The job is the job. We are always focused on the job. And for good reason. The job puts food on the table. The job affords a life for us and our families. It allows my daughter to work toward the student athlete she wants to be, and my son to drum his way toward the literal rock star he wants to be. I’m all about the job.

But, damn, do things collide in happenstance sometimes to obliterate — better yet, give a whole big middle finger to — the priority of our day-to-day work.

In a matter of about a 24-hour span in mid-April, I was visiting a bunch of people and touring a bunch of sites for a story — my means to an end. Of course, that requires a cross-section of people, from whom my main expectation is information. This time around, among others I met a packer whose grandson was born the day we met. The next day, I met a beef producer whose lifelong best friend’s 18-year-old daughter died of an aneurism that day.

It was at the end of this visit, literally as we were saying goodbyes, that the devastating part of this contradictory combination came to light. Driving away, I realized then why he’d abruptly left lunch to take a call. He’d acted like a total pro upon returning, muting the emotions that must have been churning in him — because of the job, of course.

We move on quickly, to the next task. The animals need feeding; the packing line needs animals; the trucks need filling; the supermarket meat cases do too; the restaurants need their provisions. Each stop along this critical supply chain rolls along with the need to produce food and make money. Always the money.

And so, as I drove away, initially thinking about what I was going to write and where I was going to eat dinner, the loss of such a young life — and the pain it will cause — hit me. And I got mad at myself for not taking the time back there to extend proper condolences and to ask more about how the beef producer was feeling in that moment. He was going to have to soon head back to help his shattered friend and family somehow pick up the pieces.

It’s hard within the hum of work to be entirely conscientious, to take the time to step back from the transactional nature of business interactions and focus on truly personal exchanges and gestures. We don’t know what a person is going through while still trying to make those precision cuts on a carcass, for example, if we don’t offer ourselves to them and let them know we care.

I’m sure we all could be more cognizant of not only the physical but also the emotional health of those we work with. Take a step back; take the time to ask them how they’re doing.

What’s a job for, if not to help better one’s life outside of work?

Take a step back

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