Why We Fight

I've been thinking a lot lately about why we do what we do.  Why I do what I do.  And whether or not it's genuinely to my benefit or detriment.

My normal schedule goes a little something like this:

Wake up.  Go to work.  Come home.  Go home to the wife. Sleep.  Repeat.  Take 2 days off.

That's a terribly basic breakdown of the routine.  From there, I figure we've got two ways to look at life: positively or negatively.  Of course, I can substitute other words in there depending on how cynical I feel at any given moment.  Optimistic and pessimistic.  Idealistic and realistic.  And so on.

So the above could really read more like:

Rise early to get a new day started.  Put meaning into the day by working a job with a decent paycheck to support my family.  Spend quality time with my best friend and eternal partner.  Get a good night's sleep to revitalize the mind.  Enjoy a couple days worth of downtime to recharge my body and raise my spirits.

Life is pretty sweet when I paint a bland picture like that.

Then again, it could be this:

Get out of a warm bed and away from my wife well before the sun rises to endure a thankless job in which my supervisors would have no qualms about replacing me (or anybody) at any time since they figure people are lined up to take my position.  Dangle a paycheck above my head as if the only thing that mattered in my life was their money.  Get home after a 12 hour shift and try to spend time with my wife... except that we still need to go grocery shopping.  And clean the house.  And cook dinner.  And respond to time demands from friends.  And family.  Then still get to bed early enough that I can wake up the next day to repeat.  But at least there's 2 days I get to myself.  Except that my phone needs to be on because I'm expected to be available to both my employees and my bosses at all times.  For any reason.  And actually, it's only 1 day off.  Because my people can't be trusted to stay out of trouble without me there.  But at least it's still a day.  Except that it's half a day or less... because I wasn't able to finish chore X or activity Y during the work week.  But at least I get to spend that day with my family... except that I work weekends, so I'm off on weekdays.  When everyone else is working...

Realistically, for most of us, I think it's a mix of the two, even though some days it feels like one or the other.

So why do we do it?

Why do we... why do I voluntarily separate myself from my loved ones to spend half my time working for people who aren't actually concerned with me... but rather my position?  Why do I commit 72 hours a week (12 hours a day, 6 days a week) to that?

The math behind that is staggeringly unbalanced, by the way.  That's 72 hours a week.  A day is, obviously, 24 hours.  8 of that is, in theory, reserved for sleeping.  That leaves 16 hours left.  Which is 112 waking hours in a week.  And 72 of that is work... leaving a whopping 40 hours to split among family, friends, chores, relaxation, and entertainment.

Ultimately, I don't know.  If I had the answer, I wouldn't need to ruminate on such things.

But still... isn't there a better way?  Does work really need to be the driving factor in life?  Why do we do that to ourselves?

Something to mull over while I sleep tonight and prepare for another day in the grind tomorrow...

Goodnight, moon.  Goodnight, life behind the work...