The Beauty of Deciding Your Value

This month, I am taking another turn around the sun. As usual, when I have a birthday coming up, I start noodling on some salient life topic. I have been ruminating on the intersections of our work lives and our real lives, and what shapes us into the people we become. How we end up who we are doesn’t happen overnight; therefore, what are the parallels and divergences in the places and spaces we spend so much of our time? What contributes to who we are in our spirits?

How it Started

It’s story time!! When I was in the third grade, I won third place in the Spelling Bee for the entire school. I beat out kids in the lower grades and 4th, 5th, and 6th graders and to win the third-place prize. I was so proud of me. I was a very practical child, and I always liked words! Back when all you had was a printed dictionary (or thesaurus) for vocabular expansion, I was a fan of the dictionary.

I came home from school, super excited, with my little ribbon and trophy. My dad was home and asked me why I was making so much noise. Because I got 3rd place in the whole school sir. Daddy was like, ‘But you didn’t win first prize. You making all this noise for third place.’ Mind you, I was 8 years old, so I did consider this quite an accomplishment. By the same time, Daddy had a point. Third place was not a first-place finish.

I may have grown up in P.G. County, Maryland but I was born in the Caribbean. I come from very Guyanese parents who had to acclimate to being Black in America, raising many kids, and figuring out their own lives. My parents were raised in the nuns will beat you for being left-handed generation and food clothes, and shelter was all that was necessary to demonstrate you were loved. Their logic was born from their own upbringings, which honestly sounds traumatic every time I get a life story out of them.

For my dad, making sure I wasn’t overjoyed about third place was perfectly reasonable, even if I was eight. I had to learn sometime! He still bought me a trophy case that had a bright light in it. I had a lot of awards and trophies because I loved school! Daddy always had me turn the light on in the trophy case when we had company. My sisters recently reminded me that it was supposed to be a joint trophy case but most of the items were mine. They sounded a little salty, but in retrospect the walls were covered with a lot of my plaques. I kept winning stuff.

That 3rd grade Spelling Bee was a pivotal childhood experience. It set me on the path of deep analysis in determining my own value. I didn’t realize it at eight but by 16, I began to firmly ground myself in my personal rubric for both good and good enough. Other folks’ opinions started becoming optional.

How it Progressed

My first job was at a Baskin Robbins nearby. I started working shortly after the law said FICA could come for my check. Like I said, I was a very practical child and needed my own resources. During my first week, I put in more hours than I should have legally worked as a teenager. It was my training week, so I had to learn the register and the ice cream scooping technique, which was light airy balls that look full on the outside but are actually hollow on the inside. My natural inclination was to give people their money’s worth so when I scooped, that ball was full of ice cream.

Scooping was hard work. My boss made clear that dense ice cream balls were not acceptable. I had to learn the light, empty ball method. For a man who sold ice cream, he was grumpy in his soul. America makes everything about profit, when joy can easily be an option. That ice cream was heavy and hard. My classmate’s sister (another high schooler) worked at that shop, and sprained her wrist while scooping. You read that right, she sprained her wrist and was still at work during my training week! We grew up in the 80’s and 90’s.

My first paycheck was missing all of my training hours. I thought this ain’t right. I asked my boss about it and he said, “You don’t get paid for training.” Say what now. I was incredulous and no longer wanted to work there. Working for a man with no discernible joy in his spirit, and who didn’t see anything wrong with cheating a child, definitely wasn’t the type of labor of which I dreamed. I think the adults at the shop thought they would be able to get over on children and that we would not advocate for ourselves. One thing I’mma do is advocate for myself. Ever since I found a dictionary, words are what I do best.

I thought my parents would be very upset with me for quitting. After all, I did get that lecture for being too joyous for a third-place finish. I was certain abandoning the Caribbean work ethic, on principle, would not be received well! I prepared for the negative feedback but, much to my surprise, my mama was mad at the boss too! She saw me going to work every day and working long hours. She could not believe I would not be paid for training week. Mommy totally supported me in telling Baskin Robbins to kick rocks. My first paycheck was my last with that employer. I was leaning into navigating my worth, in earnest.

How its Currently Going

As I have gotten older and worked in multitude of environments, for different types of people, the constant has been my personal rubric for both a job well done and what I find acceptable. My own barometer was the ultimate lesson I took from that Spelling Bee. I have always had high standards and believe in a quality work product for myself, not because of anyone else. Therefore, if I meet my own standards who all left? It took me years to come to terms with the fact that perfection is truly an unattainable fool’s errand. There will always be a next rung. The rungs being infinite is a set up for failure.

If something can always be better, I needed a cut off for my own definitions of great and good enough. This definition had to be predicated on my own lens, NOT from people trying to make and break me in their image. I couldn’t spend my life reaching other folks’ standards when mine were high enough! Learning to let go of perfectionism is a hard process, and a journey I am still following.

Life taught me that the best thing I ever did for myself was to define myself. I have known who I am in my spirit since I was 16 years old and have consistently been my own person. Even when I encounter those who don’t believe I am “enough,” however they choose to define it, my definition of enough is what matters. Sometimes I’m really good at forgetting dem people and sometimes I am not, because that is a process too. I stay grounded in remembering that I am good enough for me.

Recently, I had breakfast with my old elementary school teachers, Mrs. McConnaughey, who I had in both 5th and 6th grade, and Miss McBride, my reading teacher who has known me since I was 5 years old. (If there is one thing about me, I’mma keep in touch and genuinely care about how you doing.) I could not remember some of the happenings they were reminiscing about while I was in the 5th and 6th grade when Miss McB said, “You were probably in the hallway giving the school tour!”

Let me find out I have really been working since I was 10 years old. I had never conceptualized the school tours as my real first foray into work. It took Ms. McB saying that I probably missed out on classroom activities because I was busy guiding people around Columbia Park Elementary. I enjoyed that work but, nonetheless, it was work. As I approach 47, the lesson I’m carrying with me is: I been working since I was 10 years old, and my own measuring stick is all I need to be good in every facet of my life.