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Are We?

"Having Trouble Coping With Post Pandemic Life?" The headline blared at me this morning on my phone (side note - I am so dependent on Apple products at this point, it's hopeless), and yes, all around us are the questions and stories of "trying to get back to normal." But that headline prompted my most cynical morning affirmation... "Are we?"

Is this really "post pandemic"? It's a fair question, one we ought to ask harder and more often and not assume we know the answer. The logic for "post pandemic" generally goes: a) most of us are vaccinated; b) we're trying to get back to normal; and c) all those statistics about cases and hospitalizations and deaths are headed in the... right direction, right? So it's, you know, kind of over, right?

There are a lot of reasons o doubt that train of logic, questions and details and actual statistics that belie the hopefulness. More to the point there's a reality many Americans don't like: we've been trying to declare this thing over since literally before it began. Some of that, yes, was Trump, his team, and their incompetence. Some of it, yes, was other Republicans and folks on the right following Trump's lead or politicizing what really should have been based on science and public health guidance. All bad, sure. But the toehold that allowed those claims and complaints to take root was America's general impatience and the closing of our society, the most open and free moving in the world.

The point is, this isn't over when we say it is. We won't have "normal" because we insist that everything be "normal." The pandemic is over when we can say, safely, that the risk of contracting a deadly illness is no longer a major threat, when we can treat the disease and prevent death, and when we can fully and safely resume the lifestyle and behaviors we had previously, free from worry for ourselves, and others.

And most surely, we are not there. And here's a quick pass at why:

• The threat of variants: Covid 19 is highly contagious and easily spread. That has not changed, and the Delta variant is showing, yet again, that the disease moves faster than we can track. Given the concerns that variants may be vaccine resistant, it is way too soon to drop reasonable cautions.
• We Are The World. While America ranges from 40-70% adults vaccinated depending on region, almost no other country in the world is close to where we are, except Israel. Most obviously, this (still) affects international travel; but more basically, "post pandemic" is not just us. It is when a substantial majority of the world can resume, safely.
• What about the children? the pace and timing of vaccinations has meant that we won't resume anything like normal schooling until this fall, a reality that puts off for at least 3 months a lot of hard questions and unforeseen issues that may arise as we try to resume fully in person, 5 day a week schooling. For now, families are trying to set up normal kid summers around vacations and camp... and even that isn't quite working. It's cavalier to assume that we won't find, as August drifts into September, that simply restarting school is more complicated than anyone realizes.
• Staffing. And about that camp, and that restaurant, and that airline: what seemed at first like mere conservative hysteria has laid bare the complexities of "getting back to work": the workers aren't where they were, and they're not going back. It's hard to simply undo furloughs. And seasonal employment means nothing after 18 months of seasonless everything. Yesterday, I checked the local commuter train station parking lot, and while it's fuller... the lot was 3/4 empty at 9am. That says to me that we are far away from anything like what life was like before.

Yesterday the Washington Post sneaked a peek at an upcoming book detailing the failures of Trump and his team in managing the pandemic. I suspect, for many, it will be easy to make those bad actions the focus of our failures in this pandemic. And in many ways, he should. But even without him, or with him gone, we struggle to treat this pandemic as a pandemic - an ongoing problem that will, for the foreseeable future, impact our lives, our choices, and hinder attempts to restore normalcy. That, really, is still on us... the rebels, the privileged, the fortunate few who have endured some minor hardship, but come through largely health and intact. Are we "having trouble coping with "post pandemic life"? Or are we really, just, you know, the problem?

Coming Home

About six months ago, I made a strange, and wondrous, and scary decision to do the thing I'd always wanted to do: work from home, focus on writing, and see how that works out.

Obviously, it wasn't an entirely voluntary decision - in the sense that, it's not a decision that would have made nearly as much sense had we not been in the middle of absolute crazy time. 

It's weird, living through a pandemic. It's remarkable, to me, how clarifying the past year has been: how quickly it separated the things that are absolutely necessary (say, to stay alive) from the less than essential (going to the movies, for instance). In almost an instant, everything I'd based my decision making on - is that fun? do I want things? - was replaced with "what will keep my mother from catching a deadly infection." Ordering groceries to be delivered. Going to deserted parks. Life became, in so many ways, so much simpler.

Even when I went back to work (after a 3 month leave, essentially, to make sure mom was as safe as possible), I found trying to resume old routines was impossible without applying my newfound clarity. And, within months, that same newfound clarity was finding myself asking "what work really is most important and ultimately, most satisfying?" 

