To Be of Use

When I was little, I had household jobs. I dried dishes. I wiped the kitchen chairs. I cleared the table. I swept. We all did, all ten of us kids. Somehow, my mom delegated the tasks. I remember a sense of purpose and a strong pull to get it over with, “to get ‘er done,” then I could do what I wanted - play, watch the Brady Bunch or Happy Days.

There was a rule in our house that when you turned 18, you didn’t have to help with clean-up after supper. After a while, there was only Eileen, Danny and me left.. I remember thinking I was going to be charged with emptying the dishwasher for the rest of my life. I was right.

My Dad would make us help with washing the windows and taught us the trick of using bunched up newspaper as a streak eliminator. Now, with online news, how do people make windows shine?

He’d trim the huge hedges along the driveway and ensure that we swept up every leaf. He got things done. Chop, chop. And my mom kept a clean house. They were workers.

I grew up with a sense of responsibility to somehow contribute, an unspoken lifelong job description deeply rooted in our family culture. In reference to someone in a leadership role in Chicago, my mom would say “BIG job, that person has a BIG job.” Hmm, I’d wonder. What constitutes a BIG job? All I knew was that it was somehow important.

We all worked, all ten kids, at some time at Service Electric, the electrical contracting company where my dad worked. Smart sisters worked in the office, brothers in the warehouse, brothers and cousins as electricians, and in my case, I sold light fixtures in the showroom. I talked to adults about wattage, lighting, ceiling fans, and bathroom fans as if I was an expert. I read the catalogs during the slow periods to ensure I knew my stuff.

In our house, you were supposed to work, to get a J-O-B. My mom nearly lost her mind when I graduated from the University of Illinois and took five months to land a “real job,” 9-5 employment with benefits. In May 1984, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I needed a life syllabus formatted like the ones created by professors. Those were easy to navigate - the expectations were clear. Life was a whole different animal.

I was anxious and took three crappy jobs just to do something - to be of use: selling Chicago Tribunes over the phone, sporting a brown polyester leisure suit and hostessing at the Branding Iron on 95th Street and serving at Goolhooley’s on 103rd St. The jobs kept me busy and out of the house where my idleness irked my mom. I was sensitive, and I knew I was cramping her domain. The three part-time jobs dimmed the disappointment I felt from my parents and decreased my sense of being a do nothing, an adult on the Dole of my mom and dad. The jobs distracted me from incredible unease.

This unease is in my bones, my DNA - the haunting obligation to get stuff done. Do something. Be of use. Otherwise, what are you? I think of ancestors in Ireland who worked their asses off to raise potatoes and put a meal on the table in the freezing rain. They survived famines - through hard work. What did they do when the work was done? I like to think they played music or danced or read or wrote or gathered together to tell stories.

I struggle with my fluff life in my cozy house with a Saturday of ease ahead. I’ve always been grateful for my inheritance of a strong work ethic, but today I want to say no thanks. Let me sit on my butt all day.

In preparation for 2025, I listed my values. Spirituality tops the list with family and friends and service. Although I journal, read scripture and explore philosophy daily, I don’t deeply listen to what God is trying to tell me from within me.

This year, I’m trying something new to battle my restlessness. I’m going to practice stillness. How’s that for a paradox? This is not my first rodeo at the quiet thing. Einstein said that to do the same thing and expect different results is insanity. I joined an online contemplation group through Old St. Pat’s Church, and the others are my secret accountability partners in stillness. I’ve been unsuccessful in meditating alone. I’ve done many marathons and can put in miles before dawn, but I can’t close my eyes and sit for fifteen minutes.

I wonder in what ways I may be of use by doing less? I believe there are mystical secrets in silence. There are blessings only discovered in solitude. I’m open to learning.

It’s Day 4 for me in this meditation commitment. Everything feels cool to me, so new, so interesting, so growth-oriented, yet I have a low-level trepidation about this energy. Will who I’m becoming be of use?

Of use to whom?

And I know after I post this, I’ll get moving. For me, movement serves a purpose - mental and physical health, and if I’m lucky, this exercise thing that I’m lucky to love will delay me becoming a burden on my kids. I figure it’s part of my job to take care of my health.

Then I’ll clean, organize, change some sheets - all things that made my mom feel good about herself, yet puzzled me as a kid as I sensed her satisfaction.

After doing things, I’ll feel like I am of worth. Worthy of what?