High Mileage

When I started cleaning roofs and siding here on Cape Cod, I was bluntly told by an intelligent person that I was "a little old to be a roof cleaner." At that time, I was 34.
There’s a reason for that. People are supposed to do this for a season or two, realize it’s a physical grind which never gets easier, and move on. That’s the pattern I’ve watched for years, as exterior cleaning services have regularly popped up and then quickly disappeared. It’s a grind. It never gets easy. Most people quickly move on to better things. (Case in point: I just learned of yet another local cleaning service which has closed their doors).
I just turned 50. As I write this, I'm recovering from a surgery which was needed because I was wearing out. It turns out that if you wave a power washer wand around for twenty thousand hours or so, the repetitive motion takes a toll. Happily, we live in an age when things such as worn out shoulders are largely fixable.
But sitting here looking out at the snow is causing me to reflect on how these last many years have been spent: the roller-coaster seasons, the blur of jobs and customers, the family events which have filled the small gaps between work, maintenance, and meetings. Juggling work, parenting, and caring for Leah as she recovered from the early stages of her stroke and cancer. Work-wise, I've had a good run; this business has been good to me, and I'm still at the top of my game in many ways... but it's time to throttle back.
Am I retiring? No. Am I going to keep up the same torrid pace that I've kept all these years, cleaning five or six days a week from February through December? No... definitely not. That pace no longer makes sense.
What DOES make sense for me now?
- Working local; not traveling to clean buildings all over New England.
- Taking on jobs of a size that I can readily handle; not signing up more humongous jobs.
- Working less so that I can work longer.
- Finding a better balance between time spend cleaning, and time spend living.
I don't need to make a fortune; my "fortune" has been made. Now, I need the longevity to enjoy this next phase of my life.
So, if you call me and find that I'm booked until early summer, and then you see me on a Tuesday afternoon this spring enjoying some fishing at the pond, please understand: A full "work calendar" no longer means an "actually full calendar." I'm setting some boundaries and limits, and it will be an adjustment, but to not do so will mean certain failure.
And, as I've been telling others for years without listening to my own advice, "there's no trophy for burning out." Or turning to dust.









