It would be an understatement to say that BCM313 has been not only my favourite university subject I’ve done so far, but is also the most valuable.
I hadn’t heard of narrative practice before this class, but learning the theory and, more importantly, hearing Kate put the theory into real-world examples – like the future of work – made it easy to understand and it resonated with me from the first seminar. I think I am so attracted to it because it blends together storytelling and real-life stories with research, which is interesting to me as a journalist and writer, and something I want to explore further. I am also very aware of the reality of the journalism profession and so it was good to look at how its changing and going to be affected in the future.
The subject has made me more certain of my career path – before this semester I honestly didn’t have an answer to the question “what do you want to do when you leave university?” I still don’t have one answer, but this class has made me certain I am on the right track and the mentorship of Kate and Giverny throughout the semester has made a few things more concrete for me; I know I want to do my Honours degree, I know I want to spend more time looking at narrative practices in research, I know I want to be a writer.
Even though I opted to have my first two assignments ungraded in this subject, I found I was eager to do them and do them well. I wanted to study for this subject and spend time looking into the themes of the future of work and Michael White’s work. I wanted to attend classes because it had been made clear that our time as students was valued from the teaching staff of the classroom.
Too often as students, I feel we are sidelined and made to feel like we aren’t valued because we’re “just students” and our time outside of university is trivialised by the university, but in this classroom, I felt like my time and work outside of the classroom was valued just as much as my time in the classroom, which was appreciated and meaningful for me. I have sacrificed a lot balancing full-time university and my (basically) full-time job, including putting my relationships, health and mental wellbeing on the line at times while prioritizing university, and I felt like this was noted and acknowledged in BCM313 by both Kate and Giverny, and the rest of my classmates. I think it was the first time a lot of us students felt seen and heard, and so from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank Kate and Giverny for doing that.
One of the most impactful moments for me was the day I did my presentation for the second assignment, and, in an unplanned and spontaneous way, ended up bringing some uncomfortable trauma experienced by my sister and myself in our childhoods into the room. I felt safe to do so, because of the environment so carefully and lovingly created by Kate and my peers over the previous few weeks, but it was still daunting and I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. I was extremely anxious about this, and it was causing me a fair amount of distress.
After class, I coincidently stumbled upon Kate and Giverny having a coffee together and they validated that decision I had made and acknowledged the difficulty of it, which made me feel like I had done a good thing when I was swimming in self-doubt and worry about it. We also had a discussion about my own work future which left me feeling clear-headed and inspired.
While the content covered in BCM313 is worthwhile, interesting, and the most helpful information I’ve received in a long time in my degree, I think the thing which really stands out to me about the subject is the human interactions and culture of the class. I wasn’t competing with my classmates, I was working with them, just like in the workplace. It was refreshing and has reignited some of my passion for my degree, which I have to admit wavers sometimes.
I still have six months of my degree left and intend on continuing onto post-graduate study, but I think this subject is, in a word, amazing. If this was my last semester, I would be grateful to have such a positive experience and helpful subject to see me off, and even as a returning student, the things I’ve learned in BCM313 will stick with me for some time.
“We live in an era that’s intent on reminding us that “do what you love” is the key to professional and creative satisfaction while conveniently eliding the fact that love can also hurt like hell.” Neha Kale, 2016.
When I turned 18, I was expected to pay my own way. My mother was renting a two-bedroom home in the CBD of my small country city, and the weekly rent was to be split down the middle – $150 each – from the week after my birthday. I also had to go halves in all house bills and groceries. I was forced to drop out of the TAFE course I was doing as an alternative entry to university and get a job at a fruit and vegetable store in order to pay my share.
This wasn’t a totally unique experience, I thought, but in the seven years since, I haven’t met a young person who had to ‘go halves in everything’ to live at home, especially at the expense of gaining a higher education. I ended up moving into a share-house with friends as it was the cheaper option for me and allowed me to save money for three years to move away from my hometown to attend university.
This experience had an impact on deciding what I was going to do at university. When I was filling in my application, I was having a fight with my head and my heart; my head was arguing for a reliable career option, which would produce money and employment opportunities but that I may not love, while my heart was making a case for pursuing an unstable and tumultuous career in writing.
I followed my heart, and am now at university studying journalism and communications and media. I’m working a job that I do not love, which I was offered after doing months of unpaid labour through an internship. I am in the ‘hard yards’ phase of my career, paying my dues and gaining experience. I’m doing the undesirable work so that I can one day move into a job I will love. Because Doing What You Love is the career path young people told to strive for.
