On Sweeping the Sheds

Fighting entitlement with humility.

I landed my first job when I was 15 years old. I worked for a demolition contractor – my friend’s dad who needed local, seasonal help. The main selling point was his willingness to hire a kid and pay me cash under the table. I was part of a crew of half a dozen teenagers, the oldest of whom were barely 18 years old. In my eyes they were full-grown men. I still remember the summer we spent working together. If you did the work we did, you wouldn’t forget either. 

My key job responsibility was waste removal. As houses were being renovated, I would crawl, climb, and jump through them, retrieving moldy drywall, nail-ridden floorboards, and tufts of wet, mildewy fiberglass insulation. This was actually the easy part. Moving the waste to the nearby dumpsters was what really drained my energy. If we were lucky, the dumpsters were within throwing distance. But we weren’t often lucky. Instead, they would look down upon us from atop a nearby hill. Carry, drag, heave, hurl, rinse, repeat.

My biggest regret is that I didn’t wear eye protection. After that summer, I had to start wearing glasses at school. Foolishly, I didn’t wear proper footwear either. I had no money to buy work boots, let alone the kind that could stop a rusty nail. I was also reluctant to wear facemasks and respirators while working. Although, thankfully, I did. The last thing I wanted to do while crouching and crawling through the dark and dangerous undercarriage of somebody’s former home was to strap a rubbery sweat trap to my face. It was hard to breathe in the humid, 90-degree Illinois heat and my only respite was our daily lunch break. I would chug water and scarf down soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And then the work would resume. 

I compare this to my current job and I am filled with gratitude for how far I’ve come. I now spend my days in a comfortable, temperature-controlled office. I don’t need to wear any PPE and the dirtiest thing I touch are leftover coffee mugs on my desk. Instead of tip-toeing around rusty nails, I now tip-toe to the bathroom in the early mornings, trying not to wake up my sleeping partner. 

How easy it is to take my cushy, comfortable lifestyle for granted! Over the years, my work has become less and less dirty and physical, and, as a result, my memories of that summer in Illinois feel like a faint whisper.

But this whisper has an important message to deliver.

Don’t become blind to your privilege. 

Don’t take things for granted. 

Don’t delude yourself into thinking you deserve anything other than what you’ve earned. 

I attribute much of my success to my willingness to do the “dirty work.” I’ve spent years paying attention to the small details, and laboring tirelessly over tasks that fell far beyond the spotlight of glory. This has taught me ownership, responsibility, and accountability for the small things that are crucial to a team’s success. Most of all, this has taught me to let go of ego. There is no work that is “above” or “below” me. Rather, there is work.

Humility has been my greatest antidote for the poison of entitlement, self-righteousness, and prideful privilege. 

Remember to roll up your sleeves and sweep the sheds every once in a while. Farewell.