When I ask others why they do what they do, I’m often blessed to hear them describe their love for things I’ve never considered lovable….He is good to allow our enthusiasm about these things to be transferable and contagious.

One of my favorite questions for times of small talk is “Why do you do what you do instead of doing something else?” Or sometimes a variation: “Why do you love what you do?” I ask this when I’m in the barber’s chair, on the x-ray table, or trying to articulate words as the dentist rummages around in my mouth—just about anywhere a person has devoted themselves to a particular vocation. My favorite answer so far has been from a dermatologist: “I work dentist hours but make doctor money.” Clever!

Of course, not everyone has the privilege of doing what they love and that comes out in conversation as well. I have met Uber drivers who immigrated to Canada and, as they did so, lost their engineering credentials. I have met people who were forced by their parents to pursue a field they didn’t care for and people who, through the vicissitudes of life, ended up doing something that engaged little of their passion and few of their skills.

My dad devoted the best of his life to landscaping. And while he loved the design aspect of the job, he also loved the actual work. In most of my memories of him, I picture him digging deep holes to plant trees, lugging huge rocks to build walls, laying bricks and stones to build pathways. He was rarely happier than when he was straining and sweating, combining artistry and brute strength to design something beautiful.

But his path to landscaping was not an easy one. Dad grew up a son of privilege and received little affirmation from his family when it came to his love for the natural world. I never met my grandfather so do not know whether he made dad feel that landscaping was beneath a Challies or whether he had just a bit of a complex about it and assumed his father’s disfavor. Either way, he ended up dedicating most of his life to doing what he loved, but I’m not convinced he always did it with a lot of confidence. I think he often felt the judgment of other people, whether real or imagined. That’s kind of tragic now that I think about it.

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