And so, I came back to what I've always wanted to do most - be here, and write.

I haven't done much. if any, specific pandemic posting; it's not what I think of as "my blog." Plus, I'm not sure it's exactly fascinating - we've all been at home, more or less. It's not easy. But somehow... we carry on.

But what was really interesting to me, what has been interesting in a voyage of discovery that, to my surprise has been generally positive, is discovering life at home. This life is not what I expected or planned. And it has been eye opening. 

For years, I threw myself into work. I went in early, stayed late, worked hard, Laundry, cleaning... home tasks came a distant second. My day off was "catch up on projects." I would tell myself that, one day, I would tackle some bigger plans, really "get organized." Somehow, the time for that was never quite there.

When I got home this past November, and began tackling those very projects... I quickly realized that I had been kidding myself. For years. These were not small projects. Getting my room together, organizing clothes, really making my desk a proper writing pace, starting to do research.... this was a lot of work. It was the work I'd put off to do... other work. And, as it turned out, tackling these 'minor home projects" was also valuable. And satisfying, And required attention and care.

This past Christmas was the first in years where we had a reasonable time to prepare. It was relaxed and festive and I didn't feel, for once, as it was rushed or ended too soon. I discovered the time to invest in making great coffee every morning, making that healthy fruit smoothie I was starting to like having around, to show up for volunteer activities I'd been missing. And, working on the book project that fueled this switch, I'm discovering that writing and editing is really work I love and love to pursue. 

It's easy in this pandemic to focus on the privations, the limitations, the struggles... the losses and the distance. I'm not made for that - life is too full of possibilities and hope and the chance to grow. There has got to be some good to find in all of this. Or we will just have to make it.

And this isn't to dismiss the work I used to do. I ran into a young woman at my old store the other night. She had started a month before I left, it was her first job, and her second day it rained badly and she got soaked walking to work. She was in tears, felt defeated and wanted to quit. I sat her down, talked to her, and eventually told her to go home and I would cover her day out. Now, happily, she's working there full time, and she knows that my assistance is what kept her there and she thanked me.  I miss the opportunity to be a part of that.

Growing up, I read Erma Bombeck a lot; her essays on life, suburban living and homemaker based feminism was humorous and inspiring; I recommend her highly. And, just like some man, I find myself writing about discovering laundry and cooking as if it was some sort of mystical land, and of course, it's not. But I will credit the pandemic with the opportunity to step back, reassess life as I've known it, and discover things I never quite knew. Coming home, being home... it does feel right, and okay. There will be time to figure out what life looks like after a pandemic, when we get there. And I know it's not possible for everyone... but we have been given, by fate and by disease, a real chance to reassess what life in America looks like. At the very least, we ought to explore what that might look like.

This Year, To Save Me From Tears, I'll Give It To Someone Special...

I didn't intend to go quiet on blogging for over six months... but then, I didn't exactly plan on a global pandemic on top of what was already a disastrous presidency either. Life is funny that way. Things don't always work out as planned.

Like so many, it has been a tumultuous year, one of those years that underlines you will end a year not in the place you started. When we started I was mainly concerned about what we could do to make sure we had a better President. Now, that's kind of a distant second to figuring out what steps will be best to
protect the life of my 85 year old mother.

She's fine, and we're coping - which has definitely been the saving grace of all of this. And we did our part in supporting and pushing for what is now, ultimately, the start of a Biden era, the era many of us didn't know we wanted going in, but seems like the only option after all that's happened. Who knew Joe Biden's mix of unspectacular competence and lack of ego would suddenly be superpowers? The very things that, for years, had made him not quite a star among Democrats - the guy who with good ideas but just not quite enough pizzazz to be President - suddenly became not just the best answer, but pretty much the only answer. There will be time enough to lament various aspects of Biden - he wears his flaws as openly as his strengths -  but his calm, effective, and competent manner of showing up and doing the work is very much the right thing at just the right moment.

Its all over but the shouting... and goodness, what shouting. Trump was never going to leave quietly or rationally, and like everything in this 4 year tragicomedy of massive errors, knowing that this would go badly is still not the same as going through it. "Coup" or not, "challenge to democracy" or simply desperate attempts to get your way... Trump remains, to the (very) bitter end a Tyrant of the Toy Shop whose tantrums could be checked, if only the Republican party had a competent grown up to step in.

