So What Do You Do For Work?
We ask it without thinking: “So… what do you do for work?” But what if that question quietly teaches us how to measure people before we ever learn their names?
One night on a dance floor with dads and daughters, and another where a conversation ended the moment my wife said she stayed home with our kids; forced me to see how deeply we’ve tied worth to productivity. This is an invitation to resist that script and let people be people before they become professions.
“So… what do you do for work?”
Artist Lecrae once said, “My identity is found in Christ.”
That line has been echoing in my mind lately, because somewhere along the way, we stopped asking who someone is and replaced it with what they do.
The room was a school cafeteria turned event center.
Dimly lit, warm, and alive.
Christmas lights hung everywhere.
There was hot chocolate, cookies, warm cider, and a dance floor just waiting to be destroyed by dads and their daughters. A cheerful host grabbed the microphone and invited everyone to celebrate and make memories. Laughter filled the room. Fathers danced. Daughters spun. Teachers stood nearby, smiling. It was genuinely beautiful.
Then a song by Forrest Frank came on -“Oh Lord, I need You now more than ever…”
We danced. We laughed. We sang. Some of us even rapped.
And then my bones politely informed me it was time to take a break.
As I stepped aside, watching my daughter laugh with her friends, a man in a gray suit approached me.
“So what do you do for work?”
My body reacted before my mind caught up. My stomach tightened. I felt irritated and reduced. As if, in one sentence, I had become a title instead of a person.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What was that?”
He repeated the question.
I paused. My first instinct was to say, Whatever the heck I want.
My second was to remember that I’m an adult.
Then a quieter thought surfaced: Why lead with that before even asking my name?
So instead, I said, “Hi, my name is Titus. What’s your name?”
He told me.
I smiled.
“Which one is your daughter?” I asked.
Later, I shared that I’m a teacher. But not first.
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After recently being laid off from her job due to “budget cuts,” my wife attended my job’s Christmas party with me as my plus one.
There was no dancing because…we are professionals…and it was Christmas music!
A coworker approached and introduced themselves to my wife.
“Hi, Titus. I wanted to come over and meet your lovely bride. Hi, I’m ______.”
Shayla, with her beautiful smile, replied,
“Hi, I’m Shayla. It’s nice to meet you.”
“So, what do you do for work?” they asked her.
Shayla smiled and said, “Right now, I’m staying home with the kids and taking care of the home front.”
“Oh,” they replied. “Okay.”
And just like that, the conversation ended.
____________________
Our society places a deep value on status and position.
For some, asking about work is harmless.
For others, it’s a measuring stick. A quiet way of deciding how much attention someone deserves.
For some, “What do you do for work?” is simply an innocent conversation starter.
For others, it’s a way—conscious or not—to measure a person’s worth.
And still for others, it’s a source of pride, a shorthand way of explaining who they are.
I’m not saying we should never ask about work.
I’m just saying it doesn’t have to be the first or even second question out of our mouths.
Why?
Because when work becomes the entry point, it quietly becomes the measuring stick.
And before we know it, we’re sizing one another up instead of actually seeing each other simply as humans, not resumés.
People are not resumés.
People are stories.
They’re tired dads with sore knees on a dance floor.
They’re moms holding down the home front.
They’re people between jobs, stuck in jobs, or grieving jobs they never wanted to lose.
So what if the first question wasn’t, “What do you do?”
What if it were simpler? More human?
“What’s your name?”
“Which one is your daughter?”
“What brings you here…?”
Or maybe start with…
“You must often be sad because you look like a Dallas Cowgirls fan.”
Jobs will change. Titles will fade. Budgets will get cut. Sometimes your body stops before the music ends.
But people—people are more.
So maybe we resist the script we’ve been handed.
Maybe we choose curiosity over classification.
Presence over productivity.
And maybe, just maybe, the next time we meet someone new,
we let them be a person first…
and a profession later.
Stay Blessed!