Day 195: Roll

So I’m back in Atlanta….

I got up early and started the morning sitting on my front porch, sipping a cup of coffee and enjoying the quiet. I thought about how easy it was to start the day this way up in the mountains. No need to remind myself to start slow and quiet–it just seems like the natural thing to do.

After that, I finished unloading the van–I left the big pieces of furniture in the garage, rather than trying to haul them up a flight of stairs all by myself. Then I showered, dressed, and headed off for my first day at my new job.

My “morning commute” was a fifteen minute drive on a mountain road. A little different from Atlanta….

I spent the rest of the morning starting to settle into my new office–putting books on shelves, and pictures on top of file cabinets. I signed a bunch of papers and made an appointment with my dean.

Then my phone rang.

My wife called to tell me that her father’s condition continues to deteriorate. It was unlikely we were talking about weeks anymore. Most likely, her father would pass away in the next few days. She needed me to come back to Atlanta by tonight to take the kids, so that she could stay with her mother without the additional distraction.

So, six hours later, and here I am.

I wish I could say that I was the epitome of compassion when my wife called, but to be honest all day, on and off, I have been fighting against feeling pretty selfish, irrational, and immature: this was not how I imagined my first day of our new life in the mountains! How am I supposed to enjoy this great, new beginning when now it is all tangled up in a death?

It embarrasses me to own up to such petty feelings, but that’s what I was struggling with today.

So now I’m trying to roll with whatever comes our way. My wife is back with her parents, sitting by her father’s side. I am back in our “old” house (yeah, yeah I know: I only left yesterday but that’s how it feels), surrounded by all sorts of packing and cleaning that still needs to be done. More likely than not I will be attending a funeral soon. If not soon, then I will be heading up to the mountains again with the kids by this week’s end.

Much as I was certain I had a hard-and-fast deadline, and a timetable to contend with (start work on this date; finish packing up the house by that date), now all bets are off.

And honestly: isn’t that the way things usually turn out when you think you have nailed life down to a schedule?

So: I have a choice. I could rail against reality, and insist that the world should be the way I say it should be. Or, I could accept what I cannot change, and adapt to the world as it presents itself.

In all honesty, it will probably end up being a mixture of the two, but lets hope there’s more accepting than railing over the next few days.

 

 

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Day 194: Realize

I guess I mean that in both senses of the word.

Even though just the other day I was writing about how my departure from Atlanta feels more like a gradual dissolve than an abrupt transition, today things felt pretty real.

This morning my oldest son and I loaded up the van with as much furniture as it would hold–things that we could use in our home for the next year–plus several more boxes, all of our coats and jackets, and all of my clothes. Then he and I moved just about the last remaining large pieces of furniture into the pod, plus a few more small items.

Shortly after lunch, my wife loaded the kids into the car and drove down to see her parents. I puttered around for a bit, packing a few more things into the van and taking care of a minor chore in the house. Then I got in the van and headed north.

And that’s when it really hit me. I’m really leaving.

I had a wave of sadness come over me. Sure, I am very excited about our move. But as I started to head out of the city, I started to think about the people I would be seeing far less frequently. It’s not “goodbye” by any means–but there’s going to be a much bigger gap between “see you later” and “how have you been.” Sure, I will see some of the people I will miss the most in just a few more days when I come back to Atlanta–but today, I felt the loss of having these important people in my daily life.

To complicate matters even more: my wife called me from her parent’s house this evening to tell me that her father is doing very poorly right now. Given his condition, he could pass away if not in days, than in a matter of weeks. Needless to say, she is torn: there is still more work to be done over the next few days, but obviously she also needs to be with her father and her mother right now.

All of this has made our transition seem more complicated… and more final.  It is also a forceful reminder that as this period of change realizes over the next few weeks and months, at some point the only power we will have to affect that change is: to remain open to what it brings–good or bad, joyful or heartbreaking– and to be attentive to the process as it unfolds.

So I’m up in the mountains now, writing this entry. It’s a beautiful, quiet night. I ate my dinner out on the porch, taking in the quiet and enjoying the cool breeze. And I’m thinking about my wife, and her father. And I’m thinking about my friends. And I’m thinking about all the new firsts that will start for me tomorrow when I arrive on campus for my first official day.

I suppose that’s as real as it gets.

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Day 193: Modulate

I started off today hauling polystyrene and musty, old cardboard boxes to the recycling center–and I ended the day contemplating a trip to an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Let me explain.

I keep plugging along at packing up our house. Part of that process is the less-than-glamorous task of getting rid of 11 years’ worth of accumulated junk. In addition to the polystyrene and cardboard, I also recycled about two dozen gallon-sized cans of half-used, old paint, and one old computer, plus I shred a huge box of shred-worthy documents, and I dropped off a five-piece sectional sofa at the Salvation Army.