But they didn't and they don't and we continue to reap the whirlwinds, such as they are. As I write, we await word from the Supreme Court that they will (likely) turn away the last gasp lawsuit of the Texas Attorney General whose "pandering for pardons" gambit had to be sufficiently Texas sized to break through. Ken Paxton's lawsuit will be laughed out of court, but with sufficient seriousness to all but guarantee his Christmas wish of a pardon broad enough to make his federal investigations go away. And like so many of these upcoming pardons, it raises the interesting question of "how you can be pardoned for something you said you didn't even do?"

But of course, we will be living in Trumpworld until midnight on January 19th, a fantasy world where criminality is just a dressy outfit at the Grifters Ball. These terrible people, and their awful ways are just part of how life is, for now, anyway. We shall see what the new era, the return to decency looks like come next month -- and not a moment before. But when we do, I suspect a lot of what has been quietly put up with, not talked about, or not brought to justice, will likely face a comeuppance. I know, it doesn't look like that now. Not yet, anyway. But part of why Trump lost -- and despite our "it was too close" anxiety, was pretty much inevitable -- was how much of this indecency was simply unsustainable. Short of walking into stores, opening the registers and simply putting the cash in their wife's purse, how much more could we pretend was just acceptable? 

It's been a hard year. It's been a gross, atrocious 4 years of living the nightmare of this presidency. And while the way out of this will not be a sudden snap of waking up... I do suspect that the transition will be more of a whiplash than we can see from here. There is, of course, the last stages of disease and death we have yet to face before, hopefully, the vaccines and a real public health operation help us, finally, get past the pandemic. But there is a sense, calmly, of order being restored. With each announcement, every press appearance, Joe Biden reasserts the power of a presidency most of us remember as the Real Thing. And slowly, steadily, even sadly, the farce of Trump returns to its rightful place -- on the fringes, a sideshow for true believers and sycophantic saps too proud or too bitter to admit that, yet again, they've been had.

Last Christmas, for my family anyway, it was barely a Christmas. We had health issues, and work/life balance to contend with. This year, like so many, we are trying to create Christmas, and find a Christmas spirit, early and brightly. This year really is becoming a season of light - literally, all over town, all over America. Decorations are going up. Tress are coming out. This year.. to save us from a pandemic, we are trying to make Christmas actually special. And really... isn't that reason enough to have at least a little bit of hope?

The New Normal

Hello, yeah, it's been awhile...

At first, it seemed like a weird, interesting foreign news story gone terribly wrong. When reporters first described an epidemic in the Wuhan province of China spreading rapidly and causing concerns, it was hard to see what was coming.

The things you realize, after the fact.

I think of Phuket, Thailand and the tsunami, the people who headed out into dry seabed as the ocean receded so far out that people couldn't believe the water had vanished from the shore. It means "run" but who knows that, in the moment?

I now feel like, maybe, I would have been one of those standing on the beach. Maybe a little too long.

As things go, I was maybe sort of lucky. Yes, the panic shopping was already underway, the virus most likely already out and about in my Westchester community, north of New Rochelle. As international travelers came home and cruise lines started to implode, it's hard not to realize that the people who live those lives and take those trips... are your neighbors. Like maybe we should worry. Like maybe we need to take some steps. We were too late. I see that now. Asking questions days, weeks after they needed to start being asked.

(And still, yesterday, the Governor of Florida finally thought, hey, maybe it's time we told that state to stay at home. Yesterday.) 

Still, as I often do, I had a vacation planned for my birthday, the second week of March. Maybe a side trip to Boston to see old friends. Needless to say, that didn't happen as "the Biogen Meeting" blew up. And come the end of that week, staring down the obvious implications of an epidemic now underway in my state, in my county, in the town three towns away... suddenly, living with an 85 year old mother with complicating conditions didn't seem incidental. Not anymore.

Three weeks (and counting) later, the world is... different. In so many ways. Life is lived at home, as we do now, communicating by phone and videoconference and Zoom and watching cable news with agitation and alarm.

There are, of course, many things to be said, many observations to be made. And suddenly, again, I find myself with all the time in the world to write them down. Interesting, that. Some have suggested that Gen X is uniquely equipped to handle this epidemic... I don't feel as confident as all that. I can say that, much like Rachel Maddow and numerous friends of a certain age, living through 9/11 and the early days of the AIDS epidemic does at least give one some markers to work from as this unfolds... not necessarily good or happy ones. You learn some things about people, and groups, in emergencies. Not a lot of them are good.

