The Heart of the Matter

I lifted the axe high in the air and took a swing at the log. I swung again and again. With each new chunk of wood that went flying, I could feel the anger seep out of my pores. I would be a college sophomore in the fall and was working the summer, helping a family friend of a friend on his small farm. I mowed his fields; helped build a fencepost and clear out a small barn, hauled hay; cut wood and took on a million other odd jobs.

Each day seemed to wrap into the other.

A working man

The farmer grew up in the area, moved to the city when he was young and worked as an English teacher and then returned to the area to take over his grandparent’s farm. He rented out his land to another farmer to harvest, but he still needed some help on smaller tasks — that’s where I came in. Our routine was the same every day. I would get to the farm in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun had raised its sleepy eye above the horizon, and really started blazing. The farmer would normally give me the toughest job first, best to get it out of the way before it got really hot. I’d tackle it until late morning. He’d come help me for a few minutes and then give me a water break. When done, he’d give me something else to tackle while he went off to prepare us lunch, usually a peanut butter or bologna sandwich and maybe an apple. (I remember he once got me to try fried zucchini. I’m not a zucchini kind of guy, but he had a way of getting me to try new things.) Once lunch was over, we would repeat the process.

I hated the job at first, hence the anger cutting the wood. I hated the worn muscles I had at the end of the day. More than anything I hated everything that the job wasn’t. I wanted an office job that paid real money, would look good on my resume and would impress hiring managers, and would help me land a future job in communications. In my own snotty, snobbish way, I looked down on the farm job.

Telling secrets

For the first few weeks of the summer, I’m sure I copped an attitude about the job. I wanted something more, but the funny thing was that the job grew on me. I found that by the end of the summer I learned a ton from him and came to look forward to our talks. He was patient and kind. I remember once telling him my dream to become a writer. I was surprised that I told him something so private. I usually kept pipe-dreams like that to myself and a few select friends. I was even more surprised when he listened and encouraged me.

I’m not sure if it was his former job as a teacher or his Central Pennsylvania roots, but he had a folksy way of probing for the truth and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I told him all the reasons why my dream was a fairy tale that wasn’t meant to be. I listed everything from the poor local job prospects to the lack of connections and my need to make a living and pay my mountain of student loans.

But he wouldn’t take no for answer. He questioned why I couldn’t make the dream a reality. His favorite question was: Why not?

The power of dreaming

I sat in front of my laptop last week working on a piece for work. I wasn’t working on anything fancy, no novel or book, not even my deep thoughts on truth, justice and the American way. It was just a simple email explaining how a technology upgrade would help my client, but nothing seemed to go right. I couldn’t get the right lede. I couldn’t find the right words. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, flying in a million different directions. But I thought about my former boss. I thought about the calmness he exuded and his belief in my dreams before even I could see them.

And in time the right words started to come together. Nothing brilliant, just a few simple thoughts, first one, then another, and another, and another until I had the makings of a finished email.

When I packed up my desk later in the day, I thought more about my summer working on the farm. The job didn’t pay much and it never really made it to my resume, but it gave me something more: it taught me the power of dreaming, the importance of goal setting, and the value of hard work.

Have you ever had a job that you changed you in ways you never expected?

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Please join in on the discussion. In addition, please visit my personal blog at www.writingfromtheheartwithbrian.com to read my companion piece. You can follow me on Instagram at @writingfromtheheartwithbrian.

All the best, Brian.

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