On June 3rd I will have worked six months in a consulting job that daily puts me in situations straight out of a script from The Office. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a challenging gig and I’m learning a lot, but sometimes the bureaucracy and office politics overshadows the actual work. It’s often challenging to point out something concrete that I’ve accomplished in a given day. I came across an article in the New York Times today that addresses my problem quite nicely. The article, in turn, quoted from a poem — “To Be of Use” by Marge Piercy.

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

While I doubt I’ll be trading in my keyboard for a sledgehammer anytime soon, it is gratifying to see these murky thoughts of mine so eloquently transformed into words.