We wish and pray with all our being: for that career opportunity, partner, home, or award. Then we wait for it to happen to us while we go back to whatever we do.
While we wait, we toil at a passionless job, pursue hollow relationships, mistreat where we live, or do the minimum. We wait for other people, the universe, and our future self to save us.
I know because I remember.
In My Head by Peter Manos played asking me if he was insane. The sun slept, no longer illuminating the sweeping picture south of the city through the corporate window behind me, and only the reflection of the fluorescent lights from my still-lit office showed. The late-night cleaning crew and I performed our practiced dance of emptying the receptacles of a day’s garbage.
I felt apologetic that I interfered with their solitary routine. And, in hindsight, I imagine the cleaning crew felt sad for me too.
I remember this scene vividly with Peter Manos singing that I was in his head because as I stared at screens of spreadsheets and documents, I realized, no, I knew this was my life. Here, in front of these screens, fighting the latest corporate fire.
What I missed and avoided was the raging, mountain-sized fire consuming my life.
A second moment sticks with me. I sat at a bartop, the bar familiar, the seat different.
As I sat alone, half-watching a bar tv, half-watching the bar itself, I looked left through a porthole which revealed the restaurant below. There, lit brightly, was a family gathered around a table.
It reminded me of what my life was and what I’d chosen – those computer screens. I felt joy for them and emptiness for me. Then, in the next moment, I looked back, and the spotlight shone on an empty table.
It was just me surrounded by strangers.
If I’d asked myself as I sat on that bar seat, I’d have said my values looked like this:
But here’s an estimate of where I spent my attention:
To exemplify that, multiple parties invited me to celebrate a previous Thanksgiving. Naturally, they wanted me with them. Work had been busy, as it is, so I was engaged there. However, when Thanksgiving came, I stayed alone with a case of beer, a newly released basketball video game, and fantasy football instead of joining others.
What you do shows who you are. I’d navigated myself to a weekend of solitude so I could do what I wanted instead of the requirements of being with others.
When folks found out I’d spent it alone, they felt terrible for me. But, more than that, they were disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in myself.
I wasn’t aware. It’s easy to pursue the things right in front of us – the latest problem at work, bingeing that show you’ve gotten into, or winning your fantasy football league. It’s rare we step back and ask if what we’re pursuing is the direction we want to head.
We are focused on chopping down the trees in front of us. Too rarely do we ascend to a vantage point and survey where we want to go.
Yet we hold out hope that our lives will change, that some break will happen to us and give us what we’re after: a promotion that provides a fulfilling role and wealth to pursue the things we want or a partner or child coming into our lives to enrich them.
But you get what you seek. Eleanor Roosevelt said, “In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.”
Nothing is coming to save you because you’re responsible for yourself. If your family is important, prioritize them, if you want to build an app, start programming, and if you value your wellbeing, eat well, exercise, and take care of your body and mind.
The answer is challenging. That’s why we wait for some big break to change everything our way. But what is required is a consistent effort in the direction we want to go. It’s unsexy but effective.
Put effort into the career you want, be the partner or parent you want to be before they arrive, make your current home a great environment, and be proud of your achievements.
Nothing is coming to save you, but you’re capable of saving yourself.
