How Working a 9-5 Ruins Your Life and How Consumerism Leaves You Broke and Sad by Design
The idea of a grown-ass adult having to request time off is hilariously sad to me.
Reader M draws our attention to a YouTuber called Nicole. M writes:
I’ve been enjoying her no-BS style. She dispenses tips and wisdom on personal finance, frugal living and all the rest. None of it is new, but she’s unusually young to have already worked out The Trap and is telling the world about it on YouTube.
M’s right. She’s fab.
*
New Escapologist Issue 16 is available now.
And there’s a half-price sale on Robert Wringham’s Escapology books this week only.
Half-Price Book Sale This Week
The publisher recently surprised me with some extra stock and I don’t really have space to store it comfortably. What better excuse for a half-price sale?
Use coupon code GOOD50 for a 50% discount on The Good Life for Wage Slaves and/or OUT50 for a 50% discount on I’m Out.
Naturally, you still have to pay shipping, but this is still the best deal I’ve ever been able to offer on either title. And to be fair to the cyborgs among you, the deal also works for the digital versions (here and here).
The offer runs for one week only, so go, go, go!
Stop, Thief!
A random thought about ownership in relation to minimalism.
Once, when I was working a short-term contract, I found a funny coconut monkey (you know the sort of thing) in a dusty storage box. It looked like the souvenir of a Wage Slave’s holiday, brought back from Hawaii for ambivalent co-workers.
The monkey was so grotesque and kitschy that I almost took it home, but then I realised that this would in fact be stealing so I left it in the box.
Most people wouldn’t even have thought of taking it, would they?
A similar thing happened a decade earlier. Just before leaving for a long spell in Canada, I found a novelty coffee mug in the back of a girlfriend’s kitchen cupboard. It said on it: “you can take the girl out of Glasgow, but you can’t take the Glasgow out of the girl.” Well, this would be the perfect talisman to take to Montreal! “Could I have this?” I asked. “No,” she said, bewildered that I’d just ask to take something from her house.
I think this weird (occasional!) willingness to just take something that isn’t mine comes from years of minimalism because:
1. I’ve honed a pseudo-spiritual belief that ownership is a relatively empty concept. It’s rarely more than a case of displacement: a thing is “here” instead of “there.” Big deal.
2. The idea of things not being “in circulation” frustrates me. I don’t want anything to be neglected or out of service. It would be better to have X valued objects in the world, all moving around and everyone having a turn with them, than 1000X objects in the world, all locked away in boxes.
My literally criminal urge to “take” is probably the flipside of the more widely documented minimalist urge to give things away. When I’m done with something, I return it to the world by taking it to a charity shop, by listing it on eBay, or by leaving it on the street with a “please take” sign.
Or maybe I’m just a secret klepto.
You never really own anything. Either it breaks and becomes garbage, which you then surrender, or you die and someone else inherits it or throws it away.
*
Sleeping Coffins
My partner and I were talking to a friend recently about international travel and how the cost of accommodation is, for what you get, quite a lot. All an Escapologist wants is a clean bed plus a door with a lock on it, yet even at the affordable end of the scale you have to pay €40-90 per night. It becomes the main expense of travel, even though sleep isn’t exactly what you’re travelling for.
We discussed the prospect of (we couldn’t think of another name at the time) a “sleeping coffin.” They’d be immovable coffin-like boxes, lockable from the inside, and purchasable for €7 by contactless debit card. They’d be scattered around city streets like e-scooters and locatable via an app.
My partner said it was the worst thing she’d ever heard me say. She’s probably right.
But wait! Lets think again. With sleeping coffins, you’d be completely mobile, freer even than a snail or tortoise. You’d just turn up to a city, zero planning, confident of a secure place to sleep for barely any money. Maybe you’d bring an inflatable pillow or something, and climb into a coffin when you run out of steam.
Faced with the prospect of a camping trip shortly, I was wondering what the absolute minimum of a tent might be. I remembered the sleeping coffin and understood immediately that such a thing must surely already exist in the realms of camping.
And of course, it does:
It’s true… The bivouac sack (or “bivy” sack) is merely a weatherproof cover for your sleeping bag with a breathing hole — the perfect bear burrito, filled with your ambitions to complete those ultralight objectives.
It’s more of a body bag than a coffin. Perfect!
So, you’d pack a rolled-up sleeping bag and one of these “bear burritos” then sleep where you drop. Obviously this is intended for ramblers and adventurers rather than culture vultures like me who visit cities to see art galleries and opera. But how bad could it be? Sleeping in one of these in a cosy alley or a public park?
Well, it could be absolutely terrible, obviously. And dangerous. And yet…
*
The ideas in Issue 16 — Footloose and Facy-Free — are better than this one. Get your copy here.
Nature is Not in it
This is Enrico Monacelli writing in the Quietus last year about the previously mentioned After Work by Helen Hester and Nick Srnicek:
Work sucks. It just does. Especially in the state that we’re in: a good job is harder and harder to come by. Let alone a good job that gives you the time and means to enjoy all the things that make a life worth living: a nice place to rest your head, quality time with those you love and free time to idly cultivate those very talents and aspirations that makes you human in the first place. More and more people feel like life is being sucked out of them just to get by. Work lingers throughout each aspect of our daily life like a horrid Thing that gnaws at our very vitality.
and
A job is a way to force you to schedule your hours and organize your life entirely around capitalism’s every demand, leaving no space to your autonomous ability to enjoy or do whatever you like. There’s no pointing in reforming work or creating better jobs then: an oppressive system of total domination remains an oppressive system of total domination no matter how much you ameliorate it.
That’s true!
*
Letter to the Editor: Right Where I Itch
To send a letter to the editor, simply write in. You’ll get a reply and we’ll anonymise any blogged version.
