people are in need. I jump at the chance to help a friend move, offer a ride, carry groceries, and the like. I always find myself helping my parents or my Nana with labor of some kind when I visit home. I’ve always known that I can do it, and it feels wrong not to. When somebody needs help, I’m there. I’ve spent years interrogating to myself what makes me this way, why so few people seem to think this way, and why I get so frustrated at times when my mindset doesn’t mesh with other peoples’. I did the metaphorical heavy lifting for many a class presentation in undergrad just like everybody else, and I did the physical heavy lifting for many a student activities board event back when that was my main occupation. My punctuality was a bit of a joke among my peers, as I would often show up to event setups fifteen minutes before anybody else did, and most of the time I was the last one to go home after taking everything down. I’ve gotten myself in some pretty draining work situations, not because of any malfeasance, simply due to my dedication. I’ve found it’s easy to be asked for more and more once people see you are willing to go the extra mile. Give an inch, and employers will take everything they have of you. That’s no secret. Education in my experience has been the worst example of this. If anything the American education system is defined by sacrifice. Pay thousands to get your degree and another thousand in certification exams and be asked to do more than is on your job description every day. “For the kids” is an oft unspoken mantra that translates to eroding your body, mind and soul past your limit for the sake of your work. Don’t have a social media presence where the kids and families can see it, cover for your coworkers during your planning period, teach an extra class because someone just quit, come to professional development seminars where people who haven’t worked in a public school since the year you graduated high school try to tell you what kids need. For the kids.

In times where my work troubles me I often revisit Philip Levine’s poem “What Work Is.” One of my favorite poems ever written, an ode to the masculine type of love that is giving up your time and your health toiling away so that the people you love can live the life they want. Without resentment, making the sacrifice so your closest family members can reach their full potential. But it is a poem that challenges men to love in the vulnerable ways. It asks,

How long has it been since you told him

you loved him, held his wide shoulders,

opened your eyes wide and said those words,

and maybe kissed his cheek? …

The hard work is showing the love. That’s something I think about a lot. I come from a long line of hardworking men, men who provided for their families, who had a hard time showing love to themselves and to the people around them. These men loved people, but they didn’t think they had to say it. They got up and went to work every morning and put food on the table, of course they love you. I’m in a unique position where I’m able to take care of myself fully for the first time. I go to work and I pay my rent and I put food on the table for myself. I may not love myself, but I’m used to that. The new thing that gives me a feeling of emptiness is that most days I don’t love the work I do, which is even worse. I am the type of person who has to believe I am doing something worthwhile, that I am making an impact, no matter how small, even if just for myself. When I am unable to say “I love you,” I drop you off at the airport. Whenever I am unable to say “it’s been too long,” I bring out the biggest laugh I can as I set down a heavy piece of furniture.

In a world where it is deemed blasé to ask your friends for help, I want to be one call away. In an increasingly individualized time where bridesmaids shouldn’t have to be present for the whole wedding and cooking food for your neighbors is classist/ableist, I want to show up early, smile through the ceremony, and clean up the afterparty. I want to set the table and feast. I want to do the work with my hands when my words cannot suffice.