The only difference between a rut and a grave…is in their dimensions. – Ellen Glasgow
I’m going to a memorial mass for my dad this morning. His job career was the epitome of a rut. He worked for 35+ years as an inventory control manager for an underwear manufacturer — and basically hated it the whole time. His real talent and passion was art: drawing, painting, design, architecture. He once told me that he didn’t have the confidence to do it for a living, though. I appreciated his honesty about this, even though he later rationalized that it was better to work a job just for money and to pursue your real passions on your own time.
Now that I think about it, maybe that’s partly why he didn’t put much time or effort into his relationships with us kids. His only creative outlet was the house and yard and that’s where he spent his time. That’s where he felt competent.
My mother’s selling the house and property this week and moving out. It’s his monument to himself, she always said — with bitterness. In some ways, it’s now his grave. Maybe we should scatter some of his ashes there before the property changes hands.