Ever feel like all you do is shovel other people’s shit?
Before I explain, I need to make a little adjustment. You see I grew up in a house where we ate chicken chests and we wore top underwear. There were some words such as breast or bra that were just not appropriate. So the idea of writing about shoveling shit is well beyond my mother’s comfort zone. Out of honor and respect for this lovely and proper lady, I will now refer to shit as bananas.
Ever feel like all you do is shovel other people’s bananas?
I did. I was great at it!
If you are a manager it’s basically your job description. Parenting requires it; kids produce a lot of bananas. Bad relationships demand it. There are some individuals whose purpose in life is banana production.
I didn’t realize until recently just how often the banana shovel was in my hand. It may have actually become attached along with the yellow cape and rubber gloves. Someone would make a mess of their life and I was ready to report for duty. Bad decissions being made at work, I could fix it. If you produced them, I was ready to shovel them.
Not sure what the trigger was, but during a marathon conversation I was having in my head, I boldly announced, “I’m done shoveling other people’s bananas!”
It was as if I had stepped on the handle of the shovel causing the other end to fling up and hit me in the head. In doing so, covering me with peelings and banana mush. Why was I waisting so much time and energy shoveling bananas when I could be…at the beach!?
It was surprisingly easy to set the shovel down. I removed the yellow cape and rubber gloves as well. I took a shower and scrubbed off the mush and residue of a life of banana shoveling. Then I got in my jeep and headed to … the beach.
The shovel is still laying where I left it. It beckons me. It sends me messages of encouragement of how brilliant of a banana shoveler I really am. I says it misses me.
At times I’m tempted to pick it up and get to work – saving the world from bananas.
When I feel overwhelmed with the need to shovel, I am thankful that there is a booming voice in my head that thunders, “Ma’am, step away from the shovel!”