This morning I said goodbye to my sister Karen, my brother-in-law Michael, and my niece Madison. It was a wonderful visit—we celebrated Madison’s birthday (twice!), I got to share in the moment as my sister’s sensory world opened up after fifteen years of invisible-but-very-real limits, I shared some quality time with other friends in the Rocklin area—and it’s the last time for many of those things.
For many years, now, I’ve been able to travel up to Rocklin at least a couple of times a year to visit, and Karen, Michael, and Madison have been able to travel down to the Antelope Valley at least a couple of times a year to visit Mom and me. With me moving to Hawai‘i, visits become much less frequent. It’s not going to be possible for any of us to make a (relatively) casual trip to see the others. I imagine that once I’m settled I’ll occasionally visit the Mainland, but once a year is as good as it will get and it may not get that good for a long time. Who knows when I’ll see my Rocklin friends (or Lucy or Bailey, the family dogs) again?
I’ll see Karen, Michael, and Madison once a year, probably; the traditional Hawai‘i vacation will continue and for me, they’ll be cheaper than they've been in the past. But once a year is not the same as four or more times a year. It’s the end of an era.
It’s another “last.”
For the most part, I don’t really like these lasts. (The few I have liked I’ve mostly kept to myself.) Endings, of traditions or habits or regular contact or normal practices, are hard. Some are harder than others...
Farewells are hard. Reduced contact with loved ones (family, friends, respected colleagues) is hard. Change is hard, and the more it changes things we value, the harder it is.
But change is also inevitable, and sometimes choosing the change brings some comfort. I chose this change (and I’m sorry that it leaves some of you with no choice; I’m well aware that by choosing this change I’ve imposed unwelcome changes on you), and that helps me face the pain.
If I seem serene, I am. If I seem unaffected, I’m not. I’m deeply affected. My serenity is the product of a great deal of agonizing over my choices and my decision to “seize the day.” This choice is remaking me, and I’m not gonna lie; that’s among its attractions.
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Eight Days Later
Eight days later...
I've lost blogging momentum. Lots of reasons, I think—I wrote Normal on June 2, 2012 and I spent June 3 at the Avalon Dive Park on Catalina Island with my brother for his birthday, then on the 4th I had a tattoo appointment, I spent the 5th through the 8th working around the house (or avoiding working around the house), I had a moving sale yesterday and today, and today I shared a sermon with the Canoga Park Community of Christ—but the longer I go the easier it is to just not write.
That's not acceptable to me, however. It's in writing that I discover things: that I learn the lessons this adventure has to teach me, that I articulate for myself and sometimes for others the simple truths of life, that I pay homage to what God is doing with (or maybe to?) me. I write this blog for me, and share it in case it's some use to you, my faithful readers.
So, lessons learned (in no particular order):
I still don't know how I'm going to say goodbye to my family and theatre family and friends. I know I'm going to; just don't know how. I try not to spend too much time thinking about it, because it makes me want to curl up in the fetal position. I know the relationships will endure—I know that the aloha won't go away—but they will change.
Like just about everyone, I'm not a big fan of change.
Intellectually, I love change. In my head, I know that change is necessary, that change is growth, that change is opportunity, that change is dynamic...but all that's in my head. In my gut, change is uncertainty, change is risk, change is fear. I want to control change, and that's not always or even usually possible, nor is it particularly desirable.
For years now I've tried to embrace change with some success. One of the most encouraging things for me with all this is that I actually am embracing pretty radical changes. But when it comes to changes in those relationships—the most precious things I've ever had—well, I'd rather hug a Saguaro cactus.
I know I'm going to say goodbye—really, I do—but I don't know how. And not knowing is really uncomfortable for me.
------------------------------
In other news, someone managed to take out the row of mailboxes for the houses on my little dirt road Friday night. I've got contact information for the California Highway Patrol officer who has the details, but so far I'm assuming the driver either isn't liable for the damage or isn't able (no insurance, no resources, whatever) to make it right.
So my neighbors and I have to figure out what we're going to do and do it. I'd bought a new mailbox—the old one was having issues with door closure and leakage and I thought the renters, if and when, would appreciate having a mailbox that worked—but luckily I hadn't installed it yet. An unanticipated expense; probably not the last one.
Calamity Jane, my feline overlord, seems oddly undisturbed by the chaos that her home has become. I hope she's as adaptable when she moves to Mom's house in not more than three weeks.
Holy Crap! Three weeks!
I've lost blogging momentum. Lots of reasons, I think—I wrote Normal on June 2, 2012 and I spent June 3 at the Avalon Dive Park on Catalina Island with my brother for his birthday, then on the 4th I had a tattoo appointment, I spent the 5th through the 8th working around the house (or avoiding working around the house), I had a moving sale yesterday and today, and today I shared a sermon with the Canoga Park Community of Christ—but the longer I go the easier it is to just not write.
That's not acceptable to me, however. It's in writing that I discover things: that I learn the lessons this adventure has to teach me, that I articulate for myself and sometimes for others the simple truths of life, that I pay homage to what God is doing with (or maybe to?) me. I write this blog for me, and share it in case it's some use to you, my faithful readers.
