Trash Days

It’s sad when you start to define your days by which waste bin goes out by the street. On Tuesdays and Fridays, it’s the trash bin. On Thursdays, it’s the recycling bin. On Mondays and Wednesdays, it’s neither; but Monday follows Sunday, and usually all of Sunday, I’m thinking about and dreading having to work the next day. So, I always know when it’s Monday! I wonder if I’d actually have any cognizant awareness of the day without the waste bin. It’s so sad.

Crucial and Perfect Point in History

Why do you think Jesus came at the exact point in time when He did? Why not thousands of years before, like directly after the fall of man? Why wait so long to finally send a Savior? Why set up a system, requiring millions of believers to perform rituals to absolve them of their sins? Why make the world wait in anticipation of His coming, instead of giving everyone the joy of it already having happened, like we have now?

Or why not thousands of years after He came, like during an era when we had cameras or cell phones to document His miracles and prove to millions that He was who He said He was? Was it because He wants people to believe by faith and not by "proof"? Or maybe because it really wouldn't matter. Even with photo or video evidence, people still wouldn't believe it. They'd say it was edited or a hoax.

What was so crucial and so perfect about that exact point in history? Was it the mid-point of life? Could we extrapolate the end of the world by calculating the time before His birth and after it? I know we'll never know the answer, but the question is still interesting to ponder.

The Turning Point

I was reminiscing this morning about my job. After a series of disappointing stops along the way, I remember how much I loved my job when I first started. I was excited to find a place to use my various skills and talents and a place that valued my ideas and innovative thinking.

But I also remember the turning point, the exact moment when it changed to an unpleasant working experience. My boss, KE, was a great boss. He encouraged me, entertained my suggestions, and rewarded my successes. With him, I felt like I finally had found fertile ground to put down roots. We quickly became very close, having like-minded ideas about the direction of the team, and I truly believe that he enjoyed having a confidant and buddy in the team. And when we unexpectedly found ourselves as a single-car family, he graciously volunteered to pick me up for a carpool.

It was on one of those car rides home that KE mentioned that he was bouncing around the idea of having a co-manager to help him with the ever-growing demands of the team. We threw around some high-level ideas on the responsibilities of the role, something we often did during our rides. And then he surprised me by telling me that he was considering me for the position.

I was ecstatic and speechless. It was the culmination of all that I had desired and been working toward for years. My dream was to manage, to find a way to give back to the team and give people a better manager experience than I had had throughout my career. But I also realized that it wasn’t a done deal yet, so I tried to keep my hopes under wrap until I knew for sure. Later that night, I texted KE with some additional questions and ideas about the role, trying to imagine how I could fit into it. His response was, “I don’t think we should talk about it anymore. I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you. That was my mistake.”

In the end, the role never came to be, and I was not to live my dream of being a manager. Actually shortly after, a new person was brought on to manage the team, and KE was demoted. But it wasn’t the loss of the opportunity that stung, I’m mature enough to understand corporate politics and how fickle this world is. It was the wall that KE built between us. After that car ride, he went out of his way to separate the business from the personal. I was cut off from his inner thoughts and from the privilege of what happened behind the scenes. Without warning, I became just another contributor on the team.

We stopped carpooling, as the awkward tension grew between us. We stopped eating lunch together. We pretty much stopped talking, unless it had to do with a normal boss-peon interaction. And as the wall between us grew, I found that I had lost the one person that had believed in me, in my potential, in my ideas. I no longer had his favor or encouragement. And without that, this became just another job like any other that I had worked. A job filled with disappointment and politics. I watched undeserving person after person get promoted to leadership, while I languished underutilized and unsatisfied on the sidelines.

I sat like this, becoming more and more bitter, for three years until another chance finally presented itself. But by then, it was too late. The damage was done. I was no longer the hopeful enthusiastic person that I had been. Everything was now jaded by that one moment, that one ill-conceived response from the man that I had looked up to and respected.

I ultimately took the job of manager, because I didn’t feel there was a better option for the team. I felt like they deserved better than what they’d been experiencing for the last six months. I didn’t take it because I wanted to lead; that part was gone, broken by the machine that had once held such promise. But some small part of me still felt like I could use the opportunity to make a difference in people’s lives. And then another turning point happened at the hands of the same man.

I was struggling with a situation with a couple of my team members, and I reached out to KE for advice. He had moved on to another company months before, but we had kept in touch after he’d left. His response to my text was, “Well, you’re the one that wanted to be a manager. Welcome to leadership.” Instead of taking the opportunity to mentor and guide me, instead of making amends for the hurtful way he’d handled that moment so many years ago, he took one more opportunity to jam the knife through my barely-beating heart. And with that stroke, he severed the last cord that bound us. I haven’t really talked to him since.

