Ben Sloot

My first real job was in the summer of 1996 at the Lincoln Park District public pool. I was a lifeguard, earning the princely sum of $5.25 an hour—a whole ten cents above minimum wage. Just a 15-year-old kid with sun-in yellow hair and zero actual life-saving experience.

Now, I’m always a little surprised when I see beaches staffed with professional lifeguards—real adults with actual life experience—because where I come from, lifeguarding was basically just paid babysitting for 100 kids between the ages of 7 and 12. 

My days were spent rotating between the lifeguard tower and walking laps around the pool deck, pretending to be vigilant while secretly counting down the minutes until the next swim break. When I wasn’t on duty, I’d be lounging in the sun, attempting gainers off the diving board, or hanging out in the office—probably doing a whole lot of nothing. I held that job for four summers, and thanks to the relentless loop of the local Top 40 radio station, I’ve got Sheryl Crow, the Goo Goo Dolls, Blind Melon and every other ‘90s chart-topper permanently etched into my brain.

The job was great, really. I made some solid friendships, even landed a couple of girlfriends, and it was definitely easier than the farm labor my buddies were stuck doing. But here’s the thing: every single day, I prayed for it to rain. Not because I hated the job or didn’t appreciate the paycheck, but because I always felt like there was somewhere else I’d rather be—something more important I was missing out on.

And that’s the lesson I took from my first job: quit praying for it to rain.

Life’s too short to wish away the days you’re living. Whatever you’re doing right now—whether it’s a summer gig, a 9-to-5, or just slogging through the mundane—be there. Show up. Because the rain might give you a break, but it also means you missed the sunshine.