Out of my Control
A short story about moving back in with my mom, checking your ego, and swallowing your pride.
A few years ago — 2008, to be precise — I had my first full-time job as a graphic designer. I was only a few months removed from my academic career, was excited to finally be working full-time again, and even more excited to be working at a great branding studio in downtown Detroit. I finally had steady work, a steady paycheck, I had saved up several thousand dollars, and had been apartment hunting, preparing to strike out on my own. Generally, I was in a position to improve my lot in life.
I was finally in a position to have my ego checked.
At that time in life I had been a nocturnal squatter in my Dad and Stepmom’s basement. When I gave up the room I rented halfway through college they lovingly welcomed me into their home and tolerated all of my eccentricities — long, bleary-eyed nights in front of the computer, a PC workstation with a god-forsaken whine that sounded like a small 747 when it was operational, my coming and going virtually all hours of the day and night, and my inconsistent and erratic sleep schedule, to name a few. And this is where I made my basecamp until shortly after college graduation. Until I was gainfully employed and ready to move out and up into the world.
And then the news came.
In 2008 my Mom needed a new hip: a total hip replacement on her right side. The pain she had been living with for several years had finally grown to a fever pitch, and per the recommendation of her doctor she bit the bullet and opted for the surgery. She was in chronic pain, had lost a great deal of her mobility, and now required the use of a walker. It was the right call.
She would be out of action for 2-4 weeks following surgery with out-patient rehab taking another 4-6 after that. Most importantly, she would need someone to help her do some basic things integral to a baseline quality of life for those few weeks immediately following the surgery: Get in and out of bed, prepare her meals, help her bathe, change dressings, etc.
Unfortunately, my mother lived with my Grandmother who was also scheduled to have a major surgery 4 weeks out from Moms. Grandma would receive a total knee replacement. So grandma helping mom recover was out of the question.
That’s when my mom called me.
In the months leading up to their surgeries I was giddy with the prospect of striking out for a homestead of my own. And with one phone call all of those fantasies of me living the exciting and titillating life of a recent college-grad-cum-bachelor were thrown out the window. Of course she asked if I would move back in to help them during their recoveries. Of course I said yes. How could I not?
So I cried. And I mean cried. No, i’m not afraid to admit that. It was a huge, crushing blow to my ego at the time. I was so focused on having my own place that news of their successive surgeries completely blindsided me and knocked the wind out of my ego. At 26 years old, recently graduated and employed full time, I thought I was above moving back in with my mom. I was wrong.
Was it the worst thing that can happen to me? Most certainly not. But I was so focused on living the life I had wanted that my fragile, immature ego took it very personally. I checked that little bastard as hard as I could, packed up my shit, and moved back in with my Mom and Grandma.
Immediately following the move I was fairly depressed about the whole situation. But then something unexpected happened. I signed up for a membership at the local gym and met a girl. Not just any girl. But my future wife and mother of my children. And it would have never happened had I not moved back in with Mom and Grandma.
I almost never met the love of my life because my ego was too wounded about moving back in with my mom and grandma.
After meeting my wife I quickly forgot about how upset I was about my living arrangement. We dated for a few years while she finished up school and I lived at home with mom and grandma, saving money and working. Eventually, unexpectedly, she became pregnant with our daughter, the second love of my life. I didn’t know it was possible to have more than one love of your life, but it most certainly is. We are now happily married, own our own home, and expecting our 2nd in May 2014.
So why did I tell you all of this? I recently argued with a colleague who was not happy about their career situation. They argued that they were unhappy with management and unfulfilled by their work. They then let me in that they had been entertaining a job offer in another part of the country but because of constraints, such as being tied to homeownership and their spouses current job, they weren’t sure if they could do it. In theory the job would offer much more lucrative work while giving this individual a significant bump in pay and responsibility.
I asked my colleague, “Is this job what you need or it just something you want?” Selfishly, they admitted, it was something they wanted and not necessarily something they needed. And then it dawned on me they were dealing with a blow to their ego similar to what I had experienced: finding something you desperately wanted but for reasons beyond your control not being able to obtain it.
It hurts to think that we can’t always have the things we want. But that’s life.
So what’s the moral of this story? I think it’s that when we put our ego’s aside and swallow our pride amazing and sometimes unexpected things can happen. We just have to be willing to deny the selfish child that is our ego.
I don’t know what my colleague willdo or how their story will play out. I only know that if you put your ego aside and allow yourself to be occasionally humbled you might open your life up to opportunities you never thought possible.
I did it. So can you.
