It’s hard for us to say: done.
We live in a world that is constantly pressing, and adjusting, and monitoring. Done is usually in the back of our mouth not on the edges of our tongue. We forget it. We don’t remember it’s soft edges. Done.
There’s a finality to the word that scares us. We must stop. We must admit completion. This is hard when we would much rather say, “I’m nearly done – take a look.” While edits and drafts are necessary for any trade, we abuse the drafting stage today. We mishandle the words “in progress”. We’re always hedging our bets not wanting to have the audacity to say, done.
It causes us great pain to always believe we may be called back into work. It doesn’t matter what we do or where we do it or how long we’ve been doing it – the constant possibility of another draft, or round of edits is suffocating to our psyche. We were not made to be always tinkering but never solving. Is there no room for fixes? Of course not. The man brave enough to say done, does not say so lightly or without a willingness to admit he erred. Fixing and changing may occur.
Our problem is that we want to say these words.
They sound sophisticated and taste warm. They make us feel complex.
We want to meddle. We want to poke. We want to prod.
We don’t want to be done.
Tomorrow is Sabbath – the great witness to our chronic activity. How many times have we looked at Sunday and thought we could hold off on our work? How many times have we said, “Ah! I’ll get my work done and then rest on Sunday!”
Yet, whether we get this work completed or not matters very little. We can always convince ourself that it wasn’t done or could use more work or was just a draft. Friends, if we don’t put borders on our work, we will be as gears in a large factory: convinced we are there to push another piece out.
But you are more than this. And you know it. I know it.
So, perhaps, we could begin again the great practice of being done.
And then, when life allows us the great gift of a new day – we can remember how good it feels to begin again.