But today was also the last day of my oldest boy’s event in his National Championship. So on top of all of these grotty tasks, I also had to make sure he was at the gym on time and ready to compete. So at around 2pm I had to shift from dirty, mindless labor to high-adrenaline preparation.

And he did really, really well at this event–well enough, in fact, to qualify for a World competition in New Caledonia, which is (in case you haven’t guess it yet) off in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

I don’t think we will have the time or resources to commit to this trip, to be honest, but the point here isn’t whether or not we go to New Caledonia–it’s about how each of us, on any given day, needs to modulate between very different ways of being. One moment, I’m schlepping recycling. The next minute I’m celebrating my son’s major athletic achievements.

So does this mean that mono-tasking is an unrealistic ideal? Are we all, by nature, a tangle of multiple headings?

It’s important for me to distinguish between my (often failed) attempts at multi-tasking and the kind of modulation I am talking about here–from one context to the next, or from one set of responsibilities to another. The key, for me at least, is to be able to be attentive and present for whatever is in front of me right now–and then to be able to shift and modulate that attention to the next, new set of circumstances as they arise.

The goal: to be as present as possible in each moment in a series of very different moments–and to not let the memory of a past moment, or the anticipation of a future moment, pull me too far off beam.

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Day 192: Dissolve

It’s been an odd day that has me thinking a lot about change and transition.

Today was my last day on campus at my old job. On Monday, I will be starting my first full day at my new job in North Carolina.

But actually, I will be back on campus at my old job a week from today. I still have a couple of loose ends to tie up before I turn in my keys, my ID, and my parking pass. So instead of saying “Goodbye” to my Program Assistant today, I said “See you next week.”

And since I’m coming back to Atlanta on Thursday night to finish packing, I’m planning to see some friends that weekend as well–and probably get in a last climb at our gym. So instead of saying farewell, I’ve been making plans for when and where to meet.

So even though we have this big transition on the horizon, the shift from one life to another is, in this instance, not as clear cut as I might have imagined some time back. To put it in movie terms: where I had expected a jump cut, I’m finding a dissolve.

It makes for a very different experience of leaving.

Perhaps, though, it’s just good, old-fashioned denial kicking in. Perhaps things will look differently in retrospect. In three months’ time, perhaps all I will see is a clear-cut line between then and now.

For now, though, there’s not a lot of black and white. It’s all a bit gray.

To be honest, I suppose I have been in this middle zone for a little while now. What’s a bit surprising, though, is to discover, like some odd version of Zeno’s paradox,  just how many steps it takes to cross a threshold.

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Day 191: Enumerate

Nineteen.

There–that doesn’t sound like too much, does it? I walked around the house today and counted up the number of pieces of furniture that still need to be loaded up into the pods. So now I’m thinking to myself:

All I have left to do is load up those 19 items. Why, that’s not even 20! I can do that.

That’s a much better thought than what had been running through my head before, which was something along the lines of:

Aeeeghaargghhh!!!!

We’re definitely at the crunch stage, and it’s pretty easy to start feeling overwhelmed with everything that still needs to be completed. But here’s the bizarre thing I’ve discovered: it’s just as easy to relax, breathe, and realize that whatever needs to be done will get done. And of course, it’s not as though we are traveling to the other end of the earth, and it’s not as though someone is breathing down our back to move into this house. The truth is: even if we don’t get every last thing packed, we will still be in good shape when we all leave for North Carolina next week.

In other words: All shall be well.

So today I carried out another couple of items and loaded them into the pod. And I dragged a few more things outside for the donation truck to pick up tomorrow morning. And I threw away a few more items that have no use or value to anyone.

Little by little, we are getting there.

And soon enough, we will be past this period of transition… and into our next period of change!

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Day 190: Orchestrate

We have to coordinate a lot of moving pieces right now.

I just got done writing out a couple of paragraphs’ worth of details explaining all the things that need to be done by about a half dozen people in order for us to get our house on the market. Then I deleted the whole thing. The details don’t matter–and they’re pretty boring to read, I might add.

What was important about today was that for a brief moment, I was very aware of how many people’s lives are tangled up in the sale of this one little piece of property–the men doing work on the house, my realtor, her photographer, the woman she uses to clean the house, the families who are looking to buy homes before the school year starts–and of course, my own family.

And each of us has our own timeline, our own priorities, and our own needs. It’s easy to act as if my priorities are the most important, but of course the truth is that we are all interdependent upon each other in non-trivial ways.

It was a gift this morning, when I was trying to coordinate all of these individual timelines, to have that insight–that even though this is my house we are selling, ultimately it is an ensemble performance, not a solo act.

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Day 189: Savor

I have become obsessed with orejas. No, not the body part: the Mexican pan dulce.

