The Power of Purpose and Just About Everything

The summer between my sophomore and junior year of college I worked in retail, back in Edina, Minnesota. I worked in a suburban branch of the famous (at least in Minneapolis) Young Quinlan Department store. I was pretty excited to have the job, because it was a step up from the card shop I had worked in the last summer and because I got to work with great clothes and a great boss, a young woman who was energetic and fun.

However, before long, some time after I had mastered the art of ringing up sales on the 1915 giant gilded cash register, the work became just as tedious as the card shop. When there were no customers to help, my “fun” boss insisted we keep busy, or at least look busy. We colorized (arranging by style, size, and color) every rack of clothes, folded and refolded every shirt, and dusted displays. Then, there was nothing to do but stand out on the floor looking like we were ready to help at a moment’s notice. This was the worst. It was so boring! I tried memorizing poetry to pass the time, or sometimes just gathered with other sales staff to chat, until the fun boss appeared to scatter us. I watched the clock and did math in my head to figure out exactly how many minutes were left on my shift.

Then one day the job changed for me. I think I was helping a mom find a dress for her daughter’s wedding when I realized I was lucky to have a job that truly was helping others. I could help people find the right outfit in the right size and color, something that would make them feel more confident and happy. It seems like a little thing, this realization, but it really changed everything. I thought of how colorizing and folding the clothes made shopping more pleasant for others.  During down time, I began to look around at the racks and put together outfits in my mind for various occasions, so that if someone needed something particular I would have ideas. When I asked the woman who wandered in the door, “Can I help you?” I really meant it. And best of all were the times when I did have someone to help, when I could run get different sizes or suggest accessories. The time flew by and I began to love my job. The job itself hadn’t changed, but my purpose for doing it had.

I’ve been thinking about this experience as I’ve been reading the book Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance, by Angela Duckworth. One of her chapters focuses on the power of purpose. She tells the parable of the bricklayers: Three bricklayers are working on a building. Each is asked what he is doing. The first one says he is laying bricks. The second one says he is building a cathedral. The third one says he is creating the house of God. The first one has a job, the second a career, and third has a calling. Duckworth shares many stories of people who started a job, but found it became a calling to them, such as the engineer who took a job with the New York subway system straight out of college to pay his student loan, but then became fascinated with the idea that the work he and others did on the subways served an enormously important purpose for the people of that vast city. Another story focused on a girl who became a Hooters waitress out of high school. Then when the chef quit one night, she started helping out in the kitchen and when the bartender went home early she helped out there too, just because she saw the need. Before long she knew all the jobs in the restaurant and was managing it. Then she was asked to open a new restaurant. In a few years, she was CEO of the organization that owned the restaurant, all because she saw a larger purpose for the work she was doing.

I saw this happen in my teaching career. In college, I prepared to teach English in high school because it seemed a safe, practical job. I reluctantly took all the education classes and soon it was time to do the student teaching semester. I didn’t want to be a teacher; I wanted to be a dancer, so I was just putting in my time. My teaching experience was miserable. I felt out of control and resentful of the students. I told myself I would never, ever be a teacher.

Then I decided against being a dancer, started a master’s program in English, and began teaching Freshman English. I had excellent training from my supervisors and wonderful text books on the value of teaching writing. But most of all, I came to care about my little class of freshmen. I read their writing each week and learned about their backgrounds and their hopes and fears. I wanted to help them. I believed that learning to think and write clearly would help them. So I spent the time to plan engaging lessons, I met with the students individually, I spent hours writing helpful comments on their papers. When a student proudly read a strong essay to the class and the class applauded, I felt her accomplishment as strongly as she did. Within a few months I knew that I wanted to be a teacher, that this was my calling.

So today I was listening to this chapter as I cleaned up the kitchen, swept the floor, and vacuumed the carpet. I thought about the power of purpose in tedious, daily, mundane tasks. If we can see a larger purpose behind vacuuming or mowing the lawn or changing diapers or whatever we hate to do, could even those dreaded jobs become part of a calling?