Working at a zoo was a very public position. Zookeepers, in particular, are seen – for the most part – as having interesting, exciting and perhaps, enviable positions. Keepers are watched carefully in everything they do at the zoo. Carrying buckets of food. Shoveling out an enclosure. Moving an animal from point A to point B. There is no privacy in that work, little room for error. You are visible, and the public is paying attention.
It was in this stage of my life that I began to struggle with small talk, and stupid questions. Yes. Yes. I know. My current position as teacher should remind me that ‘there are no stupid questions.’
I beg to differ.
Picture this scenario. It is 2:00 in the afternoon, middle of July in Ohio, and perfectly sunny. I am shoveling poo out of a hoof stock enclosure. The wheel barrows that I have already filled, are lined up outside the fencing of the enclosure, along the public’s walking path (though out of their way). There are three of them, filled to overflowing, with urine soaked straw and copious amounts of poo. All strong visual and olfactory clues identifying what the Zookeeper was doing. Inside the enclosure – I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my palm – the only part of me that isn’t already covered with dung.
“What are you doing?” asks the young mom with three tiny children. She earns a bye because there is every possibility that this is a teaching moment for her little people. I answer with “I’m cleaning up their home!”
“What are you doing?” – from a couple who had to sidestep the poo.
“What are you doing?” – from the young man who earlier had asked me why a girl was a zookeeper.
“What are you doing?” – from the PETA representative who had been protesting with a placard when I arrived at the front gate that day. The sign had read: Free the Carnivores. Yes. I swear. It did.
“What are you doing?” At least, in these instances, this is a stupid question.
I’m not quite sure when it happened. I cannot put my finger on the moment, but somewhere along the line – and fairly recently – I abandoned the choice of play. Instead, I’m tired. Or old. Or overwhelmed. Or exhausted by the world around me. I see obstacles and distractions. I get frustrated with my lack of focus. I don’t see the opportunity around me – only the requirements, the duties, the amount of work to be accomplished, the acts done for the sake of the act itself.
When did things begin to rank in value to me, specifically based on their usefulness instead of the joy that they bring?
“What does it do?” was the most frequently asked question at the Zoo. It was asked about the Jaguar. Or the squirrel monkey. Or the opossum. The snowy owl was questioned, the bats, the wolves and the bears. “What do they do?”
Eat. Sleep. Poo. Pee. Breed.
Repeat?
“No, what do they do?”
Eventually I learned that this question actually meant “How do they ‘relate’ to me? What purpose do they serve in my little world?”
And maybe that’s where I have gone.
I’m judging my life, my accomplishments, my worth – by the mundane maintenance needs of my life. I have gone to work. I have completed a task. I have made a dinner (and cleaned the dishes?). I have eaten properly. I have answered the phone. I put on pants and did it all over again. I was an adult.
And when I look at the gifts that I know God has given me – I should probably be exceptionally proud of these mundane things – because NONE of them are a part of my natural gifting. Just last evening I was part of a lengthy bit of teasing on Facebook that centered around folding fitted sheets (Well, actually, it was a deeper statement by a thoughtful young woman I know – comparing adulting to folding a fitted sheet.) I was the one professing my sheet just gets wadded into a ball. They were letting me know of the joys of doing it correctly.
I seem to be judging myself with an eye towards ‘What do I do?’
What purpose do I serve in the lives of others? That can be very giving – very nurturing. But at least in this case, it is also drifting my focus away from the meat of who I am.
There may not be a lot of worth, in the world’s eyes, for the gifts that I believe God has given me, but in His eyes – I have worth. And I have work to do. That work is tied into observation. It is fueled by playfulness. It is sustained with patience. And it grows when I am vulnerable enough to stay in my moments.
So I think I’ll start by asking some stupid questions! I’ll use them to be silly, to mock my own sense of superiority, and knock myself down a peg or two. And then, then maybe I’ll be able to avoid being that person who needs to see purpose in everything thing and everyone.
Maybe I’ll remember how to play.
wanderingoutinleftfield 