A Stressful World
Yesterday I spent the day helping my friend to set up a booth for a MasterChef expo down in Sydney. Her brother is a famous Chef at a local organic restaurant. As I was contemplating all the work that is involved with being a Chef – cooking, managing staff, judging competitions... I said casually “That must be quite stressful for your brother to do all that”. To which my friend replied: “It is stressful; I heard Chef and bricklayer are the 2 most stressful jobs.”
Chef, I can totally see that it is a stressful job, especially if you’re not just cooking but also building a reputation, running a business as in the case of my friend’s brother, and trying to advance the culinary science with innovative recipes. But bricklayer?...
Who would think being a bricklayer is a stressful job? Hard-working job, certainly. Physical job, absolutely. Stressful job? I’m not quite convinced. I still have the image that bricklayers are well-built guys with a nice tan, and they whistle at pretty girls walking down the street. So where’s the stress here? Is it about the whistling part? Do they have to practice their whistling at home to get it right when the hot girls show up? Do they ever get stage stress when the girl is about to walk by, it’s nearly the right moment to whistle at her, not too early or not to late, so she can hear the whistling and look at the bricklayer showing his biceps? But then they chicken out and mess up the whistling. The whistle comes out feeble and they miss their chance with the girl. Or could it be the stress about the bricklaying part?
Here’s my take: the stress is not about their whistling skills or their bricklaying ability. It is probably about their sense of significance. I heard the story of the 3 bricklayers who were working on a famous cathedral in France. You may be aware that those cathedrals, like Notre Dame de Paris, were built over several decades, sometimes centuries. The issue was how to keep people engaged as they would probably never see the end result of their efforts and the money they invested into the cathedrals. A man went to visit the place where the cathedral was being built. He asked the first bricklayer “What are you doing?” The bricklayer replied “I am laying a brick, sir.” Then the man continued and walked to the next bricklayer: “What are you doing my friend?” The second bricklayer replied “I’m building a wall.” Finally the man walked to the last bricklayer and asked the same question: “And you, what are you doing?” The third bricklayer replied: “I am building a magnificent cathedral.”
So it looked like the 3 bricklayers were doing the exact same job, but each one was building something different according to the perspective they had. The first bricklayer was only looking at the number of bricks he could lay in one day – probably a stressful task indeed. The third bricklayer had a sense of purpose and was probably getting the most satisfaction out of his work. This is the parable of the 3 bricklayers.
I must admit that now and again, I have complained about a lack of significance, saying things like: “Who cares about what I do? No policyholder has ever sent me an email saying how happy they were about the investment options of their annuity. No kid has ever looked up to me saying they want to become an actuary too when they grow up.” Sometimes it feels indeed like no-one cares. People thank their doctor, their coach, the chef at the restaurant, their hairstylist, but they never take the time to thank the actuary behind their life insurance policy. Have you ever complained about this reality, or am I the only actuary out there who thinks this is unfair and someone should thank me because they are insured? :)
Anyway, the lesson from the parable is that I get to choose which bricklayer I am. I get to choose if I want to be the one who lays bricks or the one who builds a cathedral. If someone comes up to me and says “What are you doing?” I have 3 possible answers to choose from. I can reply:
First option: “I am calculating this year’s mortality rates on annuity policies.”
Second option: “I am looking at mortality assumptions so we can know how much policy liability we have to put in the accounts.”
Third option: “I am looking at mortality assumptions so we can still be around and pay benefits when you’re 80 years old.”
My initial lack of significance comes from the fact that the end result of my work is so far removed from my daily tasks. But then I remember that I am building a cathedral and people I don’t even know will benefit from my work long after I’ve changed jobs. Significance is often a matter of perspective.
Chef, I can totally see that it is a stressful job, especially if you’re not just cooking but also building a reputation, running a business as in the case of my friend’s brother, and trying to advance the culinary science with innovative recipes. But bricklayer?...
Who would think being a bricklayer is a stressful job? Hard-working job, certainly. Physical job, absolutely. Stressful job? I’m not quite convinced. I still have the image that bricklayers are well-built guys with a nice tan, and they whistle at pretty girls walking down the street. So where’s the stress here? Is it about the whistling part? Do they have to practice their whistling at home to get it right when the hot girls show up? Do they ever get stage stress when the girl is about to walk by, it’s nearly the right moment to whistle at her, not too early or not to late, so she can hear the whistling and look at the bricklayer showing his biceps? But then they chicken out and mess up the whistling. The whistle comes out feeble and they miss their chance with the girl. Or could it be the stress about the bricklaying part?
Here’s my take: the stress is not about their whistling skills or their bricklaying ability. It is probably about their sense of significance. I heard the story of the 3 bricklayers who were working on a famous cathedral in France. You may be aware that those cathedrals, like Notre Dame de Paris, were built over several decades, sometimes centuries. The issue was how to keep people engaged as they would probably never see the end result of their efforts and the money they invested into the cathedrals. A man went to visit the place where the cathedral was being built. He asked the first bricklayer “What are you doing?” The bricklayer replied “I am laying a brick, sir.” Then the man continued and walked to the next bricklayer: “What are you doing my friend?” The second bricklayer replied “I’m building a wall.” Finally the man walked to the last bricklayer and asked the same question: “And you, what are you doing?” The third bricklayer replied: “I am building a magnificent cathedral.”
So it looked like the 3 bricklayers were doing the exact same job, but each one was building something different according to the perspective they had. The first bricklayer was only looking at the number of bricks he could lay in one day – probably a stressful task indeed. The third bricklayer had a sense of purpose and was probably getting the most satisfaction out of his work. This is the parable of the 3 bricklayers.
I must admit that now and again, I have complained about a lack of significance, saying things like: “Who cares about what I do? No policyholder has ever sent me an email saying how happy they were about the investment options of their annuity. No kid has ever looked up to me saying they want to become an actuary too when they grow up.” Sometimes it feels indeed like no-one cares. People thank their doctor, their coach, the chef at the restaurant, their hairstylist, but they never take the time to thank the actuary behind their life insurance policy. Have you ever complained about this reality, or am I the only actuary out there who thinks this is unfair and someone should thank me because they are insured? :)
Anyway, the lesson from the parable is that I get to choose which bricklayer I am. I get to choose if I want to be the one who lays bricks or the one who builds a cathedral. If someone comes up to me and says “What are you doing?” I have 3 possible answers to choose from. I can reply:
First option: “I am calculating this year’s mortality rates on annuity policies.”
Second option: “I am looking at mortality assumptions so we can know how much policy liability we have to put in the accounts.”
Third option: “I am looking at mortality assumptions so we can still be around and pay benefits when you’re 80 years old.”
My initial lack of significance comes from the fact that the end result of my work is so far removed from my daily tasks. But then I remember that I am building a cathedral and people I don’t even know will benefit from my work long after I’ve changed jobs. Significance is often a matter of perspective.
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