Living is labor. My relationships with the people in my community are inherently caught up in relations of exchange and production. I see no difference between exploitation at the workplace and personal relationships existing outside of labor. If I cannot find meaning in endless struggle then I will not find meaning anywhere I look. I am aware that certain acute conditions of labor (workplace hazards) are worth action to avoid, but here I am thinking about the endless cycle I will go through if I choose to have a stable “career.”
The thought of ending up in a place and choosing to stay well into balding old age sounds to me like the death of new experiences.
Heat death.
At the same time I feel empathy for my aged and worked older self whose commitment to new and exciting experiences rendered high impact service work a necessity for income, and the overuse injuries associated with that.
I am lost here.