Strange and Familiar

I never could understand why people would want to retire and move away somewhere they had never lived before. Why would you deliberately send yourself into exile? I'm still just under three months into this grand experiment, but I'm beginning to get a small glimmer of understanding.

Some places still call out to me in memory. I can smell the wood smoke from the fireplace in the big dorm at my childhood church camp in southern New Mexico. I can feel the warm breezes and hear the feral roosters crow on the island of Kauai, Hawaii. I can feel the awe of watching the sun shine under a cloud bank over the ocean near Sagres, Portugal.

Some memories are even more vivid. The first time I returned to the campus of Arizona State University, maybe a year or so after I graduated, my pulse actually quickened and my adrenaline rose as I walked down the Palm Walk. My body remembered my frantic dash along that sidewalk to turn in my doctoral dissertation a few minutes before the deadline.

Some of these places call out to me after extended stays or frequent visits. Like old friends, we can meet again after many years, and it's as if no time has passed. Some places call to me after only one visit. Our acquaintance was brief, but there was a connection. I don't know a soul in several of those places, so I am sure that it is the place itself that calls me.

On the other hand, I can return to some places and feel very little at all, despite long years of familiarity. Maybe I can still find my way around (sometimes not, though), but there is no call, no pull. We are casual acquaintances, nothing more. However much these places factored into my daily existence at one time, those chapters are finished.

I had that feeling of blankness recently as I took the Metro train to meet some friends for lunch in Arlington, VA. For 12 years, I rode the train every weekday, back and forth to work. I knew how to find my way around this underground system before I learned to navigate the surface streets. I still know what part of the train to get on so that I can get off the train in just the right spot on the platform. I still know where things are in the neighborhood where I used to work, but there is no pulling at the heart strings. I feel the old connection to my friends, but I would be just as happy to see them in a different setting. The people matter more than the place.

The town where I grew up is like that. On my most recent trip, my sister and I had a wonderful time reconnecting with people we hadn't seen in years. I treasure the time I spent with those people, but I would never go back and live in that town. My chapter in that place has been finished (at least as far as I know). Driving down the familiar streets, I get the definite sense that I am now an outsider.

The happiest of all circumstances, of course, is when both the people and the place are dear to you. That can happen by luck, but intention plays a big part in making the connection a lasting one. That, to me, is what home is.

What's Next? Inklings

Following up on yesterday's post: the "big yes" tends to come after I do my homework. What do I want? What don't I want? What must I have, and what can I trade away for something I want more? Here is what I have so far (at least the bit I'm willing to share):
Must-haves:
1. Work that serves a meaningful purpose. Writing/editing reports that hardly anyone reads doesn't cut it for me any more. Cranking out proposals that generate business for the sake of enriching the guys at the top doesn't cut it either. Am I doing something that provides goods, services, knowledge, or understanding that makes peoples' lives better? Does my writing help someone look at an issue in a new way, explain a complicated concept in terms they can understand, organize a tangle of ideas onto a framework where you can see how things fit together? That's a must-have.

2. Work that pays the bills, with something left over for fun. Face it, big cities tend to be expensive places to live. But the energy, creativity, diversity, and opportunities of a big city feed me in ways that small towns somehow don't. Also, when I'm not earning enough money, I tend to think about money much more than when I'm earning enough. I have a very real sense of what "enough" entails for me, and it's not unrealistic. I've been at that level before, and I can get there again. (The American myth that more is always better is simply not true. There is such a thing as "enough".)

3. Work that engages my attention, curiosity, and imagination. I've had that kind of work before, and I found myself working really hard and putting in long hours, but not minding it. There's a whole different feeling after a long day doing something you love, compared with even a relatively short day doing something that drains your soul. Show me something new, let me research an interesting idea. Show me the story-behind-the-story. Let me tell the whole story, warts and all. Let me get you interested in something you hadn't paid attention to before.

4. Work that I can do for as long as my mind and my body will let me. The idea of enduring years of drudgery so that I can spend my declining years playing golf holds no appeal for me. I may slow the pace down as I age, but let my work be so fulfilling that I can do it the rest of my life and not regret it.

