Being Sensitive to Avocations Becoming Obligations

 

Being Sensitive to Avocations Becoming Obligations

 

I’ve observed an interesting phenomenon among friends and neighbors who, either through a repetitive helping hand or the pursuit of various avocations, provide benefits to others. Over time those who benefit from their friend’s or neighbor’s good deeds occasionally may begin to take them for granted and come to view the actions less as the gifts they were intended to be and more as ongoing duties or obligations. The shift from avocation to obligation is a subtle, morphing process. It’s almost as if a behavioral statute of limitations exists to assure that no good deed goes unpunished.

I can think of at least six examples of this phenomenon. If you have observed it in other areas I hope you will share them with me. Also, especially if you are the beneficiary of someone else’s good deeds on a regular basis, you might want to examine your feelings about their help as an obligation on their part and think of ways to let them off the expectations hook. Or if you are the “helping hand”, feel free to share this essay with those you benefit.

For example, carpools generally begin as small groups of friends meeting at a central location and taking turns driving the group to work or to the public transportation hub they all use. Over time one driver may emerge as the most responsible and reliable among them, at which point one of two things might happen. First, the responsible/reliable one offers to drive every day because, after all, he has to get to the same place the others are going and he likes driving. Alternately, members of the group initiate a discussion about each of them offering that person $10 per week to cover wear, tear and fuel for the car, if he or she would become the regular driver on a daily basis. In both instances members of the group may come to expect not only reliable transportation on a daily basis but also special consideration by the driver if their transportation needs shift to earlier or later times on occasion. Heaven help the driver if he or she becomes ill or for any other reason cannot drive for a day, much less for a week. Lastly, over time members of the group might begin to question the need for their weekly contribution of $10 for the driver because, after all, the driver is heading to the same place as his or her passengers.

Another example is the spouse who desires to be helpful and joins in with his or her mate to clean up the kitchen after family meals and especially after entertaining guests. It feels good to work side-by-side and the work gets done quickly. Over time, because the helping one enjoys seeing the instant results of their effort or gets a kick out of conquering the not-so-steep learning curve (where does the colander go?), without any formal declaration he or she gradually takes on more of the cleanup work and indeed, it becomes KP duty. There is precious little discussion of this change in roles until the helping person, having been out of town or out of commission for any length of time, returns to a kitchen sink stacked high, jenga-like, with pots and pans sorely needing attention by you know who.

My father’s experience also is an example of good intentions devolving into perceived obligations. When I was a child growing up in suburban Chicago serious snowstorms were the norm, much more so than they are today.  My dad loved to tinker with machines, especially motorized machines like snow blowers.  More than most activities he loved being helpful to family, friends and neighbors. Consequently, after every snowstorm dad would clear our driveway and then, without asking, cheerily do the same for our nearby neighbors. If the snow-blowing cut into some of his work time, so be it. The attaboys and pats on his back were all he asked for in return.  After one surprise snowstorm, however, the snow blower was out of commission, its pieces scattered on the floor of our garage. By noon, every nearby neighbor had called to complain (ever so gently) about the delay and to ask when their turn for a clear driveway was coming. They wiped the smile off my dad’s face.

It could be the fellow employee who initially volunteers to tidy up the office meeting room, lunchroom or kitchenette, or the spouse who tinkers with recipes only to morph into the primary cook for the family. It might be the spouse who loves to design little areas to plant and watch flowers grow, only to discover over time that their avocation has become an obligation—responsibility for all landscaping and exterior maintenance of their home.

At what point is the line crossed? I’m reminded of a line attributed to Carl Sandburg: “The fog comes on little cat feet.”