So, lessons learned (in no particular order):
- I have too much stuff! I have too much stuff because when you live alone in a big house, there's no reason not to have too much stuff, and deciding to get rid of things (and what things to get rid of) when you don't have to is too hard. It's the decision, see? When I have the luxury of keeping things for some mythical "someday" when I'll need it, why wouldn't I?
It is a luxury, and that "someday" is mythical, and thus is a hoarder born (or hatched, or whatever). I don't need this stuff, I'll quite likely never need this stuff, and if someday I do need this stuff, I'm going to want new "this stuff." Let it go! - It feels good to let go. There's a lightness of being that comes when lightening one's load. It amazes me how good it felt to sell something I was hanging onto for far less than it's worth just to get rid of it. There's still a lot to dispose of, but with each piece (big or small) that goes, my spirit lifts.
- Exercise feels good. I've started walking with an informal group styling itself the "Boulevard Windwalkers - 'Walk N Talk' Tours." It's local folk, mostly "of an age," who know each other through community theatre. We generally do a couple of miles a day—not too brisk but not a stroll, either—after which we stop for coffee or breakfast. I'm certainly going to miss the fellowship of these amazing people, I think I'll continue the habit of walking mornings if at all practical. It starts the day off on the right "foot."
- Time is like water. It slips through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hang on. It isn't that there isn't enough time; it's that we can't hold onto enough time to do all we plan. And I think we just have to be okay with that...do what we can do, and let the rest go.
- It isn't me, it's you. I've made a more-than good faith effort to connect with some precious people, and it just hasn't worked out. But it isn't my fault; I've tried, and been flexible, and been accommodating. So "It isn't me, it's you," and that's okay. At least, I'm okay with it. Sure, I'm sad we haven't gotten together, but if I've done my part then I've done my part. As I've been known to say (and as some friends frequently say), "It is what it is."
But please...don't lose my number. If circumstances change, send me a text or give me a ring.
I still don't know how I'm going to say goodbye to my family and theatre family and friends. I know I'm going to; just don't know how. I try not to spend too much time thinking about it, because it makes me want to curl up in the fetal position. I know the relationships will endure—I know that the aloha won't go away—but they will change.
Like just about everyone, I'm not a big fan of change.
Intellectually, I love change. In my head, I know that change is necessary, that change is growth, that change is opportunity, that change is dynamic...but all that's in my head. In my gut, change is uncertainty, change is risk, change is fear. I want to control change, and that's not always or even usually possible, nor is it particularly desirable.
For years now I've tried to embrace change with some success. One of the most encouraging things for me with all this is that I actually am embracing pretty radical changes. But when it comes to changes in those relationships—the most precious things I've ever had—well, I'd rather hug a Saguaro cactus.
I know I'm going to say goodbye—really, I do—but I don't know how. And not knowing is really uncomfortable for me.
------------------------------
In other news, someone managed to take out the row of mailboxes for the houses on my little dirt road Friday night. I've got contact information for the California Highway Patrol officer who has the details, but so far I'm assuming the driver either isn't liable for the damage or isn't able (no insurance, no resources, whatever) to make it right.
So my neighbors and I have to figure out what we're going to do and do it. I'd bought a new mailbox—the old one was having issues with door closure and leakage and I thought the renters, if and when, would appreciate having a mailbox that worked—but luckily I hadn't installed it yet. An unanticipated expense; probably not the last one.
Calamity Jane, my feline overlord, seems oddly undisturbed by the chaos that her home has become. I hope she's as adaptable when she moves to Mom's house in not more than three weeks.
Holy Crap! Three weeks!
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Normal
"It doesn't take long for even the most outrageous reality to become 'normal.'"
For most of my life, that sentence would have been the lead-in to a rant against complacency; a challenge to reject an outrageous (and unpalatable) "reality" and work to change things. Today, I see it from a different angle.
It's only been a few weeks since I committed to a course of total upheaval. Only a few weeks, and already this outrageous reality—this complete rejection of what I believed to be normal—is becoming my new normal. I look at an enormous stack of clothes I'm getting rid of (one way or another) and it's normal. I look at the piles of things on my carport ready to be sold and that's normal. I arrange to sell my truck and there's nothing strange about it.
I contemplate starting over—making new connections, finding a place for myself, becoming someone new—and that feels normal, too. Not necessarily comfortable, but "normal."
The same tendency that leads many to accept outrageously wrong things as "normal" (the way many ordinary Germans did during World War II) can also lead one to accept just about anything else, no matter how outrageous, as normal. The difference between "Oh my God!" and "Meh, routine" seems to be nothing more complicated than time.
No one likes change. I believe sincerely, with all my heart, that change is often necessary and often good—I believe with all my heart that this change I'm facing is not just "good" but GOOD—yet I have not always embraced this change, even though I chose it. But by sticking to my guns and persisting when tempted to turn back, I've acclimated. Now this change is becoming my new "normal."
About the time I get acclimated, though, it's all going to change again. What's becoming "normal" right now is a transitional state, from one situation to another. And the situation to which I'm transitioning is itself undefined and unstable. I don't expect my situation to normalize for a while.
What I'm getting at is this: I'm going to be constantly off balance for the next little while. I may feel normal—occasionally, for a time—but what feels normal is going to be transient until my life settles down. I'll always be growing accustomed to newness.
So okay. I'm not normal—I've been saying so for years—for a while, my experience is going to match my nature. I think I can learn to live with that.
And really, what other choice do I have?
