Work ≠ A Paid Job

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“Have you started working again?” A friend of mine asked me this question recently. When I answered, “I am working. I'm just not getting paid for the work I'm doing,” He said, “okay, so you haven't started working yet.” My friend may have said that jokingly, but his comment unconsciously devalues the volunteer work that I've been immersed in over the past couple of years implying that a paying job is more important in society. 

According to a 2017 poll conducted by Gallup, only 15% of people worldwide enjoy what they do. Since that’s the case, I make a conscious effort to avoid this question when I meet people. Asking what one does gives me entirely no insight into a person’s character. Instead, I ask about their interests, their favorite places to travel to, whether they have a pet, where they’re from, and so on. 

When I google the definition of work, this is the result I get:

definition of work.png


Only one of the definitions states that work is an activity “as a means of earning income.”

When I meet people, I’ve noticed that they quickly ask the question, “what do you do for work?” 

I’ll say, “I’m a volunteer who supports immigrants and other communities society bullies, and I dabble in some writing.” I also add that I spent ten years in the tech industry working for Google to justify the riskier and unstable route I decided to pursue. I feel compelled to share this because I want people to know that my decision was a conscious and thoughtful one. 

Why does everything seem to depend on people’s job titles? 

Last year, my friend invited me to an event at the NASDAQ Entrepreneurial Center, an organization he supports. When I tried to RSVP online,  I couldn’t sign up without entering my occupation. Since I’m in a period of transition and exploring freelance writing, I filled out “self-employed” in the field thinking it was only for data collection purposes.  When I received my name tag at check-in, I saw “self-employed” included in large font under my name, and I felt a pit in my stomach. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that it helps me grow when I put myself in uncomfortable situations and marched into the event.  

I first wore my name tag so everyone could read it. When my friend introduced me to someone high up at the center (I didn’t care to remember his title), he immediately glanced at my name tag before looking into my eyes. When he saw that I wasn’t anyone notable, he shook my hand half-halfheartedly, gave a breezy hello, and proceeded to chat with someone more important a couple of feet behind me. I bet the people passing around the hors d'oeuvres received more notice than I did. 

 I knew that whoever I met that evening would immediately assume things about me because of the “self-employed” label that might as well have been stamped on my forehead. 

After that cool reception, I decided to conduct an experiment. I flipped my name tag around to see how many people would try to sneak a glance at my name tag. About 99% of the people I met did. I met a friendly guy named Jason* who recently moved from New York to work for a start-up. When he asked me what I did, I gave him my few lines about social impact work locally and abroad, and he asked me more about my experiences traveling. 

Later I met Peter, a finance type (I don’t remember what he did), who also had to take the time to ask me about my work. I told him about the nonprofits I work with, and he was interested in learning more about supporting one of them.  Sure, Jason and Peter may have immediately searched for my title, but when they decided to chat with me to learn more about the things I do, they didn’t try to run off to meet someone else they thought more worthwhile. 

While I learned many great skills at Google, I’ve learned so much more and met so many different types of people in the previous two and a half years than my last five years at the company. 

I found my voice, I’ve met and befriended people from a variety of ethnic, socioeconomic, and generational backgrounds, and gained the courage to speak up against things that I believe are wrong. I also learned, and I continue to learn leadership and negotiation skills. My experiences these past 28 months (and counting) taught me about resilience. 


When I think back to the exchange with my friend, I wish I told him that my current “work days” are longer and busier than when I was employed. Some of the activities I’m most proud of have included: volunteering locally and abroad; developing and leading a training for Cambodian college students; supporting and leading several organizations through their transitions; organizing educational panels on topics related of refugees and immigration; and drafting a motion, which my church eventually passed to formally declare itself a sanctuary church. 

We should value everyone’s roles in the community, and no one should be considered “less than,” just because they don’t have a VP title, earn at least six-figure salary, or sold their tenth start-up. Those are notable achievements for some, but I don’t find them any more important than supporting communities oppressed by governments, giving courage to the hopeless, and supporting future generations who, based on their families’ socioeconomic status, have access to fewer quality resources.  

On a flight home from a recent vacation, I remembered to avoid the “what do you do” question and ask my seatmate more interesting questions. It turned out that he was once kidnapped in Nigeria. His kidnappers only took his money and, after some negotiation, they let him keep his camera because he explained that it was a precious gift from his girlfriend. I wouldn’t have heard this incredible story had I not asked him about where he’s traveled to that he found the most exciting.


*Names in this essay have been changed for privacy purposes.
 

