#65: Reimagining transition as expansion.
I'm just a crab who has outgrown its shell.
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In case you read last week’s post, this post is also about Flail Week (the week after my job and corporate career ended). But now I can finally think straight enough to write a cohesive post about it!
I woke up on my first work-less Monday from a smattering of stress dreams.
I lost my retainer! Oh wait, I don’t have a retainer.
I lost my engagement ring! Oh wait, my engagement ring has been in the safe deposit box since 2018.
I shook off these wisps and focused on my regular morning mental scan.
Where are the kids? Kendall fast asleep in her dorm at Tulane. Connor fast asleep somewhere in Connecticut on his a capella tour.
Check.
Next, scan for work challenges to be solved that day.
Um… well… none. Empty space where worried rumination, problem solving, planning used to be.
In a muscle-memory attempt to get my adrenaline going, I punched the lower left corner of my iPhone screen. My Gmail app now took the place of the deleted Outlook icon.
A handful of messages loaded. Nothing urgent. Nothing terribly important.
I never enjoyed waking up to a truckload of emails with minor and sometimes major dilemmas to be managed. But the routine had comfort in its familiarity. Without my morning cup of “oh shit”, followed by a big plate of to-do tasks, I felt unmoored…
Without a job, what am I going to do with myself?
I kicked off Flail Week with a packed weekend.
I didn’t have time to think about all that was missing, there was too much to do! A talk from one of my favorite authors & substackers,
, followed by an overnight trip to NYC for CeCe’s birthday, Connor’s a capella concert, and cappuccinos in Central Park with Kelly. I even snuck in a visit to the MOMA to see the Picasso at Fountainbleau exhibit.
But could I maintain the momentum when I returned home? How would I feel once I got back to the treehouse and stared at my laptop-less desk? A phone that had ceased ringing? A non-existent work email inbox? No problems to solve, teammates to mentor, spreadsheets to review, work trips to plan.
That Monday morning, staring at my Gmail, tumbleweeds rolling through it, on the precipice of freaking out because I had so much time on my hands… I threw my head back and laughed. Hard.
Come on, Deagle. You’ve survived far worse.
Yes, my job at V2X is leaving a massive hole — you could even say gaping hole — in my life. And yes, one reaction to that emptiness could be to try to fill it as fast as possible. But is staying in rushrushrush mode actually making my life better? Or is it just what I’ve become used to?
When Mike disappeared from my life, I didn’t try to fill the gap, the Mike-shaped hole, by finding another Mike. I can’t exactly tell you why… though it probably had something to do with the mountain of grief on my chest that wouldn’t let me forget what I had lost, no matter what I tried. Maybe it was easier for me to build something totally incomparable so I couldn’t compare.
For whatever reason, I chose the unknown. And from the slow, tedious restructuring of my inner and outer worlds, The Luminist was born.
Instead of interpreting this job-shaped-hole solely as a loss, I’m choosing to see fertile soil, dark and loamy, ready to nurture something new.
Back to Monday morning: I closed Gmail and opened the clock app.
I set my regular 20-minute timer and meditated, thoughts wandering all over the place as usual. At least that hasn’t changed!
Then I leisurely got out of bed. Put my gym clothes on. Slung some kettlebells around. Ran up and down the stairs. Stretched. Never once did I look at the time. I let my inspiration, my creativity, my curiosity paint the empty canvas of my day without a plan or goal.
After five days of this experiment, here’s what I “accomplished”:
I took an online micro-blogging class.
I went to a Zoom study hall with other creators.
I talked to a lawyer to help me set up an LLC for The Luminist.
I went to a new doctor to help me refocus on my health.
I lifted, ran, swam, hiked, walked, yoga’d.
I shoveled snow.
I watched a dumb movie.
I talked to friends.
I talked to strangers.
I ate more protein.
I cuddled a puppy.
I took my time.
I bought more post-it notes then I’ll ever use.
I stayed up way past my bedtime and self-hosted a solo slumber party.
I turned off my 6am alarm for the next day.
I turned off my 6am alarm for good.
I bought a new body wash to reset my mornings (grapefruit and sea salt!), telling my body that my mind is in a new chapter.
I watched four NFL games.
I sold my fancy car.
I worked at the kitchen island.
I worked on the couch.
I worked anywhere but my office — which I left in flail-mode until the urge comes over me to clean it. (Hasn’t happened yet.)
I realize that not all transitions are the same.
And I don’t want to make anyone who is struggling through a transition feel worse.
However, I am challenging the notion that we need to meet all transitions, especially job transitions, solely with dread.
There is part of me that wants to panic right now — the part that watched her friends’ parents then her own dad get laid off, one by one, from the local steel mill in western Pennsylvania many decades ago. So even though I lead a very, very good life these days, I still wrestle with a scarcity mindset.
It would be so easy to let that mindset rule this moment. But that wouldn’t get me anywhere. (Literally. I’d cut back expenses, get a job I didn’t love, and hardly travel.) I’d also miss this opportunity to create something brand new. Externally, sure, but I’m more excited about the internal changes that are possible.
For example:
I never liked waking up with an adrenaline rush, so now I’m meditating first thing in the morning instead. What else about my daily schedule can change to suit me and my natural rhythms?
I don’t live in scarcity, so scarcity anxiety won’t be making any major decisions. How will this affect my priorities and how I spend my time?
Besides making sure the kids are happy and healthy, my only goal is to make the most of this one wild and precious life. So I’m not following any prescribed paths from here on out. I’m finding my own way. How will I decide which path to take?
If I’m not on a prescribed path, how will I feel accomplished and/or successful? Are those markers even meaningful to me anymore? Do I need a yardstick at all?
I already know what I want to focus on. The Luminist obviously. But with what strategies, structures, habits, goals? That I don’t know. Until now, I’ve always had lines that I was supposed to be coloring within.
What I’m facing isn’t a hole, it is an opening. So I’m going to be like Picasso: turn the negative space into my canvas; see what wants to take shape when the rules only exist to be broken.
I spent my life running away, planning away, achieving away from scarcity. But now I’m being drawn to something.
Drawn to a life that feels more like mine.
I may have lost Outlook, but I traded it for a newfound… Inlook. Yep, I know, that’s not a real word. But go with me here. It’s a feeling, an about-face, a wake-up call that I am now alone with myself. No app to distract me. No path to follow. Nothing to take me outside myself.
Alone with myself… And alone with my power.
I’ve moved mountains while living in patterns and mindsets that don’t actually serve me. So now what can I do, when everything in my life is by my design?
To shedding the old, and making space for the new,
Wow, sounds like the most excellent fun! INLOOK!! Creative artistic thinking! Picasso !
Just finished reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, which you might like and seems timely. It’s about connecting with your true self and realizing your personal creativity.