I sat there with that listing in my hands and did something I hadn’t done before, which was actually count: in the last year, I’d been asked to fix four things, drive somewhere five times, and contribute money toward two separate projects. In that same year, I had been consulted on exactly zero decisions that actually mattered.
I didn’t bring it up right away. I sat with the number for almost two weeks, turning it over the way you turn over something you’re not sure you’re allowed to be upset about, because on paper, none of it sounded unreasonable. Fixing a dishwasher is a favor, not a slight. Contributing toward a fence is generosity, not an obligation anyone forced on me.
But the pattern, once I saw it laid out plainly, told a different story than any single instance did. I’d become, somewhere along the way, the family’s maintenance department and occasional line of credit — useful and welcome right up until the conversation turned to anything that actually shaped the direction of anyone’s life.
I mentioned it to my neighbor Stan first, mostly to see if I sounded crazy saying it out loud.
“You’re not crazy. You’re just the guy who shows up. People stop thinking to ask the guy who shows up — they just assume he’ll keep showing up either way.”
— Stan, Don’s neighbor
