Today is Labor Day, which for many of us means the unofficial end of summer, a long weekend, perhaps a cookout, and—hopefully—a day away from work.

But Labor Day has a history worth remembering.

The first Labor Day celebration took place in New York City on September 5, 1882, when thousands of workers participated in a parade organized by the Central Labor Union. The idea spread quickly. States began officially recognizing the holiday, and in 1894, President Grover Cleveland signed legislation making the first Monday in September a national holiday.

At its heart, Labor Day was created to recognize the contributions of American workers and the dignity of their work.

That idea—the dignity and meaning of work—has always interested me.

Viktor Frankl believed there are several ways human beings discover meaning in life. One of them is through what he called creative values: what we give to the world through our work, our efforts, our creativity, and our contributions.

That doesn’t mean everyone needs to have a glamorous career or discover some perfect vocational “calling.”

I’ve always been a little cautious about the advice to “find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

Most of us know better.

Sometimes work feels like work.

There are deadlines, difficult people, long hours, tedious tasks, demanding customers, paperwork, meetings that probably could have been emails, and Monday mornings when we’d rather stay in bed.

And some people work primarily because the mortgage is due and groceries aren’t free.

There is dignity in that, too.

Frankl’s perspective reminds us that meaning isn’t necessarily found in the particular job we hold. It is often found in how we respond to the work life has placed before us and what we choose to contribute through it.

A teacher may find meaning in helping a struggling student believe in herself.

A nurse may find it in sitting beside a frightened patient for an extra five minutes.

A carpenter may find it in building something that will still be standing decades from now.

A business owner may find it in creating jobs and providing for families.

A parent may find it in the countless unpaid tasks required to raise a child.

And someone working a job they don’t particularly enjoy may find meaning in knowing that their labor provides a home, an education, or an opportunity for the people they love.

The job itself doesn’t always provide the meaning.

We bring meaning to the job.

I think that’s an important distinction, especially in a culture that sometimes makes our occupation synonymous with our identity.

One of the first questions we ask someone we’ve just met is, “What do you do?”

It’s a useful question, but it can quietly become a dangerous one if we begin to believe that what we do is the same thing as who we are.

Jobs change. Careers end. Companies close. People retire. Bodies eventually limit what we’re capable of doing.

Our worth cannot depend entirely upon our productivity.

Frankl’s understanding of work was never simply about achievement. Meaning comes from recognizing that our lives continually present us with opportunities to contribute—to create something, serve someone, solve a problem, bear a responsibility, or leave something a little better than we found it.

Sometimes that happens through our careers.

Sometimes it happens far outside of them.

So on this Labor Day, perhaps it’s worth asking a different question about your work.

Not simply:

“Do I like my job?”

But:

“Who benefits because I do it?”

Who is taught, healed, protected, fed, encouraged, supported, employed, served, loved, or provided for because you showed up?

You may discover that the answer reaches farther than you realized.

And if you’re fortunate enough to have tomorrow off, enjoy it. Rest matters, too. We were never meant to measure our lives solely by how much we produce.

But perhaps take a moment to appreciate the work you have been given to do—and the millions of people whose often-unnoticed work makes our own lives possible.

Because meaningful work isn’t always extraordinary work.

Sometimes it’s simply ordinary work, done responsibly and in service to something—or someone—beyond ourselves.

Happy Labor Day.

Until next Monday,

Dr. Dan