LOOK IN THE MIRROR

 

Spending years striving, pouring your youth into work, and hoping to get somewhere—it's no easy task. Those early years in the business world… The silly, avoidable mistakes… You spend more time fixing errors than actually getting work done. You come close to screaming, “Enough! I can’t do this anymore!”

How easy is it to promise yourself, This time, I’ll be more careful, only to make an error in the most unexpected place? Starting over on a project you thought was finished… Accepting the costs of time, effort, and materials… Struggling just to break even on something that was supposed to make money. Is it easy? Not at all.

Years pass. By now, you expect to see the fruits of your efforts. Those mistakes—oh, those mistakes—at least they’re behind you. You tell yourself it’s time to take on projects without issues, to deliver your work with pride. But then you look around. Everyone else seems obsessed with making more money. You comfort yourself: May God give them even more. But why is it that you find yourself comparing your life to theirs? It’s human nature, isn’t it?

“They’ve already made it big. Forget their cars—even their spouses’ cars are better than mine.”

The final straw was the shame I felt in front of my spouse, who already didn’t live the best life. That shame wasn’t a mere drop in the bucket—it felt like an ocean. You can endure struggles for yourself, but seeing your loved ones go through it? That’s unbearable.

It was after dinner. I was sitting in the living room when I overheard my wife talking on the phone with a friend. “That place won’t work,” she said. Then, she added, “How can I go all the way there with a child in my arms? It’s easy for you—you have a car. None of you even live nearby.”

Then, the kitchen door quietly closed. That final sound echoed in my ears. She didn’t want me to hear. She didn’t want me to feel hurt. A few minutes later, she came in with a cup of coffee for me. It wasn’t about the coffee. She wanted to see if I had heard. I pretended I hadn’t, but inside, I was crushed. I couldn’t even be a proper man.

It wasn’t because I didn’t work hard. It wasn’t because I lacked ability. The truth was, I didn’t have the connections they did. The big jobs always went to them. It didn’t matter if they weren’t as skilled as me—their network handed them opportunities.

Then came a seemingly golden opportunity, coincidentally the morning after that kitchen door closed. They were lost, searching for an address, and came in to ask for directions. When they saw the boxes of products we had prepared for delivery, one of them said, “We need some of these, too.” Their request was for more than six months of my production capacity. When they learned my pricing, they couldn’t believe it. One turned to the other and said, “See? I told you that guy was ripping us off. Let’s stop working with him. Look—this man’s products are better quality than ours.”

It hit me right in the heart. Of course, they’re high quality, I thought to myself. Despite their casual payment terms, I worked hard to earn their trust. Finally, I had a big client. And who knows? Maybe this would open the door to new connections for me.

The orders grew and grew—until I couldn’t reach them anymore. The debts I took on to keep up with production… The accounts with suppliers… I was left with unpaid bills and customers I didn’t even know. While I was lost in thought, my neighbor asked me, “Didn’t you realize they were scammers?”

Do you want the truth? I didn’t. The thought crossed my mind, but as I said—that sound from the kitchen door. My desire was so strong. But really, why would the owner of such a large company be wandering among small workshops? If they were so professional, why did they work without contracts or formal agreements? Why was all their communication done through personal cell phones?

My overwhelming desire,
My constant comparison to others,
My need for approval,
My impatience with the process—
All of it blinded me.

I walked right into the trap. Thankfully, they were caught while trying to offload the goods they had taken, so the damage they caused me wasn’t irreparable.

Who am I, you ask?

Look in the mirror.