This is the place where I worked today:

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It was a bad place for work. Too much concrete and sunlight. My shoulder was hurting after yoga class, so neither myself nor the setting were conductive towards having a session of deep work. Still, I was able to tackle some minor tasks on, and I left this café knowing I wouldn’t try to work the rest of the day.

But a different kind of work emerged naturally: I called my grandmother in Montréal, and from our conversation I knew I had to call a friend of the family, and after calling this friend I knew I had to call dad, and after calling dad I knew I had to send a message to a friend of my grandmother. This felt like work in its spiritual meaning, and here I often make the distinction between inner and outer work, what would family work then be?

I’d call it intersubjective work, but I’m just discovering what is this about. It feels manipulative to say “I worked on my family”, the experience is that of connecting people because they could be of benefit to each other. Lately I’m playing with the idea that work is simply focus with activity. You can be focused while watching TV, but there is no activity to justify it as work. Focus while cooking is work, focus while eating is pleasure. Focus while writing a letter to a friend is work, intersubjective work.