For most of my life, that sentence would have been the lead-in to a rant against complacency; a challenge to reject an outrageous (and unpalatable) "reality" and work to change things. Today, I see it from a different angle.
It's only been a few weeks since I committed to a course of total upheaval. Only a few weeks, and already this outrageous reality—this complete rejection of what I believed to be normal—is becoming my new normal. I look at an enormous stack of clothes I'm getting rid of (one way or another) and it's normal. I look at the piles of things on my carport ready to be sold and that's normal. I arrange to sell my truck and there's nothing strange about it.
I contemplate starting over—making new connections, finding a place for myself, becoming someone new—and that feels normal, too. Not necessarily comfortable, but "normal."
The same tendency that leads many to accept outrageously wrong things as "normal" (the way many ordinary Germans did during World War II) can also lead one to accept just about anything else, no matter how outrageous, as normal. The difference between "Oh my God!" and "Meh, routine" seems to be nothing more complicated than time.
No one likes change. I believe sincerely, with all my heart, that change is often necessary and often good—I believe with all my heart that this change I'm facing is not just "good" but GOOD—yet I have not always embraced this change, even though I chose it. But by sticking to my guns and persisting when tempted to turn back, I've acclimated. Now this change is becoming my new "normal."
About the time I get acclimated, though, it's all going to change again. What's becoming "normal" right now is a transitional state, from one situation to another. And the situation to which I'm transitioning is itself undefined and unstable. I don't expect my situation to normalize for a while.
What I'm getting at is this: I'm going to be constantly off balance for the next little while. I may feel normal—occasionally, for a time—but what feels normal is going to be transient until my life settles down. I'll always be growing accustomed to newness.
So okay. I'm not normal—I've been saying so for years—for a while, my experience is going to match my nature. I think I can learn to live with that.
And really, what other choice do I have?
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Chrysalis
(In this post, I talk about how things seem to me. I wouldn't want any of my dear friends or family to see in this a criticism of them: I know that you have my best interests at heart. Never doubt that I love, honor, and respect you. Never doubt that I will miss everything about you. Never doubt that this is about me—selfishly self-absorbedly me—and not about you, though it may read differently. It's hard to write about this without seeming to make others the problem.)
I've been pondering the implications of this move for my sense of self—my identity as I see me, influenced by how others see me—and the prospects excite me.
Like anyone, I am influenced by my environment, and I'm realizing that sometimes a familiar environment inhibits change. It isn't something anyone chooses; it just happens. Once you are settled into a place, there's a tendency to stay the way you were when you entered that place; it's familiar and predictable, and if you don't change you know what to expect of others.
By the same token, we tend to (unconsciously!) put pressure on others to remain the way they are, even if we sincerely (consciously!) believe they need to make changes. If an acquaintance or friend changes habits or attitudes or whatever, we tend (without malice or even intent) to put pressure on them to be what they've always been. Maybe we tease them (never consciously intending to influence them) or we react badly to what's new and different about them, or we remind them of how they were before the change, or we make a big deal of what's different. None of these are (consciously!) intended to influence our friends, but all of them can.
That's how peer pressure works: it isn't people telling you to do what they want you to do; rather it's people subtly and usually unintentionally, through thousands of indirect signals, indicating the way of conformity.
Conformity has its place. A society depends on a modicum of conformity for its security and stability. Peer pressure is not automatically and necessarily a bad thing, and at least to a point, conformity helps us all get along.
Change is uncomfortable at best. When those we care about change, we are (unconsciously!) uneasy. So without malice and without intent, we tend to apply pressure opposing change, sometimes even as we verbally and consciously encourage change. We don't even know we're doing it.
What's all this got to do with my move and my sense of self?
Most of my dear friends and family would agree that there is room in my life for positive, affirmative, meaningful and significant change. I've been told on numerous occasions (and I've agreed wholeheartedly) that I ought to change this or I ought to change that. It's true; in order to find greater fulfillment, I must change.
So why haven't I?
Because in the place and society I've been in for the last umpteen years, I've been comfortable. Not always happy, not always fulfilled, but comfortable. And it is hard to surrender comfort.
That's where this move becomes relevant. By moving—to a place where I don't really know anyone, where the culture is different, where everything is different—I've already surrendered comfort, and, freed of the (unconscious!) impulse to please people I know by being what I've always been, I am primed to reinvent myself.
Could I do it here? Sure I could. Would I?
Well...
So far, I haven't.
I'm not certain I'll do it there, but I think a fresh start offers an amazing opportunity. And some of the things (and some of the people) that have come into my life in the last two months have catalyzed the coming change. I feel like I'm just about to enter a chrysalis, and the butterfly I'm destined to be will be emerge in Hawai`i.
Yet without the experiences and influences and relationships I've had in this environment, I would not be ready to spin my cocoon. Without you (and you know who you are), I would never have found the courage to take the next step. Without this—all of this: good and bad, encouraging and discouraging, joyous and sorrowful—I would not be who I am and could not be who I will become.
As this caterpillar wraps himself up in silk, he wraps up the treasures that are you and here and tucks them next to his heart. He's taking you and here with him, for he cannot bear to be altogether parted.
Aloha!
I've been pondering the implications of this move for my sense of self—my identity as I see me, influenced by how others see me—and the prospects excite me.
