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Life. Work out what you want to do with it, what kind of job you want. And then find that job. Hopefully, it won’t be something that it’s thought AI will do better. And, hopefully, it’s a job with meaning, with a point to it.
It must be great to be a doctor. What do you do? Oh, I’m a doctor. And what’s the point of that? Well, I try to keep people alive. And with that the question of the point of your life is answered. Nobody, I suggest, ever expresses doubt about the purpose of doctoring. Just like nobody asks a broadcaster and writer what the point of their work is. They should. We get too much credit for what we do.
Not long after I started presenting television programmes, I was invited back to my old school’s speech day to give a talk. This was barely 10 years after I’d left the place, and so many of my teachers were still there. That evening remains one of the proudest days of my life.
As I shook hands with the students collecting their prizes, I thought about what they’d go on to do with their lives. And then I thought about some of the wonderful things many of my own cohort were achieving. And then I thought about what I was doing here rather than any of them. Medics, engineers, aid workers, lawyers, builders and so on. Yet I was the one who’d got the nod. Don’t get me wrong, I was proud of where I’d got to in my life, yet even then it felt as if my line of work conferred upon me an elevated status it didn’t quite warrant. As I said, a bit too much credit.
Here’s why I feel this way: I’m often recognised on the street, in a pub, at a football match or wherever, and asked about my work, in the most generous of tones. I blather on for – I hope – not very long, before returning fire and asking the person what they do for a living. Their response is as interesting as it is disappointing.
First, they doubt my sincerity in asking the question. They think I’m just being polite, but they are quite wrong. I am always genuinely interested. Occasionally, by the way, there’s even a bit of mind-your-own-business in their response, which is a bit rich given they started the conversation.
Anyway, on we go. I’m all ears. And when I do get my answer – and this is the disappointing bit – I would say that nine times out of 10 I get an apologetic shrug and a sentence that typically begins with something like, “Oh, I’m just a …” Accountants, bless them, are particularly apologetic about their work. But, whatever the person does, it’s as if it couldn’t possibly compare to what I do.
Nothing, in my estimation anyway, could be further from the truth. I’ve had some extraordinarily high-status jobs shared with me in that dot-dot-dot slot. Doctor, barrister, airline pilot etc. This is daft. But nowhere near as daft – and sad – as teachers and nurses, who don’t seem noticeably proud of what they do.
And then there’s all the trades, the people who do useful – actually, crucial – things with their hands, such as plumbers, scaffolders, carpenters, bricklayers, electricians, heating engineers and so on. When I get to observe them at work, it’s akin to seeing something like closeup magic performed. I look on in wonder, seriously.
And I think the status of jobs is going to change, thanks to AI. It looks as though white-collar jobs are vulnerable. Recruiters of graduates are holding back from hiring. Even the likes of doctors, broadcasters, barristers and airline pilots could find some of their work being done for them. But, as far as I can see, no form of AI is going to fix your toilet, wire your house or build you a wall. Plumbers, electricians, bricklayers – I wish more than ever that I had your skill sets rather than my own.
Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