5. Work in pleasant surroundings, with pleasant people, and with the occasional change of scenery. No more gray cubicles, please. My little office corner at home has a window with a big oak tree outside. Mourning doves and squirrels come to visit. I can go wireless and sit out on the balcony, weather permitting. I have time for discussion groups, lunch with friends, and trips downtown (where something new is always happening).

As you can see, I'm not quite to the point where I type a few terms into an online search and find my bliss. I probably won't ever be at that point. However, I have a good idea of where to go looking and who to talk to to bring my picture into sharper focus. The outlines are a bit blurry now, but I can make out some general shapes.

What's Next? Beginnings

It's been about 10 weeks now, and I'm starting to get my fill of just hanging around the house doing craft projects. I'm starting to venture out, exploring my immediate neighborhood as well as the big beehive of activity that is Washington, DC. Some of it is just for fun, but I am also looking for ideas and connections to help me answer the question, "What's next?"

Friends of mine who are struggling with involuntary unemployment are plying me with advice on job-searching groups, internet job sites, and other resources they are using. They warn me that, in the current job market, I had better start looking for a job ASAP. They may be right, but what I'm looking for now goes much deeper than just finding a new employer. Getting the money spigot flowing again is necessary, but not sufficient.

This afternoon, I was hanging out at the local library while I waited for a call from my auto mechanic. I found a comfortable chair in the "job resources" section, and my eye was drawn to a book called Don't Waste Your Talent. I leafed through the pages, pausing to read the bits that looked interesting. What do you know? The authors recommend setting aside a significant period of time to focus your attention on your plans for the next phase of your life. They were talking about several hours a week rather than taking a whole year off, but they were adamant that this effort requires more than the occasional 15 minutes of "found time" between meetings and phone calls. They also recommended thinking outside your usual channels and assumptions and getting right down to what really resonates with you. Well, what do you know. That's exactly what I'm doing.

My decision-making process seems to involve a fairly lengthy (and frustrating) period of not knowing where to start or which way to go. Analysis paralysis is an old familiar friend. I can easily accumulate so many facts and figures and personal insights that I can't move. This seems to go on for an eternity, making me lose hope that I will ever land on what I really want, and thinking that maybe I should just settle for the next thing that comes along.

Experience tells me that if I just relax and think about something else for a while, a moment will come (I can't predict when) where I am ready to decide. More often than not, some choice will present itself at a most unexpected moment, and I find myself saying, "Yes. I want that." Looking back, I find that I have made some of my best decisions that way.

There's nothing magic about this. The process doesn't work if I don't do my research and identify my priorities and values. All the knowledge is in my head, but the micromanaging scrutiny of my conscious mind has to focus somewhere else so that the tender young sprout that is my brand new idea can grow strong and begin to bud.

So if I don't join your career group or check your job listing site, please don't take offense. I'm listening to you, and adding your insights to the stash of information that I'm processing right now. I'm also protecting my little green sprout, because it's not ready to stand the full glare of public exposure just yet. Be patient.

Icarus and the Wrentit

Maybe it's an American thing. We always tell our kids to dream big and go for all the gusto, but we also want to protect them from the pain of failure. We say that we respect people who are driven to achieve the best, but we're less than enthusiastic when someone actually tries it and succeeds. That guy who won $10 million in the lottery can't possibly be happy, can he?

We speak of the "audacity of hope" and the "soft bigotry of low expectations" but we poke fun at the geeks and nerds who dare to make good grades in school and plunge on ahead to get graduate degrees. We hold romantic notions of bold actions in pursuit of our dreams, but we sneer at those who overextended themselves in the real estate bubble and are now losing their homes. We tell ourselves that we're smarter than they are because we tempered our expectations and went for something smaller and more "realistic".