Like anyone, I am influenced by my environment, and I'm realizing that sometimes a familiar environment inhibits change. It isn't something anyone chooses; it just happens. Once you are settled into a place, there's a tendency to stay the way you were when you entered that place; it's familiar and predictable, and if you don't change you know what to expect of others.
By the same token, we tend to (unconsciously!) put pressure on others to remain the way they are, even if we sincerely (consciously!) believe they need to make changes. If an acquaintance or friend changes habits or attitudes or whatever, we tend (without malice or even intent) to put pressure on them to be what they've always been. Maybe we tease them (never consciously intending to influence them) or we react badly to what's new and different about them, or we remind them of how they were before the change, or we make a big deal of what's different. None of these are (consciously!) intended to influence our friends, but all of them can.
That's how peer pressure works: it isn't people telling you to do what they want you to do; rather it's people subtly and usually unintentionally, through thousands of indirect signals, indicating the way of conformity.
Conformity has its place. A society depends on a modicum of conformity for its security and stability. Peer pressure is not automatically and necessarily a bad thing, and at least to a point, conformity helps us all get along.
Change is uncomfortable at best. When those we care about change, we are (unconsciously!) uneasy. So without malice and without intent, we tend to apply pressure opposing change, sometimes even as we verbally and consciously encourage change. We don't even know we're doing it.
What's all this got to do with my move and my sense of self?
Most of my dear friends and family would agree that there is room in my life for positive, affirmative, meaningful and significant change. I've been told on numerous occasions (and I've agreed wholeheartedly) that I ought to change this or I ought to change that. It's true; in order to find greater fulfillment, I must change.
So why haven't I?
Because in the place and society I've been in for the last umpteen years, I've been comfortable. Not always happy, not always fulfilled, but comfortable. And it is hard to surrender comfort.
That's where this move becomes relevant. By moving—to a place where I don't really know anyone, where the culture is different, where everything is different—I've already surrendered comfort, and, freed of the (unconscious!) impulse to please people I know by being what I've always been, I am primed to reinvent myself.
Could I do it here? Sure I could. Would I?
Well...
So far, I haven't.
I'm not certain I'll do it there, but I think a fresh start offers an amazing opportunity. And some of the things (and some of the people) that have come into my life in the last two months have catalyzed the coming change. I feel like I'm just about to enter a chrysalis, and the butterfly I'm destined to be will be emerge in Hawai`i.
Yet without the experiences and influences and relationships I've had in this environment, I would not be ready to spin my cocoon. Without you (and you know who you are), I would never have found the courage to take the next step. Without this—all of this: good and bad, encouraging and discouraging, joyous and sorrowful—I would not be who I am and could not be who I will become.
As this caterpillar wraps himself up in silk, he wraps up the treasures that are you and here and tucks them next to his heart. He's taking you and here with him, for he cannot bear to be altogether parted.
Aloha!
Friday, May 18, 2012
Accentuate the Positive, Eliminate the Negative
One of the few Facebook apps I bother with is Messages From God, not because I think they are what the name suggests—I am well aware that the app is a computerized engine for randomly picking an "inspirational" missive from a database—but rather because sometimes the message is inspirational and often surprisingly apt.
This morning's Message From God had some great tidbits in it:
The best counter to negativity is positivity (and not just or only a positive attitude, although it starts with that). A positive attitude—an optimistic and hopeful attitude—go a long way toward eliminating the negative, but once that attitude is in place, action gets the job done.
Over the last couple of weeks, although I hadn't actually consciously decided what I was going to do with my future, the decision to just go was crystalizing in my subconscious mind, and people noticed. They may not have known what my decision was—some may not have known there was a decision pending—but as that decision worked its way into my psyche, my demeanor changed. People started saying things like, "You look more relaxed," "You glow," "Your smile is back." And once I bought my one-way ticket and committed myself in deed to this path, the effect became even more pronounced.
Even amid the stresses and sorrow that accompany the decision, I feel my heart lifting. I've cast off the burden of negativity I've been carrying for months, now.
I don't know how this adventure is going to turn out. I don't think that's knowable at this point in the journey. All I know is this: by acting on a positive impulse (albeit one stimulated by an incredibly negative experience), I am reaping dividends of the soul.
So "don't start your day with a negative attitude" (no matter how justified you are in having one). Find optimism and hope. "The possibilities that today offers are endless, so eagerly anticipate wonderful happenings." Don't "let blessings go unnoticed" because "you're not looking."
Keep your eyes open; blessings are all around you: in people, in places, in things.
And if you what you see in your path isn't what you want, change course! I'm not saying you should quit your job, rent your house, and move to Hawai`i without any specific prospects (although I'm not saying you shouldn't); what I'm saying is, act on positive impulses, on optimism and hope. Act to change your destiny... it isn't predetermined and you can remake it (and yourself) whenever you choose.
Look at me. Those of you who know me know that I tend to be risk-averse; that I tend to put others' needs ahead of my own; that I tend to accomodate myself to others' plans and intentions; that I tend to adapt and get along, rather than act and move along. But those are my proclivities, not my destiny. When adequately provoked, even a mouse can roar and a leopard can change its spots. If you don't like who you are or where you are going, change!
For me, right now, nothing could be worse than not trying to change. For me, it feels healthier to fail spectacularly attempting something magnificent (the risk I run) than it would to succeed modestly attempting mediocrity.
