I don’t usually lose it, but when I lose it, I lose it. I
was sitting in J’s office, destroying his Kleenex supply. “I feel like I’ve
created a monster. I keep trying to feed it whatever I can to satisfy it, and
it only seems to get bigger, and demand larger feedings. I’ve given it
everything I have – my retirement, my relationships, my home equity, and it eats
everything and wants more.”
“And now it’s eating you.”
Yes. Now it’s eating - destroying - me.
Exactly.
Is it me? Am I not good enough? Smart enough? Strong enough?
I ask these questions aloud, not falling on deaf ears. He says I’ve let this
thing I created define who I am – and I need to step back, and remember who I am,
apart from what I’ve built. I understand conceptually, and I actually have
thought of this before, but I struggle with separating myself from my business.
My self-worth rides the roller coaster of our accounts payable and accounts
receivable. When it’s good, I’m queen of the mountain, when it’s bad, I’m a
failure.
August is historically the worst month of the year in Texas
for the roofing industry, and by the end of August I was a puddle of goo. And
not good goo, either. This was now mid-September.
Who am I without it? Who am I?
These are the questions I left needing to answer. J strongly encouraged me to try
to put some space between myself and my business. But first I had to meet an
insurance adjuster.
I didn’t know where to go, after
I finally got off the roof 3 hours later with the Slowest Insurance Adjuster Alive.
He was an analytic with a torn meniscus, communication through an All State
desk agent, using an overheating phone. The good news was, he covered the roof
and I finally could go to find a bathroom. I wanted to drink, but instead I
found myself, with my dog, laying on an abandoned concrete staircase behind the
AA building.
I cried. I blew threw the napkins
in my glove box, pun intended. My dog didn’t seem to be concerned – she just
waited very patiently for three hours until I finally told her it was time to
go.
Who am I? How do I separate that
from what I’ve built?
I walked into church two days
later, without any answers really. The good news is, I was at a good place for
answers, if I can just make myself pay attention. The music soothes me. I close
my eyes and fall into it, trying to forget - forget where I am, how I feel, I lose
myself in order to find who I am.
“I’ve
heard a thousand stories of what they think you’re like
But
I’ve heard the tender whispers of love in the dead of night
And
you tell me that you’re pleased
And
that I’m never alone
“You’re
a good, good father
It’s
who you are, it’s who you are, it’s who you are
And
I’m loved by you
It’s
who I am, it’s who I am, it’s who I am.”
The tears cascade down my cheeks.
I turn away so that my husband can’t see, not caring who else does. I’m
listening, I’m listening with all I have.
The pastor opens with talking
about the Mona Lisa being DaVinci’s life work and East of Eden being Steinbeck’s.
I really liked East of Eden – I start trying to remember what it’s about – I read
it a long time ago – I should reread it. I would think Grapes of Wrath was the
Magnus Opus…. I forcibly bring my mind off the rabbit trail and back to the
pastor’s voice. These are their Magnum Opus – their life’s work. I always
thought I’d be a writer – I had hoped a novel would be my Magnum Opus – but instead
it’s a roofing company, and it’s apparently eating me alive.
I again reach out and drive my
brain back to the sanctuary, back to his voice. We, mankind, are God’s Magnum
Opus. I make a wisecrack in my brain, but then I focus on what he said instead
of my own self-deprecating puns. That’s who I am – I’m a creation of God. An On-Purpose-Creation
of The Force That Created the Entire Universe. That’s a pretty big thing to be,
really.
A verse comes on the overhead
projector – I know this verse! I wrote a poem about it that I never finished. I
fish out my phone, searching my notes file. There it is, there’s the poem. This
has to be important, I think, but I don’t see how. My mind fades in and out and
up and down for the rest of the sermon.
We are Jars of Clay, May
2019
I read a verse that says
We are jars of clay
I thought of a mason jar
With clay inside.
The clay is soft and malleable
Easily beaten down by outward forces
Easily dried out
The glass jar, while almost invisible
Protects the clay
I felt protected suddenly
But it means the opposite
The jar is made of clay
And we are the jar
Shaped from the earth
Of the dust
Fragile, very
Easily broken
Not permanent
And we house a treasure
That is eternal and perfect
And will last long after
The jar returns to its dusty state.
Me, it reminds me of an old album cover
The Jar of Flies
I remember it had little flies
That slid about inside the plastic CD
cover
I used to wonder how they put them in
there.
I am a Jar of Flies
When I am in a panic
I exhale slowly
And I see little gnats come out
Of my soul
I’m in the Green Mile
And the demons are exiting my lungs
It is not a holy image, my Jar of Flies.
That I am the opposite of holy.
I breath the flies out, the demons I house.
It is now a week later, and I am finally
writing this out. I lack the bow for the top of this writing. The accounts
payable and the accounts receivable have both decreased, and thus with them so
has the crisis of my soul. While I should feel better, I somehow feel even more
exposed and vulnerable. Maybe like Jonah, hiding under a withered plant leaf,
smelling like whale barf.
My company is not my Magnum Opus.
I’ve made it that, but it isn’t that. My brain keeps nagging, whispering that I’ve made
a False Magnus Opus. That’s likely the take away from all of this, although I am
certain it is a vital part of my life work and where I am meant to be, right
now. It is not a mistake. It’s not a misguided mission. I am not in the wrong
place, and my story is not over. It is not time to give up, but rather it’s
time to dust myself off, once again, and move forward into the next chapter.
And I should stop feeding my Magnus Opus
Monster.