It's the same push-pull between "follow your bliss" and "just be glad you have a job". There seems to be an assumption that growing up requires putting aside your passions and dreams (or at least saving them for the weekend) and subjecting yourself to the daily soul suck so you can have money to pursue your dreams at some unspecified date in the future. Oh sure, a few lucky souls are wildly successful at work that they love, but the assumption seems to be that You're Not One Of Those People. Why not?

Every time you go flying into the sky, you risk crashing to the ground. You could also soar higher than you've ever been before. If you just stay in the nest, you are guaranteed the same view every day, and sooner or later, the momma bird is going to get tired of bringing you food. Even if we stay the same, the world changes around us, and the birdies that fly out of the nest are the ones who adapt and thrive. Or crash. But at least they tried.

Oh, yes. The "Icarus and the Wrentit" bit. Icarus is a character from Greek mythology whose father fashioned a set of wings for him from feathers and wax. Despite his father's warnings, Icarus became enraptured with the sensation of flight. He flew too close to the sun, the wax melted, and Icarus crashed into the sea. The wrentit is a small gray bird that lives on the west coast of North America. It never travels more than about 400 m (1300 feet) from its birthplace over the course of its life. That worked just fine in the past, but now, urban sprawl is isolating small pockets of these tiny birds, decreasing their breeding pools, and putting them at more danger of extinction.

My point is that being too adventurous or playing it too safe both put you at risk of failure, but venturing out and keeping your wits about you might just might open up some new options that you didn't see while you were hugging your nest. Maybe you will be a majestic osprey, a bird that can live near just about any body of water in the world. Maybe you will be an urban pigeon that has learned to nest on concrete ledges and snack on bread crumbs from the local bistro. Either way, you make your way in the world and learn to thrive while doing what you do best.

US Geological Survey photo.

Flooding, With a Chance of Clouds

I'm feeling a bit unfocused these days. I have decided that this is because I have overflowed my personal channels, and I am flowing all over the open field right now.

Channels are wonderful things -- they give you a sense of direction, and they focus your energy so that you can make yourself useful. Channels also carry you to a set destination, whether you intended to go there or not.

The biggest channels have been carved out over many years. They are well traveled, well mapped, and well used. If you don't especially care where you end up, or if your destination is the same as everyone else's, a big channel is the way to go. All the amenities are there, you never get lost, and no one questions your decision to take the main route. You can count on lots of company and lots of travel advice.

If you're a bit more particular, side channels can take you to some interesting places. It's a bit more work, since the channels are narrower, and they may be overgrown with vegetation. You're more likely to get lost, and you can't count on restocking your supplies or finding a dry place to sleep. Still, chances are that someone has been there before you, and you will probably encounter a fellow explorer now and then. People might think you a bit quirky, but still within the realm of "normal".

Leaving the channels entirely is a bit less well defined. It's hard to answer when someone asks, "How are you doing?" "I'm all over the place right now, thanks" elicits curious stares and concerns for your well-being. Leaving the channels is how the field gets irrigated, but it's also how the village gets flooded. Leaving the channels erases the guarantee of a destination. Becoming one with the soil so that a plant can take you in and exhale you into the air is hard to frame in goal-oriented terms. There aren't a lot of job postings for philosophers in Washington, DC. How do you set a base salary for journeys of introspection?

Eventually, the water droplets covering the field rise up and join others of their kind a cloud. Droplets in the cloud eventually condense and fall back to the earth, finding their way into different channels than the ones they left. Different destinations, different work to do along the way.

So -- I'm not writing as much these days, or reading as much either, for that matter (although I have stepped up the reading a bit recently). I'm doing more needlework, cooking better meals, taking longer walks. I'm taking care of little household projects that have been on my do-list for years. I don't have the weekly routine that used to remind me that today is laundry day, or bill-paying day, or grocery day, so I have to pay attention and make sure that I do these things when they need to be done. I don't just run a quick errand on the way home from work, so running that errand requires a special trip and the time involved in making that trip. I'm unstructured, not moving forward, feeling unproductive -- and not minding it (much). I have great faith that eventually I will find another channel, another destination. Spending a little time in a cloud is a great way to get an overview of the landscape below.