As I posted in One Foot on a Banana Peel a while ago, My Awesome Life really is awesome. I'm awesome. And so are you (or if you aren't, you can and should be). There's nothing awesome about wallowing in negativity.
Cast off the negative and be awesome. I'm doing it and it's... well, it's awesome!
This morning's Message From God had some great tidbits in it:
On this day, God wants you to know...For most of the last couple of months, I've been caught like a fly in amber negativity. Sure, I've had reason to be—I've had some pretty negative experiences (but really, who hasn't?)—but that doesn't mean it was the right thing to dwell on the negative. Sure, it's understandable, natural, all too human...but that doesn't mean it is right. Negativity doesn't do anything to eliminate negativity; rather, it reinforces it.
... that today is going to be a great day.
Don't start your day with a negative attitude. It's hard to understand why so many people wake up each morning feeling defeated when each day holds so much potential. The possibilities that today offers are endless, so eagerly anticipate wonderful happenings. It's easy to let blessings go by unnoticed if you're not looking.
The best counter to negativity is positivity (and not just or only a positive attitude, although it starts with that). A positive attitude—an optimistic and hopeful attitude—go a long way toward eliminating the negative, but once that attitude is in place, action gets the job done.
Over the last couple of weeks, although I hadn't actually consciously decided what I was going to do with my future, the decision to just go was crystalizing in my subconscious mind, and people noticed. They may not have known what my decision was—some may not have known there was a decision pending—but as that decision worked its way into my psyche, my demeanor changed. People started saying things like, "You look more relaxed," "You glow," "Your smile is back." And once I bought my one-way ticket and committed myself in deed to this path, the effect became even more pronounced.
Even amid the stresses and sorrow that accompany the decision, I feel my heart lifting. I've cast off the burden of negativity I've been carrying for months, now.
I don't know how this adventure is going to turn out. I don't think that's knowable at this point in the journey. All I know is this: by acting on a positive impulse (albeit one stimulated by an incredibly negative experience), I am reaping dividends of the soul.
So "don't start your day with a negative attitude" (no matter how justified you are in having one). Find optimism and hope. "The possibilities that today offers are endless, so eagerly anticipate wonderful happenings." Don't "let blessings go unnoticed" because "you're not looking."
Keep your eyes open; blessings are all around you: in people, in places, in things.
And if you what you see in your path isn't what you want, change course! I'm not saying you should quit your job, rent your house, and move to Hawai`i without any specific prospects (although I'm not saying you shouldn't); what I'm saying is, act on positive impulses, on optimism and hope. Act to change your destiny... it isn't predetermined and you can remake it (and yourself) whenever you choose.
Look at me. Those of you who know me know that I tend to be risk-averse; that I tend to put others' needs ahead of my own; that I tend to accomodate myself to others' plans and intentions; that I tend to adapt and get along, rather than act and move along. But those are my proclivities, not my destiny. When adequately provoked, even a mouse can roar and a leopard can change its spots. If you don't like who you are or where you are going, change!
For me, right now, nothing could be worse than not trying to change. For me, it feels healthier to fail spectacularly attempting something magnificent (the risk I run) than it would to succeed modestly attempting mediocrity.
As I posted in One Foot on a Banana Peel a while ago, My Awesome Life really is awesome. I'm awesome. And so are you (or if you aren't, you can and should be). There's nothing awesome about wallowing in negativity.
Cast off the negative and be awesome. I'm doing it and it's... well, it's awesome!
Thursday, May 17, 2012
The Rubicon
Well, it's done.
As of yesterday afternoon, I have a (non-refundable) one-way ticket to Hawai`i. Seat 20C on Hawai`ian Airlines flight 3 from Los Angeles to Honolulu, departing 10:40 AM on July 3, 2012, is my seat.
I've crossed the Rubicon.
And you know... I feel okay.
I thought I'd feel some portentous Wagnerian dread—almost expected fat orchestral minor chords as an underscore in the soundtrack of my life—but really? Not so much. There's a little anxiety—set a countdown timer which immediately told me I have 6 weeks and 5 days to go, and that creates a little pressure—but when I woke up this morning, I felt little different than yesterday.
In some ways, in fact, I feel better.
There will be no more shilly-shallying around, no more second-guessing things. I've made my decision and committed treasure to it and that's that. With a definite date and a plane to catch, I must do each day what that day demands and live in the now, savoring and treasuring the good that is this chapter of my life. Too soon (and not soon enough) I will turn the page.
If you catch me paying too much attention to the next chapter at the expense of this one, call me on it. It will happen, but I don't mean it to and I don't want it to. I'm not gone yet ("I'm not dead yet!"), and what I have here and now is important. The people who are part of my life here and now matter deeply; I'll never be able to adequately articulate how deeply you matter to me.
Never believe, no matter how excited I seem for what's to come, that I don't know regret for the inevitable change in our relationships. Never believe that I don't know what this change costs me and you. I am the man I am now—I am able to take this step now—because I knew you.
I find myself tearing up just thinking about it.
What I'm feeling reminds me of the lyrics of the song "For Good," from the Broadway musical Wicked:
As I count the cost of this radical move—and I count it every day—I pray that somehow, some way, I will find all you who are so dear to me in the next chapter of this book. I pray, too, that I have been (and will continue to be) a blessing in your life. More than praying, I trust that it is and will be so. I don't think you're done changing me.
