开源日报 每天推荐一个 GitHub 优质开源项目和一篇精选英文科技或编程文章原文,坚持阅读《开源日报》,保持每日学习的好习惯。
今日推荐开源项目:《小试牛刀 react-demos》
今日推荐英文原文:《Your Job Doesn’t Have To Define You》
开源日报第587期:《小试牛刀 react-demos》
今日推荐开源项目:《小试牛刀 react-demos》传送门:GitHub链接
推荐理由:在学习某个新玩意的时候我们都会写下各种各样的 demo 来尝试一些想法,这能帮助我们熟记概念理清思路等等。这个项目是一个关于 React 的 demo 合集,可以很好的作为原型加以改造验证自己学习 React 时的想法,尽管它们覆盖的知识点有限,不过如果还没有边看文档边开 demo 试水的习惯的话可以考虑从此开始,毕竟有的时候比起琢磨各个特性组合的结果,不如直接写个 demo 看看结果来验证猜想来的更快。
今日推荐英文原文:《Your Job Doesn’t Have To Define You》作者:Claire J. Harris

Your Job Doesn’t Have To Define You

Think of it as corporate sponsorship for the rest of your life

It’s the first question you are asked by strangers: “So what do you do?” I know it’s just small talk, and conversation has to begin somewhere — and yet, it’s somewhat baffling that the answer to what we “do” is limited to the activity that fills our time on weekdays between 9am and 5pm. Namely, our job.

I always struggle to answer this question. For three days a week, I am paid by an employer to write brochures, letters and websites for financial institutions. (Yes, that is every bit as interesting as it sounds.) I sometimes tell people “I work in finance” but that is, of course, nonsense — the picture it conjures up doesn’t in any way represent the reality of working from home in comfy pants and taking naps after lunch. Also, I know nothing about finance.

Sometimes I tell people, “I’m a copywriter” and then they immediately say something about Mad Men. I write copy but I don’t make ads or drink bottomless tumblers of whiskey or throw around ideas for commercials with men in suits. I don’t even see any other humans during my work days.

I struggle to explain to people why I only work three days a week — and it leads to a rambling response about how I might work work (ie get paid) for those three days but I really work seven days a week because I write on all the other days too. (“Please don’t think I’m lazy” is the subtext.)

Then they ask what of mine they’ve read/watched/remotely heard of — and the answer is… probably nothing. In which case, can I call myself a writer when people ask what I “do”? Can you call yourself something that you only occasionally get paid for?

When I lived in New York a few years ago, I was struck by the fact that people defined themselves by their aspirations. If I asked someone what they did, they invariably told me they were an actor, dancer, writer — and not, in fact, a waiter, nanny, or bartender.

At the time, I thought this was pretentious — as though there is a shame or stigma attached to the casual work you take on while you’re staking everything on trying to turn your dream job into reality. What’s wrong with being a waiter anyway?

But now I think maybe they were right: my creative writing has more to do with who I am than my copywriting. I switch off from my day job as soon as I clock off, whereas my own writing projects constantly consume my thinking, even if they never eventuate into published/filmed works.

I often think about chucking in my day job and pursuing one that is more meaningful to me. Using my writing skills to work on grants for an NGO, for example, or becoming a journalist.

But if there was one piece of advice I took from film school, it was that the best way to create art is to have a relative well-paying job that you could afford to do only a few days a week. Time is the most valuable resource you have — and if I left this job for another one that consumed my time and my thoughts, there would be nothing left to give to my writing.

This, of course, puts a lot of pressure on my writing, and on the four days a week that I spend not getting paid. In modern western society, we seek fulfillment from our jobs in a way that perhaps generations before us didn’t — and yet the sole purpose of mine is to give me the freedom to do something else more meaningful with the rest of my time.

We are also valued according to our economic contribution, and as all artists know, it is rare for creativity to be financially rewarded. When I find myself talking about my job at parties, I find myself justifying this lack of economic contribution — what makes me think that I/my writing is so special, that I should only have to work three days when everyone else is slugging it out five days a week?

The truth is, I’m probably justifying it to myself much more than the stranger who by this point into my monologue is usually trying to find a way to exit the conversation.

If I traded this time for a different job, there is no guarantee that I would find it any more fulfilling than the one I currently have. Even if I didn’t write, I would still rather have less money and more time to do things outside of work — no matter what that work was — for as long as I’m in a position where that is financially viable.

As a friend (and fellow artist) once told me, “Don’t think of it as a job. Think of it as corporate sponsorship for your creative life.” So I guess I should be grateful to the finance industry for generously offering to sponsor my writing.