Beyond what do you do
more insights from the kid on the bike
I was asked this week if I have any pets. I said no. Then came the follow-up—do you have kids? Another no.
A pause. I ran a few more paces while he pedaled his bike.
"So what do you have?" asked the kid, looking at me like I wasn't properly equipped for the world.
It doesn't usually go this way. The majority of my small talk does not, in fact, take place mid-run with a bike-obsessed ten year old kid I’ve never met before. I think the reason I’ve been so caught up with it is in the way the kid asked me about myself. As a late twenty-something without kids, it was unnatural to hear. He didn’t ask what I do or what my plans are for the next five to ten years, but what I have in my life already.
Adults don’t really ask each other what we have. Not the things that actually matter, anyway. We ask what one another has been able to produce for ourselves as a consequence of our output to the world — what we’ve acquired.
We ask: What do you do?
And we answer with some vague description of a career that implies things about who we are and what we have.
Done. Question answered. Small talk managed.
From here, we move on to other topics, operating under the illusion that we understand who each other is and where we each fit in the world. It makes sense to answer this way. Most of our lives are wrapped up in our jobs. We end up spending more time with our coworkers than we do our families, friends, and significant others. We learn, over time, to tie our identity to our output — to what we contribute.
I run quite a bit, probably to the point that I’d venture to call myself a runner. It’s a hobby that claims a good bit of my time every week. It taxes my body and brain enough that, after these last five years of running, I’d say I’ve wrapped a portion of my identity up in it.
Now, I can confidently say that my running pursuits will never produce tangible fruit for myself or others in the way that a career will. However, it is something in my life that I hold on to. I get a sense of pride from being a runner. It feels good to see the same faces every week on the Saturday morning trail, knowing that they too feel something similar. The sense of belonging to a group, of having a shared identity with other people.
The kid’s question wasn’t intended to figure out the career path I chose during the transition from high school to college and stuck with into the real world. Its intent was to understand the things I have in my life that I hold close. From my perspective, things like my Saturday morning trail and favorite few weeknight recipes. From his perspective, pets and kids. Smart guy.
That said, I don’t think theres one way to equip yourself, or forge your identity, to navigate the world. Getting a dog wouldn’t solve my life’s problems. In fact, I've avoided getting a dog because I think it would stress me out. Having kids isn’t a universal solution to finding meaning, but it doesn’t make our young sage's way of looking at the world wrong. Take stock of the things that make up how you spend your days beyond just what you “do”.
I admit, I’m not likely to start answering “runner”, “home cook”, or "boyfriend" when people ask me what I do at happy hour, but the kid on the bike is onto something.
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little bike companion ftw
Receptive face for the win