The Saturday started out like any other. I rolled into the back door of work while finishing my coffee and noticed my manager opening our department by himself.
Oh, looks like the opener called in sick. She did, but no problem. We typically ran our department with five employees to meet the needs of a busy Saturday, three on the slow days. One down was no big deal, but then we got a second sick call, and a third, and a fourth — all before 11:00 AM. My manager and I quickly realized it would only be the two of us. There would be anywhere from 500-1000 transactions to split before the day closed.
Without discussing the matter, we mutually agreed to forgo breaks and, er, work around our legally mandated lunches in order to get the job done. We got this, right? All that was left was for us to convince ourselves we did.
We can always manage with less. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to relearn this in my life, but I suspect it’s monthly. We quickly get used to what we have, and want — or fear we need — more. When I was young I felt I needed more sleep. Eighteen years of babies, toddlers, and teenagers later I scoff at the notion of a middle-schooler being sleep deprived, or a college student with only two monthly bills complaining about needing more money, or a state representative casting dire warnings about what will happen if we cut her department budget. Here is a question I used to ask people when they whined about lacking resources: Is anyone going to die as a result?
Typically a good — and by good I mean shrewd — politician will link their funds to essential services such as cops or firefighters. Some will try to link education cuts to harming students. With the possible exceptions of gear (cops and soldiers need body armor and bullets), most organizations and especially governments can easily fulfill their missions with drastically reduced resources. I only mention government because it offers the most egregious examples of this mindset that is really quite natural, but there are others.
A family can learn creative budgeting to meet new challenges. Amputees learn to function minus a limb. A person with a broken down car discovers his town has an inexpensive bus system. We can adapt and manage without that thing. It’s the mind, and the expectation bred from abundance and convenience, that needs to be taught otherwise. Or in my case, retaught.
We all seek personal comfort. The barest of needs is water, then food (but only after three days), and maybe shelter depending on the environment. Clothing is nice but technically unnecessary, as is money, or friends, or coffee. A case can be made for sleep — and I would throw in its male equivalent, sex — but again, only after a several days. There are plenty of times where sleep (or sex) is subordinate to execution of the mission; ask any soldier, or a mom.
Wanting and needing are two very different things, as I’m constantly telling my toddler:
“Dad, I want warm milk,” he says.
“Sorry buddy, but we’re out. You’ll have to wait till we get more.”
Eventually he either moves on to something else he wants — like his toys — or he recognizes he can manage without it. But he doesn’t always have to. Most of the time he gets what he wants; other times he needs to wait, or go without for a spell.
Sometimes we have plenty of milk, or time, or money. Sometimes our needs are met or even exceeded. There are times when everyone gets to enjoy the bounty of surplus. Parents find they have time to think. Administrators find they have the funds to hire more staff or fund ancillary projects. Spouses find they have the energy to invest in each other. Moms get to sleep as long as they want. I’ve even heard of this magical place called Hawaii people claim to have gone to.
But sometimes we experience lack, and need to readjust.
I know several people going through a season of lack. I’m in one too, so this is somewhat of a sermon to myself. I don’t want to let go of things I’ve grown accustomed to. I don’t want to make deep cuts to my plan, and I don’t always want to work twice as hard with fewer resources, but do you know what? Sometimes the results are magic.
When the door closed on that sucky Saturday and the last person walked away from the counter, my manager and I looked at each other, breathed deeply, and shared an exhausted fist pound. The place was a mess, there were hundreds of loose ends to tie-off, but we made it — in fact, we crushed it, and we were proud of what we accomplished.
A couple of times every year, a hundred or so men on Coronado Beach, California complete the U.S. Navy Special Warfare School’s Hell Week. These men learn that their bodies can go far beyond what they ever thought possible, hovering on the edge of hypothermia, working through pain, going days on minutes of sleep, but still operating at a higher level than their peers. It’s an exercise designed to teach the mind to overcome what it thinks the body needs.
It’s not just Navy SEALs going through this exercise, because somewhere today a new mom got dressed and realized she made it through a sleepless night, tired but alive. A widower walked outside and realized his family could still function without the love of his life to help him. A boss is looking at his budget and coming to terms with the need to be brave, and creative.
But there are also others, looking at the same situations and giving up, or becoming bitter and seeking ways to manipulate themselves back into the comfortable position, unwilling to adapt and forcing others to pick up their slack. They’re the ones who are rarely happy, even in the years of plenty, because they care more about comfort than growth, and cannot be satisfied with abundance when they’re miserable in scarcity.
When we value the status quo over a challenge we assure our dissatisfaction and deny our nature, because we were designed to do great and impossible things; it’s our minds we have to convince.
And when the dust settles, and you find yourself standing firm in the storm’s aftermath, look around. Because the people who bravely weathered it alongside you are the ones who get to laugh when you tell the tale. They’re also the ones who will be there during the next one, saying, We got this, right?