Big, hairy deals at work translate into hours in the conference room and cubicle. Mounds of tedious, physical labor yield 60 hour work weeks and cancelled hiking trips. What is it about work that colors outside the lines? I live in the Midwest—a region known for its Clydesdale work ethic—but even here we don’t always enjoy our work.
Whether we’re self-employed or not, we see something that’s possible, get it done, notch it to the next level, and repeat as needed. We ante up passion for a project only to discover a monster guzzles marrow from our bones.
A month ago, I led a bicycle tour for 20 friends. I reveled in camaraderie, conversation, cabernet, and chocolate. But the same thing was true of my pleasure as is true of my work—I gave 110 percent. I planned colorful appetizers, scoured farmers’ markets for the tastiest fruit, reserved tickets at an award-winning theater, and booked dinners at the finest restaurants. In the wake of that “power” vacation, I forgot to call my son on his birthday. I crashed in a near-comatose state when I returned home. I watched more hours of television than I care to admit.
Will I ever be able work on something and sustain balance?
I happen to believe in something bigger than myself. The work of my hands (and mind) gives expression to creativity and craftsmanship, and my spirit responds to a Creator. But, somehow the ground slips away and I begin to enjoy the clapping more than a sacred calling. How do I become trapped into proving my productivity in the tribe?
The Chinese symbol for the firstborn is Earth or Grounded One. Ironic isn’t it—given the firstborn tends to be a self-appointed workhorse in the family? I wonder what it would be like to wear that symbol as a daily call to serenity. To stay grounded in contemplative prayer. To trust the still small voice that speaks.
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