I think of And The Band Played On (I really must dig up my copy from the basement) -- the story of Anthony Fauci's other big job -- and that moment when one of the CDC shouted at Blood Center execs "how many dead bodies do you need, because we can come back then" about instituting testing controls over blood donations. I think of the leaders putting off stay at home orders, keeping all kinds of falderal open, not doing enough to convince people they, too, are at risk.

I think of those panicked calls on 9/11, when people didn't know where friends, family, spouses were - on a plane, in the Tower, somewhere in Manhattan. How empty Times Square was on the morning of 9/12 (I was there, virtually alone). I look at that empty Times Square and those darkened theaters and empty hotels and I know they come back... eventually. But we are different. We are changed. We just don't know quite how. Not yet.

We try to find the light in this darkness - it's Christmas for introverts! Your cat never wanted you home this much! - but there's a lot of darkness, and so little light. We can't begin to admit, even to ourselves, a lot, how long this could go on, how bad it will get, the people we may very likely lose. Keep calm and carry on. Try to order the groceries online. Try to remember what six feet apart looks like. Try not to panic when you cough. Or someone else coughs. Try not to lie awake, mentally ticking off every cramp, every breath... because who knows if we got it. Or have it. Or will get it.

Gloria Gaynor showed us you can sing I Will Survive when you wash your hands. I mean... we will, right? And so I'm back, from outer space. Back at my desk. Back to the future. Back against the wall. I have no idea how we get through this, how we get used to the new normal. I wasn't really all that keen on the old normal. But like 9/11, like life before AIDS... it does always seem to go that you don't know what you... well, you get the idea.

What Will We Tell The Children?

Within moments of the election results sinking in, a plaintive - and very beguiling - cry went up in the school pickup lines and Trader Joe parking lots of coastal suburbs... "What will we tell the children?"

When I started this blog some - eek - ten years ago, I was the Uncle of a lively 5 year old, and shortly after, an adorable newborn. Today, I am the uncle of a moody 14 year old, a rambunctious 9 year old, and an inquisitive 3 year old. And not until we landed in Israel (where the nephews now live) the week after the Access Hollywood tape, did it occur to me that talking about this election with kids was a dicey, uncomfortable affair.

These are the days of Mom Blogs and Helicopter parenting, and child rearing is never very far from the discussion of lefty politics these days. Generations X and Y have both moved into the marriage and family phase, and it's hardly surprising that, on white people, it's like thirtysomething brought to life. Sensitive dads trying to forge a new role for men as parents; modern moms balancing work and life interests of their own with raising thinking, active, aware kids. The campaign of Donald Trump was bound to roil these wholesome waters. It's uncomfortable, and surely, uncharted territory. Quick, find me a child rearing expert with a PhD to offer professional advice!

The notion of a protected, sacred childhood comes largely out of the Victorian era, a response to some of the horrors of the Industrial Age, and a companion to the enshrining of women's roles as keepers of the home and caretakers of the domestic sphere. It's primarily an upper middle class notion, aimed at women with successful, financially secure husbands, and quite possibly domestic help. And, naturally, it's these "traditional" notions that still haunt how we see children, and women, even as times, and cultural notions, shift. Feminism brought women into the workforce, up-ended the traditional family through divorce and sexual freedom, and led to the economic reality of 2 career couples. Through it all, we continue to carry notions of the protected childhood forward.

We do this even though we know that children see, hear and are exposed to all kinds of ideas and notions and images. We do this knowing that children are not, often, safe or protected. We do it knowing that children often chafe over it. And we wonder, these days, why children seem to struggle so with understanding when it's time to grow up.

It was my mother who pointed out to me that these notions of protecting children are probably not all that useful, that it's better probably to make sure they do understand how the world works, that it can be harsh or unpleasant, and help them to find the maturity they'll need to face it. Ata time when we are all so polarized and politically divided, it's children who may be insulated and isolated most from seeing, or hearing, others who are not like them, with parents who think differently, have different beliefs. At a time when we need greater understanding and more communication across our divides, our children are the reason we build the walls and look inward. That can't be good.

