Turning Point

New Year's Eve

Pearl Street Starbucks

A time comes when there are so many reasons to go that you know it's time; the center cannot hold, the balancing act can't continue.  You realize you're needed and wanted much more in a different universe.  I woke up this morning inventorying in my mind the removal and disposal of all the stuff in my office at work--perhaps the tide has turned?  What does one do with heavy glass recognition plaques marking one's 5, 15, 20 years at a company one must ultimately leave?  And what of all the books on leadership, Agile development, and more--would anyone else even want them?

I'll keep the six tiny carved laughing Buddhas; not so sure about the fountain with the stalk of bamboo growing in it.  How about the beautiful flowering cactus?  Yes.  I can surely keep it alive.

Many will envy me if I make this move and never guess how terrifying it is.  Shall I tell myself a different story?  It's not terrifying, but thrilling to imagine moving beyond this phase in my life to something new and potentially far more fulfilling.  

The sun obligingly shines through the Starbucks window and reflects a prism rainbow right across my journal page--purple-blue, then brilliant green fading to yellow, then orange and red.  A beautiful sign that taking care of myself and my family first is surely the right path, not selfish but wise beyond analysis, something that in the end I will not regret because of the new experiences I'll encounter on the next leg of the journey.  It is indeed a journey--not a final destination to save even more money so I'll finally, finally feel secure.  Nothing's secure anyway.  I have only to count already fallen friends and family to know that all is ephemeral, including the prism rainbow already fading from my page but marked by me while it was there in the moment as a sign, noticed before it was quickly gone, giving me a moment's joy.

To notice more--this is part of the journey; to be here now.  The unhappiness comes with fear of the future and regret about the past, but not from now.  Now contains joy and contentment and wonder.  Just remembering to breathe and be grateful for the oxygen can be such a relief.  Releaf?  And my current work becomes less important in a relative sense as my priorities change from more security and money to more time. 

Time to move on.

Martha Beck says:  "The way we do anything is the way we do everything."

The way I do things is to think, think, think.  This has left me with less ability right now to listen to myself (or others) and learn the heart's deepest desires.  But I'm hearing more and more clearly now.

Magically, the prism rainbow returns to illuminate my page!  A sign to be sure, if I‘m willing to tell myself that story. The colors are even more glorious than before and the joy returns.  Surely I'm on the right path.  I don't want to stop writing because I'm enjoying the rainbow so much.  I move the page so my hand doesn't block the light.

The message:  Do not allow yourself to block the beauty and happiness, for it is surely you alone who block them when they're right there!

The way you do anything is the way you do everything.  My way tends to include much cautious analysis.  I seek full assurance that everything will be okay and all my decisions will be the right ones.  In the last third of any life there is only one guarantee:  it will end.  All the rest is a crapshoot.  How do I want to spend the last third of my life?  What things no longer give me pleasure but are instead breaking my heart, and why do I still cling to them?

Martha Beck again:  "Everything I've ever taught boils down to this--I cannot believe people keep paying me to say this--if something feels really good for you, you might want to do it, and if something feels really horrible, you might want to consider not doing it.  Thank you, give me my $150."

Carpe Diem.