I hope you aren't done changing me.
I have been changed for good.
As of yesterday afternoon, I have a (non-refundable) one-way ticket to Hawai`i. Seat 20C on Hawai`ian Airlines flight 3 from Los Angeles to Honolulu, departing 10:40 AM on July 3, 2012, is my seat.
I've crossed the Rubicon.
And you know... I feel okay.
I thought I'd feel some portentous Wagnerian dread—almost expected fat orchestral minor chords as an underscore in the soundtrack of my life—but really? Not so much. There's a little anxiety—set a countdown timer which immediately told me I have 6 weeks and 5 days to go, and that creates a little pressure—but when I woke up this morning, I felt little different than yesterday.
In some ways, in fact, I feel better.
There will be no more shilly-shallying around, no more second-guessing things. I've made my decision and committed treasure to it and that's that. With a definite date and a plane to catch, I must do each day what that day demands and live in the now, savoring and treasuring the good that is this chapter of my life. Too soon (and not soon enough) I will turn the page.
If you catch me paying too much attention to the next chapter at the expense of this one, call me on it. It will happen, but I don't mean it to and I don't want it to. I'm not gone yet ("I'm not dead yet!"), and what I have here and now is important. The people who are part of my life here and now matter deeply; I'll never be able to adequately articulate how deeply you matter to me.
Never believe, no matter how excited I seem for what's to come, that I don't know regret for the inevitable change in our relationships. Never believe that I don't know what this change costs me and you. I am the man I am now—I am able to take this step now—because I knew you.
I find myself tearing up just thinking about it.
What I'm feeling reminds me of the lyrics of the song "For Good," from the Broadway musical Wicked:
I've heard it saidI don't seek out people for what they can do for me, but I cannot deny that you (and you know who you are, don't you?) have had a profound positive influence on who I've become. "Who can say if I've been changed for the better? | But because I knew you | I have been changed for good."
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you.
As I count the cost of this radical move—and I count it every day—I pray that somehow, some way, I will find all you who are so dear to me in the next chapter of this book. I pray, too, that I have been (and will continue to be) a blessing in your life. More than praying, I trust that it is and will be so. I don't think you're done changing me.
I hope you aren't done changing me.
I have been changed for good.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Getting a Grip: Seize the Day
Carpe Diem.
A lot of us first heard "Carpe Diem" (seize the day) in the movie Dead Poets Society. It's a great principle—maybe a fundamental principle for those who dare—and it encompasses ideas like:
Because I've set aside unwarranted worry about what others think and paralyzing fear about how others will respond. Neither the worry nor the fear are gone—I think that vestiges of them will be with me always—but where once they had primacy in my considerations they are now relegated to the rearmost ranks.
Before, if I wanted something I would hesitate to reach for it, fearful that my hand would be slapped. Now, if I want something I reach out boldly. My hand might be slapped, but so far it hasn't been, and if it should, so what? The lesson isn't "Don't reach for what you want," the lesson is "Don't reach for that particular example of what you want." I've been learning the wrong lesson, but I'm finally getting it right.
My life is changing. Not particularly in noble ways, nor at all in ignoble ways; just changing. Change can be "good," and change can be "bad," but change can also just be change, and that's what I'm experiencing. The changes I'm experiencing are for the most part morally neutral, but they make me bolder, happier, more confident, more comfortable, and more transparent (if such a thing is possible).
So Carpe Diem—Seize the Day... and take a good, firm grip. The more unpredictable the challenges, the more important that grip is. Hang on tight—it might be a bumpy ride—but don't hold back for that reason; the tornado might just take you to Oz.
A lot of us first heard "Carpe Diem" (seize the day) in the movie Dead Poets Society. It's a great principle—maybe a fundamental principle for those who dare—and it encompasses ideas like:
- don't wait for the perfect moment
- conformity is not required
- live in the now
- "you only live once" (and yes, I know that's a cliché and I hate the acronymification of it as "YOLO," but the implications of that phrase are apt)
Because I've set aside unwarranted worry about what others think and paralyzing fear about how others will respond. Neither the worry nor the fear are gone—I think that vestiges of them will be with me always—but where once they had primacy in my considerations they are now relegated to the rearmost ranks.
Before, if I wanted something I would hesitate to reach for it, fearful that my hand would be slapped. Now, if I want something I reach out boldly. My hand might be slapped, but so far it hasn't been, and if it should, so what? The lesson isn't "Don't reach for what you want," the lesson is "Don't reach for that particular example of what you want." I've been learning the wrong lesson, but I'm finally getting it right.
My life is changing. Not particularly in noble ways, nor at all in ignoble ways; just changing. Change can be "good," and change can be "bad," but change can also just be change, and that's what I'm experiencing. The changes I'm experiencing are for the most part morally neutral, but they make me bolder, happier, more confident, more comfortable, and more transparent (if such a thing is possible).
So Carpe Diem—Seize the Day... and take a good, firm grip. The more unpredictable the challenges, the more important that grip is. Hang on tight—it might be a bumpy ride—but don't hold back for that reason; the tornado might just take you to Oz.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Changes
(Graphic hopefully coming soon!)
Big changes seem to beget big changes.