And given Donald Trump's candidacy and its success, it's worth remembering that not everyone is teaching kids diversity. Or tolerance. Or notions of consent. What do you tell children about how men talk about women and joke about taking women without consent? Well, God knows, that's as good a moment as any to teach boys that girls are not objects and girls that it's important to speak up and say no, and no one has a right to force themselves upon you.

This election did not "rob kids of their childhood." "Childhood" is a created construct, an often unrealistic fantasy and creates an unrealistic expectation parents can't ever meet. Wanting kids to have nurturing environments, to feel safe, to have room to grow and explore... these are great things to strive for. But kids, especially the children of wealth and privilege, also need to see and understand the world, and to go out into it. And know that it will not always be safe or welcoming. And, I would hope, that children of privilege realize that seeing beyond privilege is crucial and necessary - that we have a responsibility to our communities, to each other.

"What do we tell the children?" isn't ultimately a question about kids. It's a question that deflects the hard things we need to tell ourselves, the work we have to do, the ways we all let each other down. Donald Trump's foul language and hateful notions weren't an assault on children; they were an affront to us all. As I looked at my nephews, wondering what to say, and how to say it... i did wonder what I was trying to shield them from. And today, I think it's largely that I didn't want them to know, as I did, how horrible people can be. But they are. And if we're going to deal with that, we probably all need to grow up. At least a little. 

 

Only When I Laugh

The trouble with trying to resume blogging - often, I'm finding - is that life intervenes. Work beckons, friendships suffer... and my health waxes and wanes. I wasn't expecting to battle a hard chest cold while getting back in the groove of writing, but there it was.

The problem wasn't so much the sniffling or sore throat as it was the cough that settled in my chest - that, apparently, was a recurrence of asthma, something that hasn't happened in some time. I'm not so foolish as to believe that allergies simply vanish, but for whatever reason, my allergic reactions had been pretty well in check for a long, long time. And now, suddenly, it isn't.

It's funny, I find, this problem of struggling to breathe. Over time, it's made me actually calmer, more patient. Freaking out, anxiousness... that just leads to more gasping. Gasping is bad. Keeping calm, trying to stay normal, that's good. If I've been wheezing as badly as I was in the past few weeks, I never really noticed. But the last few weeks, the coughing never stopped, and no over the counter medicine seemed to quell it.

I could put in a good word for "Obamacare" here and the nice health plan I've gotten since the exchanges opened, but it seems silly. Healthcare may be my issue, but getting care was never really my problem. When one is sick, it's time to get help. That's just what you do. The rest is details. And details, still, are where we need better health policy.

In any case, I digress. The thing about asthma, for me, is how it freaks out everyone else. Show up at an emergency room claiming shortness of breath, and you're pretty much first in line. Tell your friends and coworkers and most will look aghast as if you could die at any moment. And yeah, I suppose, that's one way to see it. I just find it annoying and rather inconvenient.

I'm better now - I've been taking medicine, and the short burst of hard steroids is over so I don't feel quite so out of sync. This is my first time trying Advair, and it's helpful, though inhaling dust hardly seems like the best drug delivery system I've encountered, and not something I'm dying (er, oops) to do long term. The wheezing has been greatly reduced, the cough is rarer, and the cold finally seems to be all but gone. It's only when I laugh that I get into trouble, when I laugh so hard I can't quite catch my breath... and then, blam, I actually have no breath. It's ruined my timing. I can't reel off my witty comebacks. My poor companions realize they've brought imminent death rather than joy.

This, too, I figure, should pass. I know I'm probably doing okay because I still have a sense of humor about the situation. Asthma's not so bad... except when I laugh. And even that won't get me down. Just breathe. And carry on.

Only When I Laugh

The trouble with trying to resume blogging - often, I'm finding - is that life intervenes. Work beckons, friendships suffer... and my health waxes and wanes. I wasn't expecting to battle a hard chest cold while getting back in the groove of writing, but there it was.

The problem wasn't so much the sniffling or sore throat as it was the cough that settled in my chest - that, apparently, was a recurrence of asthma, something that hasn't happened in some time. I'm not so foolish as to believe that allergies simply vanish, but for whatever reason, my allergic reactions had been pretty well in check for a long, long time. And now, suddenly, it isn't.

It's funny, I find, this problem of struggling to breathe. Over time, it's made me actually calmer, more patient. Freaking out, anxiousness... that just leads to more gasping. Gasping is bad. Keeping calm, trying to stay normal, that's good. If I've been wheezing as badly as I was in the past few weeks, I never really noticed. But the last few weeks, the coughing never stopped, and no over the counter medicine seemed to quell it.

