Today, I turn in my keys for my summer job for the fifth and final time. This will be the second time this year that I have removed keys from my key chain and they won’t be the last I have to turn in before I leave for the World Race in August. Just over two months ago, I turned in the keys to my childhood home. And, before I know it, I will have to turn in the key to my school.
While a key costs less than three dollars to make, they are worth much more in sentiment. Maybe I am too sentimental, but, to me, keys are reminders of where I have been and the lessons I’ve learned. They were my constant companions and witnesses to the life that I’ve lived with them in my pocket or hand. They traveled the hallways of my school, rested on my office desk, opened packages, and dangled from my ignition. They represent access, acceptance, and belonging. As my key ring becomes lighter, I’m reminded of the things that are now rooted firmly in my past and are no longer a part of my reality—my everyday routines which have shaped my sense of identity.
But this post isn’t meant to be a sentimental tribute to keys, rather a self reflection on the value that I’ve placed on the thing that they often symbolize: work. Recently, I’ve been been convicted of my own tendency to define myself by my work and accomplishments. I’ve always prided myself in my ability to stretch myself thin and still produce results—from participating in the musical and soccer while enrolled in AP classes and preparing the yearbook in high school to working multiple jobs, managing a full course load, and running a student organization in college to teaching full time while still working my summer job and volunteering with my church and Young Life. I plow through each day with minimal sleep and sporadic eating habits, but somehow it all gets done. Yet, somewhere in the midst of my running around I lost something.
In a book I’ve been reading recently, Present Over Perfect by Shawna Niequist, she talks about how work can become a “drug.” We can convince ourselves that “if [we] push enough, [we] will feel whole. [We] will feel proud, [we] will feel happy. . . And if [we] hustle fast enough, the emptiness will never catch up with [us].” We won’t have to sit down and actually ask ourselves the hard questions. And, like a drug, she also reminds us that this way of living can “make [us] less and less able to connect to the things that matter, like [our] own heart[s] and the people [we] love” (pg. 37-38). I know that I am guilty of using work as a means to avoid introspection. And, in avoiding this process, I’ve sometimes kept God from restoring my soul and healing my wounds. He is the only one who can make us whole, nothing we can do will satisfy our need for Him. While the prospect of giving up something that I’ve been dependent on and have shaped my sense of identity around can be terrifying, I know that this new vulnerability is where learning and growth will happen and where God will be at work in my life: restoring and redefining me.