And my tenure as the manager of this team has been bad ever since. I regret the decision to take the job. I loathe going to work every day. I don’t feel respected by the team or the organization. And in three years, I haven’t been able to accomplish a single idea or goal. My time as the leader has been unremarkable and forgettable.

This is not what I imagined it would be like so many years ago, when I was a bright-eyed and naive consultant, yearning for a chance to make a mark on this world. It has been eight and a half years of walking down a gravel road barefoot, while a crowd of people, lining both sides of the road, have pelted me with rocks and garbage. And I can’t help but wonder if all of it might have turned out differently if one man had chosen a different response to my text.

Practicing Being a Goose

The weather this week has been a little cooler, dropping down to the 50s at night and only creeping up into the high 70s during the day. As the world prepares for approaching winter, I have noticed that the large population of Canadian geese that make their home here in Dallas have started to form up into flocks. Every afternoon, you can see them practicing their v-formations in preparation for flying south. Their distinctive honks ring out above the din of city life, calling out adjustments and instructions. It truly gives a sense of transitioning into the Fall.

High-End Citizens

The area that we live in contains a lot of high-end cars; like Maserati, Audi, Lexus, Lamborghini, Ferrari. Even teenagers that look like they’ve had a license for all of ten minutes are driving around in Mercedes and BMWs. And the weird part is that not only do you see the sports version of these, driven by men going through a mid-life crisis I assume, but you see a lot of SUV versions. Families going to dance class or soccer practice in an Audi SUV. We’re talking about a $70,000 car for every-day use.

After observing a large subset of the people driving these expensive cars around, I have come to one very factual conclusion. There are two kinds of people that drive Audi SUVs…successful single people and successful married people.

I guess they don’t necessarily have to be successful. They could have spent every dime they’ve ever made on that car in order to appear successful. Okay, so there’s two kinds of people that drive Audi SUVs…single people and married people. That comes from weeks of meticulous observation and study, so you can take that statement on face value. It’s true, trust me.

Just Sing

I remember the first time I sang in front of another human being. I was riding in the car with CW, and a good song had come on the radio. I was scared and hesitant, because I wasn’t sure if she’d think I sang well. But she was my best friend, and she’d never judged me before. If I was ever going to take the risk, this was the time and place to do it.

So, I went for it. CW started singing with me, and she had a beautiful voice. When the song ended, she said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you sing. You have a nice voice. You should try out for the choir.” I was caught completely off guard. Not only didn’t she make fun of me, but she actually encouraged me to share my voice with the world. Now, she could have just been polite, but it was the response I needed.

After that, I started being more bold, singing in front of other friends. And every one of them took the opportunity to sing along with me. It’s like they were waiting for me to go first. Like my vulnerability gave them courage. I know I’m not a superstar, but I also know I’m not the worst singer on the planet. And my courage has grown and grown.

I sang in front of an audience a few years ago, which was my only “public” concert (one song at my father's church). But mostly I sing at the house for my son. Lucky for me, he loves to sing too, and I think my example gives him courage. My mom brags about my voice and tells me all the time that I sound good, although she might be a little bias. But it doesn’t really matter, because my experience has been one of love and encouragement. I didn’t need to be afraid to share my passion for singing. And now I share it with people whether they want to hear it or not!

Blood Brothers

When I was a senior in high school, I was in an art class. I had gotten into it to fulfill my humanities elective, but I truly loved the class. Even after I had fulfilled my elective, I continued to go because it was a great outlet for my artistic nature. And because I had met some amazing people that were fun to talk to.

My favorite medium was sketching with pencil. I loved the challenge of creating contour and texture with different pressure and darkness. I found myself sketching all the time at home too, and my girlfriend enjoyed creating art with me. So, when the school posted a contest to have your artwork entered into the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, we both submitted a piece.

The theme was supposed to have something to do with cowboys, ranching, the Old West, etc. Which made sense since it was going to be at the rodeo. My girlfriend’s sketch was of a wrinkled old cowboy, titled aptly “The Old Man.” Mine was a portrait of the faces of an American Indian and a cowboy both staring off into the distance in opposite directions…from different worlds yet connected. I called it “Blood Brothers.”

I was very nervous, because I’d never entered an art contest, nor had I ever displayed my work publicly before. It turns out that it was completely unwarranted. I was selected as one of three finalists whose work would be sent to the rodeo. Unfortunately, my girlfriend’s work did not make the cut, so it was a bittersweet victory. She was very supportive of me though.

I didn’t actually attend the rodeo, so I never got to see my work displayed. But I was notified a few weeks later that I had one First Prize, which was really second place. I think someone that had painted a realistic picture of a longhorn actually won Grand Prize, so it’s hard to be upset. Not bad for my first and only art contest.