How My Mentee Mentored Me

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When I first volunteered to be a mentor at San Francisco Achievers, I wasn’t sure what I could offer. San Francisco Achievers provides scholarships and mentorship opportunities to African-American high school young men in San Francisco. As an Asian-American female who grew up in a sheltered neighborhood close to the inner Sunset with mostly Asian and white friends, I was nervous about being able to connect with a mentee. Despite my fears, I signed up because the organization needed mentors, and I hoped I could be somewhat helpful to a local youth.

I remember getting ready to meet my mentee for the first time because I had a million thoughts running through my head. “What type of impression will I make? What will we talk about? Most boys seem to like watching sports. I don’t watch sports! What can we do together? Will he be super quiet?” The thoughts kept swirling.

Prior to the event, Kacy, the new Scholar Success and Volunteer Coordinator, emailed me the name of my mentee. We were both added to the program later on. I read his name, Binyam Teklegiorgis, and my first thought was, “Crap, I’m going to completely butcher his name and insult him.

When Kacy pointed out Binyam to me, I saw a tall, soft-spoken, young man chatting with another mentor. He was smiling and he seemed at ease chatting with the woman. I was relieved that he didn’t seem standoffish or super quiet. I observed the other mentor talking to him, and I kept thinking, “Hands off! He’s my mentee!” because I could sense how much she enjoyed talking to him.

Finally, we were told to break off into our mentor-mentee pairings and play an icebreaker, “if you knew me.” One person starts off saying, “If you knew me, you would know…” and fill in a fact about him/herself. We could keep it light or we could share as much as we felt comfortable with sharing. I started off with something light like,  “If you knew me, you would know that I like ice cream.” Then Binyam responded with something equally light-hearted. I’m embarrassed to admit that I can’t recall what that first fact was because after another light-hearted exchange ... BAM! Things got real.

with binyam.jpeg

 

I forgot who first shared the more personal detail first, but I found out that Binyam lived in a homeless shelter with his family for a few months in San Francisco, and I shared that my mother passed away from breast cancer a number of years ago. However it started, our conversation took a turn, and I felt an instant connection.

We chatted for over 2 hours at our first meeting. I learned that he immigrated to the United States from Ethiopia with his parents, brother, and sister and that he missed his home country. Adjusting to life in the new country wasn’t the easiest for them. He had to learn English when he was in middle school, and his family lived with his aunt and her family in a small apartment in the city. After several months, his family had to move out because there wasn’t enough room in the apartment for the two families. Since his parents were still trying to get their bearings in the new country, they qualified for and moved into Raphael House, an organization that helps families find stable housing and achieve financial independence. It’s a lot for a young man to experience within the first couple of years living in the US, which explained why he seemed more mature than I was at his age.

Despite these challenges, he was focused and determined to succeed. He sought out and applied for all the college scholarship programs he was eligible for, and he was accepted into most, if not all of them. The other scholarship programs also assigned him mentors, so he was surrounded by many people who could give him advice and support. When I learned all of this during our first meeting, I wasn’t sure how I could help him. At the very least, I could be one of his cheerleaders, supporting and encouraging him in whatever he did. I’d be a sounding board -- happy to listen to whatever he wanted to share and happy to discuss ideas with him as he’s processing them.

Even though we connected easily during our first meeting, I knew that I would have to put in an effort to show him that I cared about him and that I was committed to being his mentor. Even though I ended up traveling a lot during his senior year, I’d still check in via text or email every so often. I wanted him to know that I was thinking about him and out of sight didn’t mean out of mind.

Recently, I saw his younger brother at an SF Achievers awards ceremony, and he mentioned how Binyam talked about how I seem to really care about him. Hearing that made me light up. The fact that Binyam would talk about me to his brother made me feel that he cares about and appreciates our relationship too.

Often, I feel like I’m the one getting the most from our relationship. His independence and how he’s assumed responsibility for his life at such a young age inspires me to do more. If he was able to find resources to help him attend and pay for college in a country that he immigrated to not so many years ago, I can do a better job of utilizing the tools and networks I have to make larger strides in my life goals. Ever since I’ve become Binyam’s mentor, I’ve become more courageous and taken greater risks. I want to be someone he’ll look up to and also be inspired by. As he grows older, I hope that he’ll include me on his “advisory board,” the people he contacts whenever he encounters a challenge. I think he’s still hesitant to reach out to me randomly, but I think we’re slowly getting there.

Thanks, Binyam, for being my mentor and for helping me avoid being complacent. The determination and courage you’ve demonstrated (and continue to demonstrate) is encouraging.