As I walk this walk, I find that it is changing me. I find myself making different decisions than I might have a couple of months ago. I find myself behaving differently than I did a couple of months ago. I find myself feeling differently than I did a couple of months ago. I don't think that my values have changed—the same values I have held for some time still prevail, I think—but in response to the massive uncertainty I face, those values must be applied in new ways if I intend to live with integrity.
For example...
I try to make honesty a guiding principle of my life. Even if it will cost me something I want, I try to tell the truth. I try to tell it with kindness and compassion and empathy, but honestly.
So I'm leaving, and I know approximately when, and all of a sudden I'm confronted with opportunities (yes, multiple opportunities) for something I've craved my whole life. I'm not going to say what it is—those of you who know me well can probably guess, but the details aren't really important—but suffice to say that it's something I hunger for and yet something that is incompatible with my imminent departure.
What that means in terms of honesty is that I find myself having to speak a truth that was never the (emotional) truth for me before: "I'm not interested in..."
Another value I hold is emotional availability. It is an important part of who I am that I am emotionally available both to those with whom I already have a relationship—family, friends, students, whatever—and to new, potential friends, students, whatever. Yet with only two months remaining before things will change, I find myself less emotionally available than is my habit. It's still a value, but a value that is tempered by circumstance; while I remain emotionally available to those with whom I am already involved, I'm not available to new friends in the way I would normally be.
Maybe I'm kidding myself—maybe my values are changing, and if so that will give me pause—but I hope that my values remain intact and I'm just applying them in new-but-honest ways to a novel situation. Certainly that's my intention. Still, I find myself a bit at sea and a little uneasy.
Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I'm not sure I always agree, but I will say that any experience that we survive will change us. It may make us stronger, or more sensitive, or wiser, or crueler, or sweeter, or whatever. It might make us better or it might make us worse...what it won't do is leave us unaffected. And the bigger the experience—the greater the disruption—the bigger the change.
I'm becoming more daring (some say "reckless"), I find...not just in resigning and moving, but in other aspects of my life. I'm finding confidence I never had. And while I still feel fear...I am not afraid.
Big changes seem to beget big changes.
As I walk this walk, I find that it is changing me. I find myself making different decisions than I might have a couple of months ago. I find myself behaving differently than I did a couple of months ago. I find myself feeling differently than I did a couple of months ago. I don't think that my values have changed—the same values I have held for some time still prevail, I think—but in response to the massive uncertainty I face, those values must be applied in new ways if I intend to live with integrity.
For example...
I try to make honesty a guiding principle of my life. Even if it will cost me something I want, I try to tell the truth. I try to tell it with kindness and compassion and empathy, but honestly.
So I'm leaving, and I know approximately when, and all of a sudden I'm confronted with opportunities (yes, multiple opportunities) for something I've craved my whole life. I'm not going to say what it is—those of you who know me well can probably guess, but the details aren't really important—but suffice to say that it's something I hunger for and yet something that is incompatible with my imminent departure.
What that means in terms of honesty is that I find myself having to speak a truth that was never the (emotional) truth for me before: "I'm not interested in..."
Another value I hold is emotional availability. It is an important part of who I am that I am emotionally available both to those with whom I already have a relationship—family, friends, students, whatever—and to new, potential friends, students, whatever. Yet with only two months remaining before things will change, I find myself less emotionally available than is my habit. It's still a value, but a value that is tempered by circumstance; while I remain emotionally available to those with whom I am already involved, I'm not available to new friends in the way I would normally be.
Maybe I'm kidding myself—maybe my values are changing, and if so that will give me pause—but I hope that my values remain intact and I'm just applying them in new-but-honest ways to a novel situation. Certainly that's my intention. Still, I find myself a bit at sea and a little uneasy.
Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I'm not sure I always agree, but I will say that any experience that we survive will change us. It may make us stronger, or more sensitive, or wiser, or crueler, or sweeter, or whatever. It might make us better or it might make us worse...what it won't do is leave us unaffected. And the bigger the experience—the greater the disruption—the bigger the change.
I'm becoming more daring (some say "reckless"), I find...not just in resigning and moving, but in other aspects of my life. I'm finding confidence I never had. And while I still feel fear...I am not afraid.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
In the Beginning
Actually, it's not the beginning. The beginning was a couple of months ago, and like most beginnings, it began with an ending.
I thought the rest of my life was pretty straightforward. I thought I knew the future, at least in general. I thought I could make plans on the basis of what I thought things would be like.
I thought wrong.
In one short week, my prospects went from satisfying-if-a-little-boring to grotesque-and-miserable. Things (and people) I thought I could count on changed or turned their coats. My mundane-but-satisfying professional life became a horror.
I still like what I do (I'm a school teacher) and I still like those I serve (students), and I still like and respect (most of) my colleagues. But the well was poisoned, and if I stay, I'll have no choice but to drink it.
That's no way for a self-respecting human being to live if s/he has another choice, and luckily, I do.
(I'm not knocking those who for good and sufficient reasons can't or shouldn't do what I'm—in fact, I envy you your spouses and families and the like—it's just that, for the first time in my life, the lack of those blessings is a positive. If I enjoyed those blessings—and I consider them to be great blessings—there would be no Renegade, "reluctant" or otherwise.)
