What do you do?
Such a strange question.
I breathe. I eat. I parent.
I endure (sometimes appreciate) being parented, even at the age of 34.
I love.
I grieve.
I worry and I persist.
I try to rest, to replenish, to provide.
I try.
Sometimes I flourish and often I fail.
I do human things.
But that’s not what that question is asking, is it? And even though there’s a sometimes-implied and sometimes-explicit reference to work, it isn’t really even about that. I think “what do you do” is usually taken to mean “what do you contribute that sets you apart from other humans in a way that can be monetized?”
But you definitely sound weird if you ask it that way.
What I do for work is raise my kids. That’s the focal point of every decision and every resource spent and acquired. Of course, I don’t get any money for it, and it only barely sets me apart from other humans. It is a massive contribution, though, and it requires tremendous time, energy and skill.
I get money from carving shells. So there it is; what I do: I carve seashells.
I’m a shell-carver; nothing more and nothing less.