Full Circle Associates

So earlier this year (this post) I basically admitted I dropped out for a while. I gave a quick update here. I’m still dropped out and I’m still loving it. Why didn’t I do this sooner? Why didn’t I create pauses earlier in my working life? Am I still me? Is my identity SO wrapped up in my work that the other aspects of me have either been quashed, or simply put in service of my work? All sorts of interesting questions.

As my lying fallow summer came and went, I did not seek additional gigs. I referred inquiries to other practitioners. I fulfilled a few small obligations, did some pro bono work and supported my various communities of practice. The latter being some of the most satisfying work all around. I think informally I’m also an on-call mentor to other practitioners and I deeply enjoy those conversations. All the juicy ideas and none of the work. PERFECT!

But still I feel no impulse to return to full-time, paid work. I read books. I putter in the garden. I try to walk consistently. I have finally dipped my toe into adding weight training to my routine. I project managed recovery of a basement flood, removal of a 100 year old giant tree, a solar install and new HVAC for our house that is now bereft of it’s natural cooling from that magnificent (and rotting) tree.

Because I’ve been such a workaholic all of my life, I’m pretty invested in my identity as a (senior) practitioner. It felt good when I was the person to call. That I was valued, needed, appreciated. That I finished my to do list, had my email inbox tamed. I do not miss this. I don’t crave it. My volunteer and community work provide plenty of social connection and intellectual stimulation.

So what happened to my assumptions about work? This is where we shift from resigning to reassessing.

How much do we lose when we let work be a (or THE) central force in our lives, even if by dint of the hours, let alone intentions? What gets deprioritized? For me, rest, reflection, open-ended thinking that can lead down creative paths and cleaner, clearer sleep, as just a few examples. Since I’ve been working less I’m sleeping better. (Less time at a screen part of that? I think so!) I’ve read a TON more – fiction and non fiction. I’ve delved deeper into topics I’d previously claimed were important to me but I had not, as they say, done the work. I would like to believe I’m listening to and engaging the two grandpeople (ages 9 and 12) who live with me more fully. I hope I am being a better adult for them.

When I was working like a maniac, at the end of the day I would collapse in front of a screen, social media scrolling or half attention to a television program. I was seeking mindlessness. Now it takes a lot more to sit me in front of the telly. I still have some addiction to the scrolly-stuff and have been trying to dial that down. I hate being a counter example to the grandpeople.

So why is it I waited till now to take a pause, a fallow season, a sabbatical? I can list a few: financial security, identity (especially as a babyboomer, feminist, and to acknowledge my privilege, a white woman), passion for the work, once I discovered what I loved (and becoming an independent consultant at age 41). I raised two kids. I am co-raising two more grandkids. I can say I think my workaholism took some of me away from those people and that is one of the very FEW regrets I have about my work habits.

But what if I worked just a bit less in those years? Would my work have been as successful? (I have always been fortunate to have a full client docket, come rain or shine but I carried that fear that if I said no to a client, no one else would knock on my virtual door.) Would I have been as fulfilled? Would I be doing something different now?

A friend once told me that sometimes she sensed only one of my wings was fully unfurled. That stops you in your tracks…

I think with fabulous hindsight I could have worked less. AND it would have been much easier if our (white) American culture was not so predicated on valuing people for how many freaking hours they work a week. What if we had a four day work week? More people to work, less burnout, more family and friends time. Maybe with less of a focus on consumerism (I dream big!)

I hear colleagues 50+ talking about taking a break. What I anecdotally hear from colleagues in their 20s and 30s is a different model. The “great resignation” is not just the burnt out olders, but the dissatisfied youngers. Could we all benefit by reassessing, rethinking what work means, the role it plays not only in our personal economic subsistence, but also the role it plays in society?

I’m certainly not the first person to think about this. (See this lovely essay by Maria Popova reflecting on the work of Oliver Burkman’s work,  Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals . This crossed my screen this week thanks to Patti Digh.) I just wonder why it took me 63+ years to slow down… Or maybe this is not about slowing down, but simply making different choices. Or better yet, in Oliver Burkman’s beautiful words;

Any finite life — even the best one you could possibly imagine — is therefore a matter of ceaselessly waving goodbye to possibility… Since finitude defines our lives… living a truly authentic life — becoming fully human — means facing up to that fact.

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It’s only by facing our finitude that we can step into a truly authentic relationship with life.

Oliver Burkman,  Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals