I’m washed up…and that may be a blessing

Photo by Mika Baumeister on Unsplash

A few days ago, I said something no American man ever wants to say: “I’m washed up.”

But it’s true. I am washed up.

I’ve lost my edge, my mojo, my swagger.

I don’t mean that I’ve lost my love for life; I mean that the work I once did so well is not working anymore. I used to have seemingly bottomless creativity, energy, grit, and run-through-walls determination.

Not anymore.

I’m burned out. Spent. Toast.

Even if it doesn’t feel good to be washed up, it feels good–freeing–to say it out loud.

Like letting my freak flag fly on LinkedIn.

There is a belief common in American enterprise that a man or woman must be always on the upswing, always positive, always winning.

For example, when you flame out at your job, you can’t admit to the marketplace that you just can’t do it anymore. You have to “spin” it into something like: “I decided to focus on my family and health and ‘pivot’ to a new career. Excited for a bright future! #careergoals #lifegoals #relentlessposivity”

Humbug.

I have worked as hard as I could for 25 years to do jobs that many (or most) other people would not–or could not do–for some of the lowest pay on the nonprofit pay scale. I think that grind finally caught up to me. In recent months, it felt like every part of me just…browned out.

The grind is one thing. Grief is another. Watching my dad die two years ago gutted me. I didn’t understand until the last few weeks how that event washed away so much of what had been foundational to my life. I thought I was “over” grief, but it was there the whole time, swelling like a muddy lake behind a soggy earthworks. Around October, the flood topped the dam. The place where I keep my passion, talents, and verve for work is now waterlogged.

And so…I’m washed up.

And it feels good to say it.

The Christ in whom I put my trust says this: “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Gospel of Matthew 11:28-30).

I can’t receive the rest and the “gentle and humble” yoke of the Christ if I’m too proud to put down this heavy water I’ve been carrying for too long.

As it is, I fell down and that water spilled all over me.

I don’t know what is next for me and, for the first time in my life, I don’t have a germ of an idea. I know I want to do the best work I can do for as many people as I can do it. I know I want to use my gifts and talents. I know I want to provide for my family. I know I want to hear the Christ say to me, at some point: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

But right now, I’m washed up.

Which, when I think about it, is a kind of baptism, is it not?

And Christians like me know: God does some of God’s best work in a man when he goes under the water.

Grace and peace.