Coming up on Transitions

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First let me get some snippets out of the way.

My cat, he is bugging me. Cat! When you want attention, you stretch up to my leg and scratch the chair, sometimes snagging me as well. Stop it; it hurts. Then, after I invite you up, you fake a jump, then purr loudly at my feet instead of just jumping up like I know you want to do. And no, I am not going to pick you up simply to make your life easier. Jumping into my lap is some of the only exercise you get. If I deprived you of that, soon, you'd be able to move even less! I will not indulge your learned helplessness. Work those muscles! ...Okay, now you're good. Just try not to interfere with my typing, okay?

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It was summer forever and now the backs of my hands are all cold again. What happened? Oh, my usual circulation. It's the first week of cold hands for the next several months.


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I mentioned mid-life transition in my last post. The cliche is that you turn 40 and run off with the cabana boy or buy a red convertible. It never occurred to me that such a thing would have anything to do with *me*.

Well, it turns out, it happens to just about everybody. My theory is that it's only a crisis if you deny it or resist the change until it blows up in your face.

Also, apparently, mid-life transition typically starts rumbling in the mid-thirties.

But in my early-mid-thirties, I did not know any of this. I was in a job that I enjoyed, but under management that drove me crazy. I couldn't really move laterally, so I ditched it and went in a new direction, went back to school, threw myself into this. It was so good for me, both the direction and the being back in school, learning new competencies. I was also lucky that at that point, my husband-to-be was extremely supportive.

I was also feeling some unsettled moods... not really moods, but underlying rumblings of existential portent.

Then we went away on the other side of the country for one Summer. One of those extended conferences. The plan was that I would entertain myself while M was in class/meetings all day, then we'd travel and sight-see on the weekends. Not a problem to entertain myself. I bring projects, I get a local library card, I go on local tours and bird-walks, that kind of thing. I'd have fun exploring the area during the day. And we sure did have fun traveling and sight-seeing.

Yeah, so it turned into a mini-retreat. Or a major retreat. It turns out that in that area, one could not spend that much time outside. I spent a LOT of time inside, listening to music, reading, writing, dreaming. I mostly loved it. I was a respite from my everyday life, keeping me so busy that I hadn't had time to reflect. The reflecting, though, was hard.

I was fortunate that I had brought one of those life exploration books with me. This one was called The Three Boxes of Life and How to Get Out of Them (An introduction to life/work planning) by Richard Bolles. The author is more famous for his "What Color is Your Parachute" series, but this book suited me fine. It's more of a workbook with lots of encouragement to explore and consider. M had actually pointed out to me months earlier that I didn't seem very happy with my work situation, and that maybe I should consider another direction. He is an amazing sweetie giving me that kind of loving nudge, but oh, I resisted that. I fought against that idea that I should "give up" what I'd wanted and worked for. (Does this sound at all familiar in respect to later events? *ahem*)

But with lots of free time on my hands, I gave myself permission to consider that my current direction, that I had spent so much time in training and trying to make a career out of (in addition to the challenge of working for myself), was really not working for me. I had somehow slipped into the mode of valuing quality over quantity, and this career that I'd spent so much time on was a polar opposite from what I wanted. Ack!

So in this book, I explored all kinds of new things, considered radically different ideas for myself, even careers that I have never heard of, based on my aptitudes and interests.

In the library, I searched for things like the search for meaning. I found things like, ummm that woman who has written some wonderful books. Yes, the Secret Life of Bees (that I'd read earlier) and others. I'll edit her name in when I get a chance to track it down. She's *wonderful*! I read her book about her own search for meaning, a painful but ultimately fulfilling reassessment of who she was, her life, her faith, her all. She wove parts of the narrative together so well, but not linearly. It was perfect for reading a half chapter then musing.... Sue Monk Kidd, that's her name. There you go: the elder mind creaking into gear. :)

I will tell you frankly that SMK's books gave me solace. I was not alone in the scary straits of what they hell am I doing and what is my life.

Then at a bookstore, I stumbled across a book by an Australian author, Robyn Vickers-Willis, called Navigating Midlife: Women Becoming Themselves. Despite its flaws, the big light bulb went on, and I thought--ahhhh! Is THIS what has been going on? Hey, cool, maybe she has some insights that will help me figure out where I am going.

And that's enough for one night.... :) Love ya chicas! More tomorrow.

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