“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.” Steve Jobs, 2005
The message of this uplifting speech was clear; Find something you love and figure out how to turn that into your career.
This inspirational work mantra – Do What You Love (and You’ll Never Work A Day In Your Life) – permeates throughout current and future work culture, and on the surface, is an attractive idea. In Australia, the average full-time employee spends over 35 hours each week working, and so if they are doing something they enjoy, it stands to reason that their overall job and lifestyle satisfaction will be higher.
This advice is evident, especially at universities. The very concept of paying thousands of dollars to attend university to study something for three to five years has the implication that the person is studying something they love or something they want to do.
A 2015 study on first year experiences in Australian universities found that 96 per cent of students cited “intrinsic interest in the field of study” as their reason for going to university, followed by 87 per cent aiming to improve their job prospects and 77 per cent hoping to develop their talents and creative abilities (Baik, Naylor & Arkoudis 2015, p. 23).
This data shows that personal interest and developing of talents are as important to university students as improving their career prospects, which is evidence that students are going to university to gain degrees and get jobs in fields they are going to enjoy. Students are sold the product of a degree, with the university saying “Come here, study this, and then you’ll get a fulfilling career doing a job you love”.
An article on Forbes talks of millennials seeking purpose over a paycheck, saying young people today ” long to be part of something bigger than themselves… want to lead a balanced life… want to be happy at home and happy on the job… [and] are on an endless search for happiness”, driving home the idea that doing what you love is the new career goal for our generation.
For a generation which values doing what they love, there is a potentially dangerous implication which can be found if looking at this mantra through the lens of the narrative principle of the “absent but implicit”, which involves finding out the “subjugated meanings that the problem story relies upon for its expression? How do these connect with stories of preference and how can we bring them forward?” (Carey, Walther & Russel 2006, p 3) to discover the implicit but unsaid value behind the saying.
“Do what you love” is saying that you should love what you do. The absent but implicit value behind this is that the thing you love will bring meaning and fulfillment to your life. The opposite of this is that if you don’t seek a career doing what you love, your life will have less meaning and fulfillment, which is a concerning implication, as not all people are able to seek a career doing what they love.
The reality is that doing what you love is a privilege not all will be able to achieve. The mantra itself discredits other kinds of less-‘loveable’ work and young people who are seeking to fulfill this advice are open to exploitation from the current job market.
“In mainstream Australia individuals who do not “pull their weight” are stigmatised, with those receiving welfare colloquially referred to as “dole bludgers” demonised on tabloid television.” Sara James, 2012
The culture of work in Australia has been built around strong work ethic; in the past, a job was just something you did, where you were expected to work hard and put in the ‘hard yakka’ in order to reap the reward of money and respect. Career enjoyment was an added bonus, if you had it, but was not to be expected.
In online articles outlining potentially jarring aspects of Australian work culture to international students, it is spelled out that Australians have a very strong work ethic. “Australian companies value talent and hard work above the amount of time you have been working for them,” one article advises, while another explains that organisations “expect their staff to work a bit later” than their hours dictate. “Don’t get a reputation as a clockwatcher”, the article says, while explaining that “When someone asks an Australian to do an extra task at work, they will usually take on the extra work and not say they are too busy to do it. If you say that you are too busy, your co-workers or boss will assume that you cannot handle the workload”. In other words, always accept more work, stay back late to complete it, and don’t complain.
According to the Department of Home Affairs Life in Australia booklet, one of the key aspects of Australian culture is the ‘fair go’ and the expectation that “what someone achieves in life should be a product of their talents, work and effort rather than their birth or favouritism”. It also explains that Australians “don’t often want to be seen as boastful or arrogant. This often extends to their accomplishments, success and expertise,” and that Australians “don’t always praise someone for a job well done as they assume everyone is doing their best” (Australian Government 2016)
What all of these aspects of Australian culture come back to is that you’re expected to work hard at your job, whether or not you enjoy it. And young people are increasingly encouraged to strive for a job they love but are still operating in a work culture with the above values at its core.
It is these elements of Australian work culture which have led to the rise of exploitative working conditions, particularly unpaid internships and work experience expectations.