That rather ugly ending catalyzed my evolution from respectable, predictable, mostly-conforming upright citizen to renegade. It has helped me confront my fears and insecurities, it has forced me to do what is best for me, it has pushed me far out of my comfort zone...and I'm glad. I'm afraid, but I'm exhilarated, too.
As I have evolved, so have my plans. I began the application process for employment in Hawai`i as a teacher while at the same time exploring other opportunities nationwide, with the thought that Hawai`i was my first choice and other options were great consolation prizes and that if nothing else manifested, I'd suck it up and drink the poison ("for just one more year") while I pursued the same kinds of opportunities and additionally applied to MFA (Master of Fine Arts: sort of the PhD of arts disciplines) programs.
But in just a couple of weeks the poison had begun to work on me, and I had to scratch "suck it up" off the list of viable choices. I had to get out; staying was intolerable to me. I began thinking about leaving even if nothing was on offer, and that's when the fear really hit.
I like my security. I like stability. I am not averse to change, but I like to manage it to minimize risk. What I was contemplating offered no security, not stability, and no possibility of managing the risk. It would be a leap of faith.
I don't want you to think that I did all this thinking and considering on my own. I discussed everything with family and friends, all of whom have been enormously supportive throughout. I bounced ideas off my sainted mother and no matter how radical and reckless they were, she saw possibilities in them. My siblings likewise have contributed and continue to contribute to my evolution. Friends and theatre family are part of the collective that has helped me think and choose.
I also don't want you to think I'm unaware of the precious treasures I'm leaving behind, in the form of family, friends, colleagues, students, activities, experiences, and opportunities. I'm keenly aware of the cost of making so radical a change. I count it daily, and treasure the time I have, knowing how short that time is.
Yes, I've decided.
And to make it difficult for me to chicken out, I submitted my letter of resignation last week, effective at the end of this school year's contract term. I'm cutting the cords that bound and secured me to this job, this district, this life. I'm going to rent my house, pack my household, up and go.
If nothing in the way of opportunities is on offer, I'll take myself to Hawai`i, to sink or swim. If I haven't heard by the first of June, I'll buy a one-way ticket and see what I can make of it.
I'm going. I'm going. In some ways, I'm already gone.
I'm going renegade.
I thought the rest of my life was pretty straightforward. I thought I knew the future, at least in general. I thought I could make plans on the basis of what I thought things would be like.
I thought wrong.
In one short week, my prospects went from satisfying-if-a-little-boring to grotesque-and-miserable. Things (and people) I thought I could count on changed or turned their coats. My mundane-but-satisfying professional life became a horror.
I still like what I do (I'm a school teacher) and I still like those I serve (students), and I still like and respect (most of) my colleagues. But the well was poisoned, and if I stay, I'll have no choice but to drink it.
That's no way for a self-respecting human being to live if s/he has another choice, and luckily, I do.
(I'm not knocking those who for good and sufficient reasons can't or shouldn't do what I'm—in fact, I envy you your spouses and families and the like—it's just that, for the first time in my life, the lack of those blessings is a positive. If I enjoyed those blessings—and I consider them to be great blessings—there would be no Renegade, "reluctant" or otherwise.)
That rather ugly ending catalyzed my evolution from respectable, predictable, mostly-conforming upright citizen to renegade. It has helped me confront my fears and insecurities, it has forced me to do what is best for me, it has pushed me far out of my comfort zone...and I'm glad. I'm afraid, but I'm exhilarated, too.
As I have evolved, so have my plans. I began the application process for employment in Hawai`i as a teacher while at the same time exploring other opportunities nationwide, with the thought that Hawai`i was my first choice and other options were great consolation prizes and that if nothing else manifested, I'd suck it up and drink the poison ("for just one more year") while I pursued the same kinds of opportunities and additionally applied to MFA (Master of Fine Arts: sort of the PhD of arts disciplines) programs.
But in just a couple of weeks the poison had begun to work on me, and I had to scratch "suck it up" off the list of viable choices. I had to get out; staying was intolerable to me. I began thinking about leaving even if nothing was on offer, and that's when the fear really hit.
I like my security. I like stability. I am not averse to change, but I like to manage it to minimize risk. What I was contemplating offered no security, not stability, and no possibility of managing the risk. It would be a leap of faith.
I don't want you to think that I did all this thinking and considering on my own. I discussed everything with family and friends, all of whom have been enormously supportive throughout. I bounced ideas off my sainted mother and no matter how radical and reckless they were, she saw possibilities in them. My siblings likewise have contributed and continue to contribute to my evolution. Friends and theatre family are part of the collective that has helped me think and choose.
I also don't want you to think I'm unaware of the precious treasures I'm leaving behind, in the form of family, friends, colleagues, students, activities, experiences, and opportunities. I'm keenly aware of the cost of making so radical a change. I count it daily, and treasure the time I have, knowing how short that time is.
Yes, I've decided.
And to make it difficult for me to chicken out, I submitted my letter of resignation last week, effective at the end of this school year's contract term. I'm cutting the cords that bound and secured me to this job, this district, this life. I'm going to rent my house, pack my household, up and go.
If nothing in the way of opportunities is on offer, I'll take myself to Hawai`i, to sink or swim. If I haven't heard by the first of June, I'll buy a one-way ticket and see what I can make of it.
I'm going. I'm going. In some ways, I'm already gone.
I'm going renegade.
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