Jobs Worth (pun intended)

Yesterday, for the first time in over seven months, I went to work. I suppose the best way to describe it was unnerving. Seven months is a long time not to do something, and I wasn't sure I knew exactly if I could do it. This may sound ridiculous, but it was a concern. Everything from the computer systems to the phone systems to the studios, on first sight, felt alien. But then something miraculous happened. I just started to use them and instinct took over. If you'd have asked me how use the computer I would've stared at you blankly as a driblet of clear drool fell from my chin. Ask me to actually do it and, autopilot on, Johnny Five. When prompted I even remembered phone numbers. That's the technical side out of the way. Now for the aesthetics.

Believe it or not there is an art to writing news for radio. For those not in the 'biz' it is a skill, if I do say so myself, like essay writing, poetry or prose. At one point, seven months ago, I did, in my own opinion, think I could do it quite well. Since February the only things I've written are shopping lists and this blog. Art forms in themselves. So to sit down at a computer, with a blank screen in front on me, was a little daunting. I needn't have worried. Like the technology it all came back to me and, while it may not have been radio gold, it was acceptable. Confidence regained.

Through this whole process I did have to concentrate a little harder. The drugs were making things a little fuzzy. The day actually got easier as the steroid haze began to lift. It was through this process that I came to a revelation. What I do for a living is quite ridiculous. At best I take information that I think is important, process it and present it in a way that, hopefully, is interesting and easy to understand. At worst I re-write press releases in, hopefully, in an interesting and easy to understand way. I'm not saving lives. I'm not really helping anybody in any way. My whole career has little or no impact on anyone else's existence. What I do for a living is essentially worthless. And yet I love it.

The profession of 'journalist' comes with a certain status, good or bad. I do have a certain pride when asked what I do. My response is often met with at least a vague interest, whether it's genuine isn't really important. The fact that the respondent deems it necessary to at least appear interested demonstrates the esteem to which the profession is aligned. I realise this is a shallow reason, but if I'm honest it's near the top of the list of why I'm still doing it. Maybe I'm being a little too cynical. Very occasionally we do make a difference, even if it's just making someone smile.

Of course there are other reasons as well, that are more obvious, but I won't be going into any detail here. What I wanted to get across is that I won't be going off to save some endangered species in the Amazon. Frankly I'm too selfish. I'll be a journalist until I find something that is as or more impressive to people at the school reunion.

Homework for this week: What value to you put on your job? What impact does it have on others? It doesn't really matter. Just love what you do.

J