I could put in a good word for "Obamacare" here and the nice health plan I've gotten since the exchanges opened, but it seems silly. Healthcare may be my issue, but getting care was never really my problem. When one is sick, it's time to get help. That's just what you do. The rest is details. And details, still, are where we need better health policy.

In any case, I digress. The thing about asthma, for me, is how it freaks out everyone else. Show up at an emergency room claiming shortness of breath, and you're pretty much first in line. Tell your friends and coworkers and most will look aghast as if you could die at any moment. And yeah, I suppose, that's one way to see it. I just find it annoying and rather inconvenient.

I'm better now - I've been taking medicine, and the short burst of hard steroids is over so I don't feel quite so out of sync. This is my first tie trying Advair, and it's helpful, though inhaling dust hardly seems like the best drug delivery system I've encountered, and not something I'm dying (er, oops) to do long term. The wheezing has been greatly reduced, the cough is rarer, and the cold finally seems to be all but gone. It's only when I laugh that I get into trouble, when I laugh so hard I can't quite catch my breath... and then, blam, I actually have no breath. It's ruined my timing. I can't reel off my witty comebacks. My poor companions realize they've brought imminent death rather than joy.

This, too, I figure, should pass. I know I'm probably doing okay because I still have a sense of humor about the situation. Asthma's not so bad... except when I laugh. And even that won't get me down. Just breathe. And carry on.

Winter Land

Mom and I are off on our new family tradtion, a post New Year's gathering in Maine at my Aunt and Uncle's, including my two cousins. Like last year, Mom and I broke up the drive, spending the night around Portland.

This morning I walked outside to get my hair dryer (I hate packing hair dryers in my suitcase; I need a separate piece of luggage for technical, maintenance type equipment. Or something), I was welcomed by a pleasant blast of crisp, cold winter air. I've mentioned, for years now, how much I like the change of seasons, and the weird world we have now, when the reality of global warming pushes winter further and further out of reach. 

Still, I was struck by the visceral joy of the cold weather today. Seeing my breath, bundled up yet my puffy cat unzipped. It's only in the high thirties, and while many would find it weather to complain about, on a sunny morning with little wind and low humidity, it's really very pleasant. It's the morning I understand the people who drive miles to ski, when I miss those fun winter days in the city, walking around window shopping, enjoying the cold.

Things simply aren't that cold anymore, not very often, and not for very long. I am not someone to wade deeply into the politics - or even the science - of climate change; I worry less about the sense of impending disaster than I do simply mourn the loss of the things I genuinely like - a cool day, snow on the ground, leaves off the trees, when those limited hours of sun really brighten a day. A good and proper winter.

So, rather than watch it wistfully out the window, I'm off to walk around in it. More later.

Errand Into The Maze

So, the end of the year is upon us... upon me. And naively, I've decided to opt for the cliche of a fresh start.

The last couple of years have been kind of rough, something I've only generally alluded to, in passing, when I've had time to write. Baring my soul, my personal difficulties, sharing deep feelings.. these things are, oddly (I suppose), not why I write. It stems, I've said before, from my training as a writer, which is to avoid a lot of "I" or "me," try to stand apart from your subjects, make your observations based on concrete assessments, rather than feelings. Then too, there's my upbringing, which I tend to think of as pretty traditional, Western European values. In this age of oversharing, I like standing for old fashioned notions about not putting one's business out on the street, or using a format like a blog to settle personal scores.

But still, this has been a rough year. And I resolved, as part of making a fresh start, to try and unpack and expalin some (at least) of what happened and why, or at least my take on the why of it.

For me, a lot of the upheaval took place as I committed myself, with some trepidation, to pursuing an upward career path at Starbucks. I am, by nature, ambitious and somewhat driven - which is odd, as a Pisces and I think odd to people who don't know me well - and I like to feel I am headed toward a goal, not just languishing. I can, and I will, say that my ambition in a corporate setting varies, and a good bit of my enthusiasm may not so much have been mine as that of others, especially my logtime manager, who I consider a mentor and friend. I'm not so sure, ever that I wanted to be in management quite as much as she wanted it for me.

Still, I made a commitment and I did my best to see it through. And in doing so, I settled on some compromises: obviously, I would have to write less. My hours at work increased, as did my responsibilities, and (again, being ambitious) I know the politics of getting ahead - appear enthusiastic, volunteer, do extra, come early and stay late. And, sincerely, I was enthusiastic. I made the commitment, and I gave the extra time, quite willingly.