Reader U writes:
I’m a new subscriber and after reading Issue 16 I have to say this Henry Gibbs fella is scratching me right where I itch. How can I read more of his notes?
He reminds me of Mark Boyle, whose The Way Home: A Life Without Technology is certainly worth a read.
Kind regards,
U
*
Thanks!
He’s the real deal, our Henry. His column appears in Issues 14, 15, 16 and (this coming December) 17.
14 is available only in digital;
15 is available in digital, but if you wait there will be some shop returns;
16 is still available in print;
17 will be available to pre-order next month.
We like Mark Boyle here at the magazine too, and I happen to know that The Way Home is one of the few books Henry himself owns a copy of.
RW
In That Moment, A Seed Was Planted
Because I’m a tantrum-prone baby, I mostly think and talk about total escapes from wage slavery.
This guy, however, reminds us that we don’t have to be so drastic if or when it doesn’t suit us.
We can simply change jobs — maybe escape the stultification of white-collar work — if we want to:
one day, a window cleaner came to the office. I completely lost track of time watching him work. When I finally snapped out of it, I told him it looked like a peaceful job.
Yes, I can’t imagine a better job, he replied cheerfully.
In that moment, a seed was planted. Six months later, I was on a plane to Bangkok for a sabbatical in Asia
Pause. Take a break. Reassess. Do something else.
*
On Self-Help and Making the Bed
Every day, I make the bed.
It’s not a particularly onerous task and it can even be quite a pleasant one if seen in the right way, but I always feel slightly irritated by having to do it. We’ll come back to that in a minute.
There’s a self-help book called Make Your Bed and I occasionally think about reading it. I’ve really had my fill of self-help though. While it’s sometimes enlightening, one only needs so much enlightenment.
I’d rather read novels. I see fiction as something (top-tier life) and non-fiction as about something (second-tier life), self-help being almost a third tier since it’s just about fine-tuning reality instead of actually being an event in reality.
I have no idea what the Make Your Bed book is about, but I assume it tells you to make your bed because making your bed (a) doesn’t take very long, (b) makes a big difference to the vibe of where you live, (c) it actually quite a pleasant and mindful task you allow it to be one, and (d) acts as a mild physical warm-up for doing other things. I assume it is a metaphor for (a) tasks seldom being as bad as you imagine, (b) choosing your battles, (c) seeing things different ways, and (d) how activity can snowball once you’ve begun.
I will never look up that book to find what it’s really about. I have not read the review I linked to above. If you’ve read it though, tell me in the comments how right or wrong I am.
Anyway, those are some of the things I think about when making the bed. But why the slight sense of irritation at having to do it?
There’s another self-help book on the market at the moment with an ‘escape’ theme, just right for us to review in the next New Escapologist. I can’t be bothered though, so I asked someone else to do it for me. Thanks, Arie!
Arie came through today with his review and, among other things, it describes a way to overcome stress. You want to be “there,” when in fact you’re “here” is the explanation. Once you’ve accepted that, you’re on your way to overcoming stress.
Procrastinating slightly from making the bed this morning, I considered this. Why don’t I want to make the bed? It’s because I find it slightly stressful. Why do I find it slightly stressful when everything about making the bed is actually pretty good? It’s because I want to be “there” (a tidy world where the bed is made) instead of “here” (a messy world where the bed is unmade) and I can’t get “there” quickly enough.
Once I’d understood that, I asked myself why it’s so undesirable to live “here” in the messy world. It’s not so undesirable really. So I got breakfast and made the bed later instead. I did not feel the stress of the “make the bed” task hanging over me as I ate my breakfast. It works!
And I didn’t even have to read a self-help book. Though admittedly I had a unique way of learning from it anyway. Sorry Arie.
*
New Escapologist Issue 16 is available now in print and digital formats.
He Began to Make Plans
From Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood:
He began to make plans. In a few days we were all three of us to leave Berlin, for good. The Orient Express would take us to Athens. Thence, we should fly to Egypt. From Egypt to Marseilles. From Marseilles, by boat to South America. Then Tahiti. Singapore. Japan.
Now that’s an itinerary!
It calls to mind the quote from Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine we used as an epigraph in Issue 1:
Where would you like to go, what would you really like to do with your life? See Istanbul, Port Said, Nairobi, Budapest. Write a book. Smoke too many cigarettes. Fall off a cliff but get caught in a tree halfway down. Get shot at a few times in a dark alley on a Moroccan midnight.
In Goodbye, the itinerary is proposed by a millionaire called Clive who seems willing to take his penniless Bohemian friends (Isherwood and “Sally Bowles,” the Liza Minelli character in Cabaret) on the journey of a lifetime to escape a Berlin about to be co-opted by the Nazis.
Clive pronounced the names as though they had been stations on the Wannsee railway, quite as a matter of course; he had been there already. He knew it all. His matter-of-fact boredom gradually infused reality into the preposterous conversation. After all, he could do it. I began seriously to believe that he meant to do it. With a mere gesture of his wealth, he could alter the whole course of our lives.
Sometimes all you need is money. But for the rest of us, there’s wit.
*
Research
“Arts and crafts give greater life satisfaction than work,” reports today’s Guardian:
researchers say we could all benefit from creative endeavours and that such pursuits have a bigger influence on life satisfaction than having a job.
Gee, you think?
I’d imagine it’s because people aren’t economically bullied into knitting. Embroidery and painting don’t generally involve alienation or a commute or a barely-useful paycheque.
Last time I looked, creative hobbies arrived at under your own steam aren’t usually an insult to your very soul.
The results, [the lead researcher] added, might reflect that not everybody is in a job they find fulfilling.
Yeah.
*
