Being Unsettled in a Changing Season
· Being
You can wear yourself out doing things you love. On vacation, an empty nest on the horizon, and one long sit with the ocean, I started learning the difference between moving through an emotion and moving fast enough that it can't catch you.
I've always thought I handled change well. Then life got quiet enough for me to notice how much I had been trying to stay ahead of it.
I had the privilege of going on vacation recently, and I needed it more than I realized.
The funny thing is, I haven't been miserable or dragging myself through life. Quite the opposite. I've been having a lot of fun. Work has been full. Being HumanKind has taken on a life of its own. I've been writing and speaking, exploring new technology, creating art again, working on our house, dreaming up ideas, and generally doing a lot of things I genuinely enjoy. But here's something I'm beginning to understand about myself: you can wear yourself out doing things you love.
Sometimes being busy feels especially justified when everything you're doing feels meaningful. You tell yourself, This is good work. I'm excited about this. I'm creating. I'm helping. I'm learning. All of that can be true while your body and mind are quietly asking you to slow down.
For me, I think there was something underneath all that motion, too.
When Change Sneaks Up on You
Our family is entering a new season. Our kids are adults, leaving home, and building lives of their own. That's exactly what Sarah and I hoped would happen. We raised these humans to go become their own people, and watching that happen is an incredible privilege.
And, for the record, I am also very excited about spending more time alone with my wife. That part of the empty-nest situation sounds pretty fantastic. Still, change is funny.
I've spent much of my career helping people and organizations navigate change. I love new ideas, new technology, new challenges, new places, and new possibilities. But apparently I like change a little more when I'm the one designing it. This particular change snuck up on me.
I've started wondering if some of my recent activity has been a way of staying just ahead of what I'm feeling. If I'm creating something, fixing something, writing something, learning something, or planning whatever comes next, I don't have to sit very long with the reality that a chapter of our family's life is changing.
That made me think about something Brené Brown has written about beautifully. In describing her own relationship with vulnerability, she admits that she tried to make uncertainty certain, managed and controlled situations, and:
[quote:stayed so busy that the truth of my hurting and my fear could never catch up. — Brené Brown]
Oof. I recognize myself in that.
Work, creativity, exercise, and making things can all be healthy ways of processing life. But there is a difference between moving through an emotion and moving fast enough that it can't catch you. I think I've been doing a little of both.
Then There Was the Ocean
One day on vacation, I found myself sitting on the beach with absolutely nothing I needed to do. That should have been easy.
It wasn't.
My brain immediately started offering alternatives. I could read. Take some pictures. Listen to something. Write down an idea. Check my phone. Capture this beautiful moment so I could remember it later.
Instead, I tried to sit there.
I listened to the waves come in and go back out, again and again. Nothing needed me. Nothing was asking for an answer. There was no problem to solve and no opportunity to optimize.
Eventually I grabbed my phone, but instead of checking something, I hit record. I recorded the sound of the waves because I wanted to remember what that moment sounded like. Then I put my phone back down and kept sitting.
[audio:/l5e/assets-v1/31bd3f90-ab6c-44c0-af66-2012bd24c356/ocean-waves-recording.m4a|The sound of the waves, recorded from the beach]
If you're somewhere you can do it, hit play. Close your eyes for a moment. Don't read ahead. Don't accomplish anything. Just listen.
That moment reminded me of something I've been wrestling with for years and eventually wrote about in Being HumanKind. I used to think stillness was something you earned after the work was done. I've had to learn that stillness isn't passive or wasted time. It's maintenance. It creates the space we need to hear ourselves again. The problem with waiting until the work is done is that, for most of us, the work is never done.
There's always another email, another idea, another improvement, another person who needs something, another project around the house, another opportunity, another notification.
If rest only comes after we've finished everything, rest never comes. Maybe the healthier question isn't, When will I finally get everything done so I can rest? Maybe it's, How do I build rest into a life that will always contain unfinished things?
A Message That I Treasured
Then something happened this week that made all of this feel even more important. I received a message from someone I deeply respect who is struggling with their health. In the middle of what they are going through, they took the time to tell me that they appreciated what I've been writing.
That meant so much. First, because I was grateful. Deeply grateful. But also because, like anyone who puts things into the world, I sometimes wonder if anybody is actually reading. You write something, hit publish, and send it into this giant stream of information we all swim through every day.
Their note reminded me that the point isn't how many people see something. Sometimes the point is simply that the right person encounters it at the right moment. It also reminded me how little we know about what the people around us are carrying.
The person sitting across from you in a meeting might be afraid. The friend who hasn't returned your call might be overwhelmed. Someone who seems completely put together may be carrying a diagnosis, a struggling child, a broken relationship, financial stress, grief, loneliness, or something they aren't ready to talk about.
And someday that person will be us. Brené Brown's research has led her to a beautifully simple conclusion:
[quote:Connection is why we're here. — Brené Brown]
That message reminded me of that, too. So if you're reading this and someone comes to mind, reach out.
Don't overthink it. You don't need the perfect words. Tell someone you appreciate them. Thank the teacher who changed you. Call the friend you've been thinking about. Send the text. Write the note. Tell somebody what they have meant to you while you both still have the privilege of hearing it.
Slowing down isn't only something we do for ourselves. Presence is one of the ways we love each other.
Richard Rohr, AA, and the Wisdom of Surrender
There's another thread that has unexpectedly become part of this season for me. Recently, I started listening to the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous.
I want to be careful with this. AA exists to help people dealing with alcoholism, and the experiences behind its principles deserve enormous respect. I'm not interested in turning someone's recovery into a collection of productivity tips. I became curious because I've heard so many writers, teachers, therapists, and people I respect reference the wisdom of AA and the Twelve Steps.
One of those people is Father Richard Rohr.