Thanks Gus

Thanks, Gus (aka God, Universe, Source…and everything else of course)

Recently, my work life has shifted. My supervisor—someone I adore and see as a wealth of knowledge—is moving on to greater pursuits, which she totally deserves. I’m so happy for her.

At the same time, we had layoffs at work. While I’m grateful to still be employed, my team is gone. I’m the only one left, and now I’m being restructured into another department. So of course, I’ve started wondering: What’s next for me?

I know how I’d like my life to be structured, and in some ways, this job fits that. But I don’t see growth on the horizon anymore. And growth is a major motivating factor for me in anything I do.

So, I asked Gus, “What do I do now? More importantly, what should I move toward next?”

A lot of ideas came to mind, and I spent about an hour after work thinking them through—only to realize they were my thoughts, not necessarily Gus’s. So, I took a step back and said, “God, lead the way. Show me what direction I should be heading in.”

Sometimes the best thing I can do is take a nap and reset my mind—because the spiral of overthinking is real. Lately, though, my naps have been more focused. What I mean is: before I rest, I ask God a question. It’s become a bit of a practice, an experiment.

I’ve gotten it down to about 20 minutes—just enough to dream, and usually whatever I dream holds a hint of direction. Not always an answer, but a direction.

In this particular dream, I was working in what looked like my clothing store. A customer walked in and asked, “Can I get that t-shirt?” I said, “You want the Ecclesiastes 1 t-shirt?” and they replied, “Yes.”

Then I jumped out of my sleep, thinking I had overslept and needed to go pick up my kids—but I hadn’t. I think Gus woke me up just so I’d remember the dream.

So I woke up with “Ecclesiastes 1” on my mind. Odd, right?

I’ll be honest—I’ve been back and forth with reading the Bible. I read a lot of things where I still see God clearly, so I never feel disconnected. But I had recently said I needed to start reading scripture again. Maybe this was full circle.

On the way to pick up my kids, I opened the Bible app and listened to the first few chapters. “Everything is meaningless” kept echoing in my mind—which, strangely, felt true and freeing.

But the question I had posed to Gus wasn’t just about meaninglessness. I was asking whether I should move toward something I enjoy (not necessarily love) or do something that makes sense.

Here’s something I’ve come to understand: creativity and work don’t always mix well.

Gus has given me a creative vision for my life, and I’ve accepted that I’ll always have to do both—create and work. That’s the beautiful balance of God.

Hugh MacLeod calls it the “Sex and Cash Theory” in Ignore Everybody.

Sex is the creative work—what lights us up, what some call “the muse.”

Cash is how we survive.

They don’t always mix, and that’s for a reason.

If we were creative all day, we’d probably get tired of it. Our brains also need structure and logic. That’s why artists can burn out. Their creativity becomes “work,” and it dims the spark.

So maybe the separation keeps the spark alive.

Back to Ecclesiastes. As I listened, I was reminded that everything is fleeting, and we all return to dust. So we should find joy in our toil—especially when it’s pleasing to God.

“A person can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in their own toil. This too, I see, is from the hand of God, for without Him, who can eat or find enjoyment?

— Ecclesiastes 2:24-25 (NIV)

That hit me.

And as soon as I heard it, I knew what Gus was saying. It wasn’t an answer. It was a direction.

God doesn’t give final answers. They give direction. Answers feel like an ending. Direction keeps things moving.

I want God’s direction, not an answer.

I don’t plan on stopping my growth.

All this to say—there’s something I enjoy that I’ve left sitting in the back of my mind. It didn’t seem “fruitful” in a money-making sense. But I realized it’s something I could pursue with a bit of effort. It’s a new skill set—but if I can learn to play piano, sing, write, and compose at 34? A few courses sound like light work.

Like King Solomon said—it’s all meaningless anyway. So I might as well find joy in what I do.

Yes, I’ll have to work. But I can also enjoy the process.

And my creative work? I enjoy that immensely. I’m finding a beautiful balance in this life.

Thanks, Gus.