I have a habit of saying, “Don’t worry about it.”
It’s not always a bad habit.
Sometimes something takes an extra twenty minutes.
Sometimes a client asks for a small favor.
Sometimes you’re already standing there with the tool in your hand and keeping track of every nickel would cost more in human goodwill than the nickel is worth.
I like being generous.
I like being easy to work with.
I like solving problems.
I also like peace.
And I am beginning to understand how much I have occasionally been willing to pay for it.
Recently, I finished a construction project that took considerably longer than I had estimated.
Some of that was mine.
I’m careful to say that because one of the easiest things in the world is to turn your own poor assessment into somebody else’s problem.
I underestimated some things.
I had a learning curve in others.
That belongs to me.
But some of the additional time didn’t.
Work appeared that wasn’t included in my original bid.
Conditions changed.
Help I had expected wasn’t available.
Problems were uncovered that couldn’t have been reasonably anticipated.
And I did what I have done many times before.
I kept going.
Don’t worry about it.
I’ll take care of it.
Let’s just get it done.
The problem is that I hold my work to a certain standard.
Once I begin something, it’s impossible for me to look at a problem and say. . .
“Well, that’s good enough for what they paid me.”
I want the cabinet perfectly square.
I want the corner exactly at 45º.
Not 45.7.
I want the thing I leave behind to look like somebody gave a shit.
That sounds noble.
Sometimes it is.
Sometimes, it is also an excellent way to work for free.
Eventually, I did something I’m trying to become better at.
I had the conversation on the kitchen remodel.
I explained that the project had gone beyond the original scope and that I needed to bill for one additional day.
Nothing exploded.
Nobody stormed out.
No friendship ended.
The Earth continued its orbit around the sun.
The client understood.
Then something happened that I didn’t expect.
After the project was finished, I found an envelope in my truck.
Inside was a substantial amount of cash and a handwritten note.
My client told me that he had witnessed how much additional work I had done.
He acknowledged the effort and the quality of the finished product.
He and his business partner wanted to make sure I was compensated for it.
I stood there reading the note feeling deeply appreciated.
But then I realized something else.
His character had protected me from my lack of boundaries.
That one landed.
Because he didn’t owe me the responsibility of noticing everything I had failed to communicate.
He happened to notice.
He happened to care.
He happened to be the kind of man who wanted to make it right without being asked.
I am fortunate to know a man like that.
But that is not a system.
And it sure as hell isn’t a way to run a life.
I had effectively outsourced the enforcement of my boundaries to the person benefiting from me not enforcing them.
Think about that.
And construction is hardly the only place men do this.
We do it at the office.
We accept another responsibility because saying no feels harder than staying late.
We do it in relationships.
We swallow the thing that bothered us because tonight doesn’t seem like the right night to bring it up.
We do it with friends.
We drive again.
We pick up the tab again.
We rearrange our schedule again.
We do it with family.
We lend the money. Fix the problem. Make the call.
Smooth over the argument.
Carry the thing nobody else seems willing to carry.
And because we are capable of carrying it, we convince ourselves that we should.
There is something admirable about being the man people can count on.
There is also something dangerous about needing to be him.
Eventually, generosity becomes avoidance wearing work boots.
I’ve spent much of my life thinking of myself as someone who keeps the peace.
I don’t enjoy unnecessary conflict.
I don’t like nickel-and-diming people.
I would rather solve a problem than assign blame for it.
I take pride in being adaptable.
Those are qualities I intend to keep.
But I’m beginning to recognize the shadow side of them.
Sometimes I haven’t been keeping the peace.
I’ve been purchasing it.
Not always with money.
Sometimes with time.
Sometimes with exhaustion.
Sometimes with resentment.
Sometimes with the quiet feeling that I am giving more than I am receiving while simultaneously refusing to tell anyone that I feel that way.
That last one is particularly unfair.
Because resentment is a strange invoice.
We can spend months quietly adding charges to it without ever showing the other person the bill.
Then one day we’re furious they haven’t paid it.
They didn’t even know it existed.
There is a better way.
Tell the truth sooner.
That may be one of the simplest pieces of wisdom I’ve learned this year.
Not louder.
Not angrier.
Not with some grand speech about “my boundaries.”
Just sooner.
This is different from what we originally discussed.
I’m happy to do that, but it’s going to require additional time.
That doesn’t work for me.
I can help with this much, but I can’t take on the rest.
Something you said bothered me and I don’t want to let it quietly become resentment.
These are not acts of aggression.
They are information.
And when we provide that information early enough, we give the other person something we often pretend we are giving them by remaining silent. . .
A choice.
The client can approve the additional work or decline it.
Your boss can reprioritize the workload.
Your friend can make another arrangement.
Your partner can understand what is actually happening inside you.
The other person gets to participate in the truth.
When we say nothing and absorb everything, we deny them that opportunity.
Then we congratulate ourselves for being generous.
I’m not suggesting that we become transactional.
God, no.
The world does not need more people calculating whether every relationship is precisely 50/50.
Pick up the tab.
Stay late when it matters.
Help your friend move.
Give somebody more than they paid for.
Drive across town at midnight when someone you love needs you.
Do things for people who can never repay you.
Generosity is one of the great pleasures of becoming a capable man.
But there is an enormous difference between generosity and avoidance.
Generosity is something you choose to give.
Avoidance is something you surrender because asking for what is fair makes you uncomfortable.
From the outside, they can look exactly the same.
Only you know which one it is.
I know this pattern well enough now to know I will probably encounter it again.
There will be another project.
Another relationship.
Another moment when saying nothing seems easier.
Another opportunity to tell myself ‘Don’t worry about it’.
So I am writing this down partly because I want you to remember it.
And partly because I know someday I will need to remember it too.
Being peaceful does not require making yourself smaller.
Being generous does not require making yourself cheaper.
Being dependable does not mean becoming responsible for everything.
And being a good man does not require protecting everyone around you from the mild discomfort of hearing the truth.
Sometimes peace costs twenty minutes.
Give it away.
Sometimes it costs a Saturday.
Maybe give that away too.
Sometimes it costs thousands of dollars, months of resentment, years of accommodation, or pieces of yourself you keep handing over because asking for something in return feels somehow unbecoming.
Look at the price tag.
You may still decide to pay it.
But make it a decision.
A good man may notice what you refuse to ask for.
You cannot build your life around hoping that he will.
Be generous because you choose to be generous.
Give more because you choose to give more.
Keep the peace when peace is worth keeping.
But when something matters, tell the truth while it is still small.
Before the resentment.
Before the exhaustion.
Before the story you start telling yourself about how nobody appreciates what you do.
Before the bill gets so large that someone has to pay it.
Including you.
