I worked two jobs in college.
Chances are, we’ve heard this phrase before.
We might have even lived it.
I can claim that as true. Sort of.
You see, I did work two jobs to help me with such month-to-month expenses as food and gasoline. But not at the same time.
The first job was with my university’s admissions department. But it was from a heady position.
My role was to digitize prospective students’ college application documents. That meant splaying the packets of materials out on my desk, removing the staples, running each page through a scanner, and then stapling the packets back together.
It was boring work, yet somehow still tedious.
I was terrified of getting a paper cut, stapling my fingers, or accidentally mixing up documents from the applicants. And so, I came back to the dorms mentally exhausted each evening — just in time to start on my homework.
I can’t remember if I lasted a few days or a few weeks in that job. But at some point, I quit.
By the time the next school year came around, I had a new job. This time, I was an administrative assistant for a tutoring program for underprivileged youth.
The program took place at the university, so its offices were on-campus. My job was to check program attendance, file papers, gather the mail, and do a host of other menial tasks.
My tenure there lasted three years, severed only by my graduation from the university.
So yes, I worked two jobs in college. But the mileage varied.
What was behind the differing outcomes in my collegiate job history?
After all, both jobs were of similar administrative ilk. They both paid about the same and required the same hours.
Yet, I ran for the hills from one and stuck around for another. Why was that?
I believe the answer comes from three words: Inputs and Outputs.
You see, most jobs involve these. But some apply them more dynamically than others.
In the college admissions support role, the inputs were a set of paper documents. The outputs were the digitized files, plus the paper backups.
My job was to transform those inputs into outputs. But it relied wholeheartedly on both aspects.
If the inputs weren’t there, I had nothing to work on. That would leave me without any outputs — and without pay.
And so, I yearned for that stack of unprocessed papers on my desk to be as tall as possible. All while dreading the repetitive task of going through it.
With the admin assistant job, the inputs varied. There was always something to help with, but it wasn’t always the same thing.
I was able to practice creativity, to a degree. Efficiency wasn’t just about doing one task faster and more accurately. It was about providing as many outputs to my employer as possible.
And even for a fresh-faced college student like me, that was enlightening.
Over the past two centuries, there have been two dominant paradigms for work in the western world.
One is the Assembly Line Model. The other is the Innovator Model.
The Assembly Line Model was made famous by Henry Ford. His factory workers would each focus on one specialized task, repeating it as quickly and accurately as possible. When these tasks were performed in parallel, they’d yield a finished product in record time.
The Innovator Model is almost entirely the opposite. Tasks would vary widely, all in the context of a challenging end goal.
It’s easy to put each role into buckets. To relegate the Assembly Line Model to manufacturing and the Innovator Model to high-tech software.
But that would be a grave mistake.
Industries and salaries don’t determine which bucket each of our job functions falls into. Only one question does.
Is there a predetermined input?
In the case of my administrative assistant roles in college, the answer to that question was clear. Only the admissions job had such an input. The other role was far more varied.
But oftentimes, the situation is much murkier. We might have some base inputs. But we’re not solely wedded to them.
In these scenarios, our choices tend to diverge along three paths.
Some of us will stick to the inputs we’re given, sacrificing opportunity for reliability.
Others will shun the inputs, going rouge to make their own way to success.
And still others will split the difference, iterating off inputs in hopes of maximizing outputs.
I have taken this third path in my professional life after graduation.
As a TV news producer, I relied on the stories my assignment editors and reporters uncovered. But I also scrounged for material to round out the newscasts. Material that helped balance the needs to inform, inspire, and entertain my station’s viewer base.
As a marketer, I’ve relied on several things — technology, revenue targets, and product development, to name a few. But I’ve proactively viewed my work from a consumer perspective, identifying and filling the gaps I identified.
Through it all, I’ve strived to be transparent, compassionate, and collaborative. I’ve sought to provide unique value to my employers, but in a manner where my contributions could be replicated by others. I tried to be invaluable, yet not entirely irreplaceable.
It’s a blueprint that’s worked wonders for me. But I needn’t be the alone in reaping the benefits.
Business news these days is bleak.
Week after week, tales of stock market downturns, interest rate increases, and stubbornly high costs seem to take center stage. And this has led to a spate of layoffs.
Tech companies are reducing staff at levels not seen in two decades. Other employers are cutting their workforces at rates not seen since the Great Recession.
This has all led to a lot of heartache. Tens of thousands of workers have suddenly found themselves without a livelihood, searching for new roles in an unsteady economy.
It’s a sobering moment, to be sure. But this inflection point also provides a unique opportunity.
We now have the chance to reinvent the way we approach work. To be more than a connector between inputs and outputs. To be scrappy and fill the gaps that existing systems and processes yield. To propel our role, our employer, our industry forward.
Such attributes will not guarantee security or success. But they’ll put us in a far better position to get where we want to be.
Yet, even in this moment, many of us are still yearning for reliable inputs. Whether we’re hanging onto our roles or looking to land a new one, we have little appetite for being transformational. It just seems too risky.
I understand the sentiment. But it’s sorely misplaced.
The more we settle for turning the same tired inputs into outputs, the more we make ourselves forgettable. The more we depend on others, without providing unique value in return. The more we put ourselves in jeopardy of becoming redundant.
Hiding in plain sight isn’t the safe play. Not in a game that awards extra points to the bold and the determined.
So, let’s switch tactics. Let’s put our stamp on the work we do.
Let’s take agency. Let’s be transformational. Let’s dare to make vision reality.
Inputs needn’t define our destiny. That responsibility can, should, must fall on us.
It’s time to grab the reins.