by Lauren Randolph
…in which Lauren thinks more about fear…holding on, letting go, changing her mindset just to see what will happen, and quitting her job altogether…
As I learned recently in a presentation given by a Holocaust survivor, who ought to have figured some important things out about life, “When you change gears, you have to release the clutch.” But how do I determine what my metaphorical clutch is?
I’ve been trying to see things differently, sometimes just for the hell of it.
I’ve been feeling more relaxed at work. Feeling less responsibility. Also less fear. Does that mean I have less commitment to excellence? Or – worse – that I care less? I can’t tell. I’m reminded of a rhyme by Dr. Seuss (a former long-time resident of the area I’ve called home for more than 20 years):
“Unless someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It's not.”
But I actually think I’m doing a better job because I’m doing things more consciously with less concern about what others think, less need for approval. Now it’s more about what I think. And I’m more decisive about how I spend my time. That has to make for higher-quality work. (Which, in my mind, is at odds with that annoying notion of productivity.)
I’m curious to see how my performance is rated the next time out – Lollygagging Lolly vs. Busting-Her-Butt Betty. I’m guessing the rating will be comparable. If so, what an interesting message that will be.
Perhaps it’s all about self-confidence. If I know I’m doing a good job, I’ll implicitly convey that to you. If I’m racing to meet a multitude of deadlines, then I’m going to seem harried, and you’ll come away with less faith in my ability to get it all done. Making me look less competent – even if I’m working harder. That’s a 20-year trap I fell so deeply into that I almost couldn’t extricate myself.
This issue nags at the difference between reality and perception. I’ve pretty much decided that the former doesn’t exist and, if it does, it doesn’t matter because the world is driven by perceptions anyway.
The beginning of 2007 gave me a formal chance to drop off a lot of baggage. I wrote down all the things that didn’t agree with me during 2006 and threw the paper into the fire. Sort of an atavistic ritual to symbolically destroy them for good. This was in lieu of writing down New Year’s resolutions (I have the same set as before – lose weight, drink less, get more exercise – so I thought I’d try something different this year).
It was weird coming to work the day after the holidays ended. I expected the mood to be happiness and light at least for a day or two. But in fact, it was more downbeat than I had remembered. I think it’s time to cut the umbilical cord.
I don’t know what to do next. But I don’t think I can start to figure it out until I’m completely away from this place: Being reminded of my disappointment three days a week is proving toxic.
One of my sisters tells me it’s ok to not know what to do next. That’s part of the process.
A friend tells me that, rather than running away from the fear of not knowing, I should embrace it: It a will enrich me. Clearly, not financially, but in other ways.
Pema Chodrön writes about this kind of thing, so I’m exploring a couple of her books: Start Where You Are and The Places that Scare You. (That’s always been my mantra: When confused, find a book that will help you figure it out.)
On the home front, I’m moving from purge mode to rehabilitation – what an appropriate notion at this time in life.
For starters, I’m redoing my kitchen by way of Ikea. This is likely to take longer and cost more than I’m expecting. Or so I’ve been told. That’s ok because it represents another venue for my sweetheart and me to build our life together. Of course it doesn’t hurt that he’s doing all the work. I consider this a match truly made in heaven. He, too, seems pretty happy about it (meaning doing the demolition/construction work he enjoys, having the potential for a lovely and more functional kitchen, and enjoying our relationship). Needless to say, he was not on my list that went into the fire.
My birthday occurs right around the time of EAP publication: 52. So now I can retire without worry that I’m walking in my father’s unintended-retirement-at-51 footsteps. But he hasn’t offered much of an example on where to head from here. So I guess I’ll just start where I am.