‘Do what you love’ disguises the fact that being able to choose a career primarily for personal reward is an unmerited privilege, a sign of that person’s socioeconomic class.” Miya Tokumitsu, 2014
The decision to choose a career for enjoyment over necessity is one that only financially privileged people can make because it is a costly one, with many risks.
Many of the careers which fall into the ‘lovable’ category are ones which are less likely to make a large income return; creative, intellectual or socially prestigious pursuits as opposed to necessary but more unattractive jobs which may be repetitive, unintellectual, and undistinguished (Tokumitsu 2014). Careers as a writer, artist, academic, teacher or musician, for example, are considered “loveable” careers, compared to menial jobs such as retail or hospitality.
It is these ‘loveable’ careers which are the jobs that, especially within Australia, require large amounts of unpaid work in order to ‘prove’ that you are good enough for the paid jobs, and willing to work hard for it. For example, a study published in 2016 found that “58 percent of Australians aged between 18 and 29 had participated in at least one episode of UWE [unpaid work experience] in the last five years and that one in five had undertaken five or more” (Tweedie & Ting, 2018).
This culture of unpaid internships is able to thrive in Australia, especially in the ‘loveable’ industries, as young people seeing jobs in these areas are told they need to work for free in the name of love and to show they are willing to put in hard work, which will, in theory, be rewarded with paid work. They are also pitted against each other, with the expectation that doing these unpaid internships will result in better job prospects, but which are not always a guarantee. This taps into the above elements of the Australian working culture of reward for work but internship culture “legitimises worker exploitation, undermines the graduate job market and entrenches class inequalities” (Thorn, 2018). It makes it difficult for the people who cannot afford to do unpaid work but might be just as skilled, to compete in an already-scarce job market.
It completely ignores this larger issue of exploitation of workers and the privilege of being able to do unpaid work without financially ruining oneself and places the responsibility on the individual, implying that if they are unable to undertake unpaid internships in the pursuit of their dream career, they just do not want it enough. This is the exact opposite of the core value of narrative practice, which says that “The person is never the problem; the problem is the problem” (Sween 1998, p. 4). It also goes against the core Australian value, dictated in the Life in Australia booklet; that “Australian society values equality of opportunity for individuals”.
All of this would not be too much of an issue if Do What You Love was just a motivational quote instead of the expectation for young workers that it has become. But when it is expected, it places all of those who are not as socioeconomically or culturally privileged at a disadvantage. It increases the divide between the classes and encourages a devaluing of some work and workers whilst coveting and praising others. And, perhaps most concerning, it allows for the exploitation of young workers in an already-competitive work culture.
If the future of work continues to go in this direction, even the ‘loveable’ jobs will become tedious and unwanted.
“If we acknowledged all of our work as work, we could set appropriate limits for it, demanding fair compensation and humane schedules that allow for family and leisure time. And if we did that, more of us could get around to doing what it is we really love.” Miya Tokumitsu, 2014
If we really want to robot-proof our jobs, we, as leaders, need to get out of the mindset of telling people what to do and instead start asking them what problems they’re inspired to solve and what talents they want to bring to work.”David Lee, TED@UPS, July 2017
Regardless of all of the discourse about how automation is the inevitable future of work, I must admit I had rarely thought of AI as being a concern for my career in journalism. Instead, I concerned myself with the more obvious worries; the impending death of legacy media, lack of jobs in the industry, and the fact that journalism is quickly becoming a career viable only for the wealthy.
But automation in journalism is a very real risk, just like it is in most other industries, and while it has been predicted that new jobs will be created to replace those taken over by AI, it’s still something I’ve started to consider. Automated journalism bots can aggregate large amounts of information exponentially faster and can more efficiently monitor worldwide trends than a human being, and in the 24-hour news cycle, efficiency is key.
I know that I value efficiency in my own workplace, as the assistant editor for a digital women’s publication. This is the value which I now understand is often bubbling under the surface when I come home exasperated after a long day at work, ranting and raving to my partner about all of the things which frustrated me that day.
In a 2017 TED Talk, writer Emily Esfahani Smith, explained what she found out about what made people happy.