We have a great bakery that has opened up just around the corner–La Calavera Bakery. They specialize in a range of awesome breads as well as Latino sweets. Orejas are ear-shaped (well, if you have a good imagination they are ear-shaped) flaky pastries with a crisp, sugar glaze. And they are delicious.

This morning I stopped by and picked up four–one for myself, and three for my co-workers. I don’t think I had backed out of my parking space before I had started in on my pastry, and I was probably halfway through with it before I caught myself.

Then I slowed down. I didn’t pull over the car to savor each bite in true, monotasking splendor… but I did slow down enough to taste what I was eating, and actually enjoy it.

There’s a lot to be said about savoring–and not just the pastry. I’ve reflected before on the truth that we all try to ignore: that today could well be my last. But it’s good for me to have that perspective to help me remember to appreciate the moment I am living, and not to take it for granted. Of course, I have a far less permanent “last” on my horizon–in just a few days, I will be leaving the city that has been my home for twenty years. Each time I make a habitual trip to one of my usual haunts (or new discoveries, as the case may be) around this city, I am aware that it may be the last time I do so for quite a long time.

So today–when I could be present and aware enough to do so–I reflected on all the things that I should be savoring–especially the little stuff: like right now, taking a moment from writing this blog to look out of the second story window of my house and into my backyard. It’s not that it is such an amazing view–but it is a view that will soon be gone.

It is too easy for me to get caught up in all of this moving process. Yes, there are things that need to be done, but not at the expense of savoring the moment in front of me.

Especially if that moment involves a yummy pastry.

 

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Day 188: Punt

Well, it’s the third time in 188 days…that’s better than an 98% completion rate, but I still feel a bit bad about punting on a post.

But it’s nearly 2am….

My middle child had a birthday/going-away party tonight. His plan: Indian food at our place, then a drive-in movie, then a sleep-over.

So…the movie started late and ran for over two and a half hours. I won’t tell you what we saw, but lots of things smashed into lots of other things.

The boys are still awake downstairs… but I am beat.

So the best thing I can do for myself–and my family–is to get some sleep. Tomorrow morning will be here soon enough!

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Day 187: Narrate

Sorry if these posts seem a bit truncated lately–it will probably remain that way for the next week as we go through the final push of loading up for the move… that and my oldest son’s National Championship, which happens to fall on the same week.

Anyway, on to tonight’s entry….

Have you ever told your story? It’s an interesting challenge, and one I would encourage you to attempt. How would you tell the story of your life? Or if not your “whole” life, then some part of it–your professional life, your married life, your recovery from an illness.

There’s great power in storytelling–for the ones who hear the story, but also for the teller of the tale. Sketching out the path of your life provides a way of making meaning (or if you prefer: finding the meaning) in our choices and actions. It helps us see where we were, and how we arrived at where we are at. And that path need not be straight. More likely than not, it will look more like the tacking of a sailboat than the flight of an arrow.

I’ve had a number of opportunities to “tell my story” in its multiple versions and flavors. More than a decade ago, a friend and I spent several weeks in a row working through Dan Wakefield”s The Story of Your Life, which is a great tool for exploring your life story in word and image. I haven’t done anything quite that formal in a while, but there is something to be said about incorporating life storytelling into some form of contemplative practice.

Then again, there’s also a lot to be said about those more informal opportunities for storytelling that seem to arise every day, in so many contexts.

I suppose in some ways this blog is telling my story of this year–but at a level of daily insight. Sometimes, though, it helps to step back to see the path and pattern.

And of course, the most interesting thing about a life narrative is that it is an open-ended story.

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Day 186: Undo

Just a short post on the impermanence of all things–and just how ordinary an experience that can be.

Earlier this year, I was focusing quite a bit on trying to “dedicate” spaces around the house to a more intentional sense of utility and purpose–the dining room as a space for sharing meals, the den as a hearth, and our bedroom as a refuge.

And now it is all coming undone as more and more of that household makes its way into boxes and out the front door.

I first commented on this shift about a month ago, when the packing really started to pick up pace. At the time, I was focusing on the need to create a little space of order in the midst of all of the chaos. There’s not a lot of opportunity for that right now….

Today, I took the legs off of the dining room table and hauled it out to the pod, along with the couch and the last remaining chair in the den. There is still plenty of livable space in the house, but it is feeling less and less like our home.

Soon, though, all of this packing and purging will be over, and we will be settling into an entirely new phase of our lives, with an entirely new set of challenges.

And of course, whatever life we settle into during the next few months… that too will change, as our lives continue to unfold.

It’s not the first time I’ve quoted Emerson in moments like this, and it probably won’t be the last:

“Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth, that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another dawn risen on mid–noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens.”

 

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