“What Do You Do?” Is a Fabulous Question

When someone asks me, “What do you do?” soon after we meet, I instinctively form a negative impression of them.

It’s dumb.

I’m dumb. The question isn’t.

My corner of culture has conditioned me to react this way. Instead, I feel the need to play the asinine game of “Who can avoid breaking the ‘What do you do?’ seal the longest?” The longer you last, the more interesting you are.

Admittedly, a related game is super fun: Begin an evening among fresh faces by explicitly telling everyone, “One rule: no talking about what you do until I say.” Then, after a few hours, guess each other’s profession.

Everyone becomes a detective. By the time of the reveal, you can’t wait to know “the truth” and to hear what others guess about you. My wife, Kim, and I have had lots of laughs with it.

But if you’re not explicitly playing this game, why play along with the other lame game of let’s-pretend-work-isn’t-a-huge-part-of-our-lives?

We all spend most of our lives doing what we do. Duh. So why not spend a proportionate amount of time talking about it? And why in the world does it make sense for me to think, “Ugh, what a dud,” of anyone who asks me about it?

The problem isn’t the question. The problem is our relationship with what we do.

I think a big part of what makes it uncouth to ask, “What do you do?” is that it risks making people uncomfortable. You wouldn’t, for example, ask an obviously unfit person, “What do you do for diet and exercise?” Too many of us are the vocational equivalent.

If you’re touchy about what you do, do something about it. Don’t blame someone for asking. Doing so reinforces the what-do-you-do taboo and perpetuates the terrible idea that it is acceptable to not have purposeful work you’re eager to talk about.

Work on stuff you’re excited about. Or work toward working on such things. At the bare minimum, frame what you do in a good story by sharing what you dream of doing.

This isn’t about having the privilege to pursue your passion. It’s about being purposeful with your time.

You don’t even have to change what you do (…yet). For instance, let’s rewind to 2013, when I was about as passionate about my work as I am about the Whole Foods cafe chair I’m currently sitting on. Back then, I’d answer, “What do you do?” with, “I work in Corporate Finance.”

Yawn.

Like too many of us today, I was going through the motions, taking the easy path of a mindless stock answer. I couldn’t articulate what I was doing because I didn’t really know. So I preferred to talk about other things—the stuff I wished I had more time for if not for my job.

Here’s how I’d guide my 27-year-old self toward a better answer. Follow along, if you want:

Q: What is your job-to-be-done?

A: Provide data to help Procter & Gamble’s country managers in Latin America make better human resource decisions.

Q: How do you do it?

A: By redesigning the flow of data that got to them.

Q: Why? What’s the payoff you care about?

A: It’s not about helping P&G squeeze another 0.1% profit out of their diapers, nor with HR policies in Brazil. For me, it’s all about seeing the processes I’d redesigned make an impact.

So my 2013 self could swap “I work in Corporate Finance” for, “I redesign data systems for better decision-making.” Not super cool, but better. And true.

I still redesign data systems for better decision-making. But now the What is helping individuals understand and leverage their uniqueness, and the Why is to play a part in reducing conformity waste to unleash extraordinariness. So if you were to invite me over for dinner and ask me the question, how might I respond to you and your friends?

“I’m training to become the world’s greatest human uniqueness engineer.”

I love Clay Hebert’s challenge to make your answer to “what do you do?” intriguing. Because the goal of a great introduction is not to swap boring verbal business cards; it’s to spark a conversation and build a real human connection. Hebert suggests hinting at a compelling story about the transformation you create for others—or for yourself.

Whatever you do, find the purpose, proudly plant your flag in it, and own the intention. Or hurry up and find a way to do so.

On maternity leave and unsure about returning to work?

“I’m figuring out how to design a life that I’d want my kids to live.”

Hate your job?

“I hate my job and am exploring escape routes.”

Making millions selling this and that online?

I don’t know what your answer is, but the idea is not to impress the person who asks you. It’s to inspire them to have their own inspiring answer.

Another approach: Put yourself in your 95-year-old future self’s Hush Puppies and ask yourself, What do you want to have done? Convert that answer to the present tense, get to doing it, one stepping-stone at a time, and tell people about it.

Ok, I’ve held off long enough to finally ask you:

What do you do?

I’m not asking you rhetorically. I genuinely want to know. Consider me a friendly stranger to practice on. Tell me your answer.

Then, when the next person asks you what you do, rather than inwardly roll your eyes, outwardly welcome the chance to share your story. Quit the charade of holding off on asking others, too. When their answer sucks, challenge yourself to get at the real one—what their story really is.

Let’s keep at it until “What do you do?” earns the reputation it deserves. It’s a fantastic question that deserves our time and attention.