I was recently reflecting (ok, lamenting) that I spend all this time and energy on a line of work which doesn't last. I clean stuff, and then eventually things get dirty again.
Contrast this to friends who build houses, or ships, or elaborate "hardscapes," all of which will still be standing long after I'm dust. What's my "legacy?"
It's not something I had really thought much about before this year. It's not something which really matters. But it's something which got into my head and kind of stuck there.
Then last week, in aisle 4 at the Stop & Shop grocery in Orleans, over the endless loop of Christmas carols being piped through the store's sound system, I heard my name being called. I turned around to see a smiling elderly face which looked vaaaaaaguely familiar. She introduced herself as a customer from a couple years ago. As it turned out, I had cleaned her roof 6 years ago. Her husband and I had talked quite a bit, and after I cleaned their roof he showed me his elaborate model ships which had had made before his hands started shaking too much. They sent me home with homemade cookies.
She told me that her husband had since passed away. She and I talked for ten minutes about time and living on Cape Cod. When we went our separate ways, I wondered how many contractors are met with a big smile and hug years after doing a day of work for somebody they had never met.
And here's the thing: this instance is common. I often run into customers at the grocery or hardware store or gas station, and the interactions are warm and friendly. Oftentimes, they'll ask me to "put us on your list" for some type of cleaning in the coming months. Oftentimes, they'll ask about my wife and son. It's nice.
I don't know what my legacy will be, or if I'll have one, or how I'll even know. Really, I'm pretty sure that when I stop cleaning, anyone's reaction will be, "Oh! OK, who do we call now?" And then the next Nate will appear and fill the void. In the meantime, though, it's pretty cool to be recognized with a smile and a warm handshake from a day or two of work I did years ago. I can think of worse ways to be recognized and remembered.