My single minded focus also meant some trade-offs socially and interpersonally; less time with friends, less direct contact, less free time. I saw fewer movies. Friends who were more distant, physically or emotionally (or both) became more distant still. I lost touch with people, and in some sense, I'm sure I lost patience - with others, with politics, with myself. Cut to the chase, make a point. Have a point. Don't waste my time.

On paper, things went well for the career plan - I was promoted, I grew and developed in many ways. I became a better manager of people, better able to supervise, and retain my sensitivity. I mastered many things I didn't think possible, and reoriented my thinking and expectations for myself and others day to day at work. There are a lot of positives to see over this experience, and they are the reasons I don't regret my choices. What I did was necessary, and the positive changes were worth a lot of the pain. Just not all of the pain.

For me, the unfortunate turn with my promotion was being thrown into a new, unfamiliar setting, one which, I quickly came to realize was simply "not a good fit for me." It's an oblique, politically correct phrase, I know, but I like its precise imprecision. It wasn't one thing, one person, one event. It was, simply, the totality of things - a bad commute, bad group dynamics, difficult working relationships, no sense of personal connection, no feeling  of being "a part of" a new team. All the things that I loved about my job - the camaraderie, the shared sense of accomplishments, the joy of it - all of it seemed to vanish. I dreaded going. I missed people. I felt like I was losing my friends, and a sense of myself.

And, truthfully, I missed writing. I missed critical writing most, the reviews of films, and TV and arts and the culture. But I missed the daily exercise of it, the sense I had while blogging near daily that my writing was strong and growing. I write most (and best) because I love the shaping of ideas with words. Without that... I have very little.

So I made a choice - not without some consultation and guidance - and decided, as they say, to "step back." Decisions like that, I must say, are remarkably freeing, because they are seen by so many as so unconventional. One of the happiest immediate results I got was a sense of being able to speak for myself, choose for myself, listen to my own inner voice. Few people understand life choices that don't, first, have to do with getting more - more money, more power, more stuff. That's never been my equation, for better and worse. I like to start by figuring out what makes one happy, and working out form there. More happiness, more peace of mind... amazing things can flow when these are in place.

Change is hard, and uncomfortable. I cannot just "go back to how things were." Things are different now, trying to restart this blog is hard, harder than it was before. Resuming regular writing doesn't just happen. It, too, is work. I still have connetcions to build and rebuild, a support system to strengthen and reset. Some of my closest relationships have been entirely (and even irrepairably) changed, and as sad as that was, I still tend to think it necessary and, in some sense, inevitable. We grow, we change, we grow apart. I have come to see that the strongest friendships, the strongest personal bonds aren't about how we stay the same; it's how people adapt to changes in one another. The more flexible, the more opions exist as a result. And then too, I've learned that it's okay to say goodbye to relationships that just don't give you the things you need. What made sense once, at one point in time, may not make sense anymore. And that's okay.

Of course... I'm generalizing, taking myself out of it, trying not to get too personal, too wound up in the feelings or the specific personalities. That's me, what I say and how I say it. I don't regret the past couple of years, but as I thought about it, as I started on a "fresh start," I liked the idea of ending an "errand into the maze". I chased down a lot of blind alleys, tried to work out a set of puzzles, ran myself ragged at times... and now, I'm pretty much letting that errand, and that maze, go. Time to move on, move forward, do more of what I love and make more time for my truer passions. And we'll see what develops. That's the story I'm planning to tell, anyway.

Days Go By (And By)...

I turn around and a week has passed and I'm not writing - or I have not written? - and I realize that all of this is still sort of a work in progress, that I'm a work in progress... and really, that's okay. At least to me. It's the holiday season, work is stressful and occasionally overwhelming, and it's not entirely going the way I would like.... but what does.

Plus, I didn't win Powerball (a good reminder about my essential distaste for gambling), we had a big Thanksgiving Second Dinner (because we got a free turkey from a local grocery store), and life... well, life intervened. 

Thesedays, I ask myself a lot about commitment, about time commitement, about what this dream of writing is and how I ever hope to see it become more than a delicious hobby... and well, I just don't know. Not knowing, starts and fits... that's life, for me, these days.

So days go by, I consider my options, and then I get up and get back on with it. What else, really, is there to do?