I didn't have a lot of great jobs. I was a third-shift legal

The writer Charles Bock, a man who walked the winding path of craft and uncertainty, once confessed with plain but piercing honesty: “I didn't have a lot of great jobs. I was a third-shift legal proofreader. I did office work for people where a friend might say, 'Hey, we need someone,' in his office, and then I will have a month or two weeks or whatever somewhere. I was – I taught fiction workshops.” These words, though humble in appearance, carry a weight of truth about the struggle of the artist, the dignity of endurance, and the unseen labor that shapes the soul.

In them, we hear not only the personal story of Bock, but the universal song of all who must toil in the shadows before their gifts are recognized. The poet, the painter, the storyteller—they often wander from menial task to menial task, stringing together wages that barely keep body and spirit intact. Yet, it is precisely within these humble occupations—proofreading by the dim light of the night shift, answering phones in borrowed offices, teaching those hungry to create—that the seeds of greatness are nourished. For the artist is not forged only in inspiration, but in perseverance, in the long patience of enduring what is necessary until the moment of flowering arrives.

History, too, bears witness to this pattern. Think of Franz Kafka, who labored as a clerk in an insurance office, writing his immortal stories in the quiet hours before dawn. Or T.S. Eliot, who worked at Lloyd’s Bank in London, tallying figures by day while crafting verse by night. These men, like Bock, endured the ordinary grind of unremarkable labor, yet they drew from it a strange strength. For when the world denied them great positions, they discovered instead the greatness of persistence.

The teaching here is clear: do not despise the small job, nor think yourself diminished by the work that seems beneath your calling. The third-shift proofreader, the temporary assistant, the workshop teacher—each role can become a furnace where discipline, humility, and resilience are tempered. The road of the artist, and indeed of any seeker of truth, is rarely straight or gilded. It is instead a patchwork of struggle, chance, and hidden preparation. And those who endure with patience often find that these very struggles give depth and fire to their creations.

Bock’s words also remind us of the power of friendship and community. For he did not find all his work through grand institutions or official summons, but through the hand of a friend saying, “Hey, we need someone.” It is often so: we survive not only by our own strength, but by the kindness and recognition of others who open doors, however small. Therefore, cultivate bonds of goodwill, for no one builds alone. And when your turn comes to help another, extend the same hand that once lifted you.

Let the listener take courage from this: greatness is not measured by the elegance of your résumé, nor the shine of your early positions. The path of destiny may begin with sweeping floors, proofreading endless lines, or laboring in obscurity. But if you keep faith with your calling, if you tend the flame within through every weary job, then even the smallest role becomes a stepping stone. The key is never to abandon the craft of your soul, even when survival demands other work.

Practical wisdom flows from this truth. If you are in humble labor, do not despair. Use the hours left to you—whether night or dawn—to nurture your dream. If you are called to art, write even when tired; if you are called to justice, study even when unrecognized. And if your life seems to wander from task to task, trust that you are still being shaped. Gather from each experience the fragments of wisdom, for they will one day weave into the fullness of your story.

Thus, Bock’s confession, though spoken in modest tones, is a heroic teaching: that the journey of the creator is not a straight ascent, but a long wandering, through deserts of labor and forests of uncertainty. Yet those who endure find that even the lowliest work can serve as the foundation for enduring art. Remember this, O seeker: the value of your path is not in the glamour of your jobs, but in the faithfulness of your striving.