“The fourth pillar [of a happy life] is storytelling, the story you tell about yourself. Creating a narrative from the events of your life brings clarity. It helps you understand how you became you.” Emily Esfahani Smith, TED2017
“Creating a narrative from the events of your life brings clarity”, she said. Later in the talk, she explained that people could change what stands out in their life stories:
“…just by reflecting on your life thoughtfully, how your defining experiences shaped you, what you lost, what you gained.” Emily Esfahani Smith, 2017, TED2017
This, to me, is very accurate. We do tend to live our lives through narratives, which is why I feel narrative practice, often used by in therapeutic settings to deal with trauma, is an effective way to learn about yourself and your values. We use small stories to interpret our feelings as “the buzz of sensory experience would overwhelm us without some frame of reference… so we collapse our experience into narrative structures, or stories, to make it intelligible,” (Springen 1995). This works within the self, and within the workforce.
By following the narrative principle of the “absent but implicit”, which involves really listening to someone’s story – or your own – to find what they’re not saying, which will reveal a hidden and implied value of the storyteller. During this process, we ask ourselves “What are the subjugated meanings that the problem story relies upon for its expression? How do these connect with stories of preference and how can we bring them forward?” (Carey, Walther & Russel 2006, p 3). This implicit value will reveal how we wish something was, which leaves us better prepared to take action resulting in the desired outcome.
Following the narrative map which aims to identify the absent but implicit element of stories, a particular “small work event where I was annoyed or frustrated” came to mind, as I experience it almost monthly.
My boss hates technology and each month she requests that I print the content schedule spreadsheet which is used by writers across the world so she can mark off stories as they are handed in. However, the spreadsheet is an ever-changing beast. If one of our New York writers has a question or amendment to a story, they leave a comment on the spreadsheet. It allows for writers to select from a drop-down menu when a story has been assigned, started, and handed in. All of these imperative functions are defunct if the sheet is printed at the beginning of the month.
But each month, I spend time printing the spreadsheet, and then constantly answering my bosses questions, queries and following up on issues she has with writers, which they have already addressed on the online spreadsheet, as requested of them. It is, in my opinion, a massive waste of my (already scarce) time.
When I spent time reflecting on this annoying work experience, the absent but implicit element of this story is that I clearly value efficiency, and want my workplace – which is made up of a team spread across different countries and time-zones – to run as smoothly as possible. Interestingly, even though my partner acknowledges I value efficiency at work, he pointed out that I am terrible at my own time management. I can efficiently run a global team of freelance writers, but when it comes to being efficient in my own personal life? Well, that’s a reflection for another time.
Considering one of my most valued – and marketable – work skills is efficiency, and the reality is I will never be as efficient as an AI, this could be cause for concern for me. But one aspect of the future of work is that robots will never be able to replace humans in terms of empathy or creative thinking, or a number of intrinsically human traits and skills.
Using narrative practices, like absent but implicit thinking, can help us to identify these values, and work on developing them so we are the best version of ourselves we can be, both in and out of the workplace.
Something uncanny happens almost every time someone asks me to talk about a time I did something. Whether it’s in a job interview and I have to discuss a situation in which I have shown problem-solving skills, or a university seminar asking me to think of a time I made a decision which turned out well, for some reason, my entire life is wiped from my brain the second the question is asked.
Nevertheless, I pushed through my momentary memory loss and realised that my most recent major decision worked out well. In fact, better than I could have possibly imagined. Which was interesting, as it was a decision I would normally have never made.
Making the choice to go spend two weeks in Rwanda for my journalism internship, and another two traveling to Kenya and Tanzania, was something I still cannot believe I did. I had never been overseas before going to Africa. I was going over with a group of complete strangers and casual acquaintances. As someone who has high levels of anxiety and a very restricted comfort zone which I am always reluctant to leave, telling family and friends I was going to Rwanda resulted in exclamations of shock, albeit followed by excitement and well-wishes.
The me from before the trip made a decision about my life which was extremely unlike me, but after returning, I’ve realised that choosing to go to Africa is something I would do one thousand times over, and is actually a very ‘me’ choice. Because it turns out I am a person who will take on new experiences, and try to better myself. I experienced many things in Africa, and learned more about myself in four weeks than I have learned in 24 years.
I’ve learned how to appreciate my own work, which is something I have previously struggled with. I’ve always found it difficult to look at something I have written or created and say I am proud of it, but I am immensely proud of the work I did in Rwanda, particularly the photographs I took of my team undertaking their project and the community we were working in.
I’ve learned the value of being able to work in different countries and within different cultural environments, and the power of human ingenuity to solve problems with limited resources.
And above all, I think I’ve finally learned how to be proud of myself in a professional work capacity, and own my achievements, which is something I never thought I’d truly get a grasp on.