I had an intense flare of anger and distress yesterday.
There is a tradition on the team I just left, of writing songs (new lyrics to
existing songs) for people who are leaving the agency, and also for those who are
expecting a child. I went in to join my now ex-colleagues in writing a song for a colleague who will retire in April. As we were doing this, a former colleague turned to me with a smile and asked how it felt to be retired. I yelled at her, cursed and teared up.
Wow, huh?
The thing is, I didn't retire; I quit. Over many weeks before I left, I stressed to supervisors and those above them that I was resigning, not retiring. Even so, people from my own and other agencies would run into me and say, "Hey, I hear you're retiring" or "Congratulations on your retirement!" Each time I'd correct them, "No, actually, I'm not retiring. I can't afford to retire. I'm leaving -- quitting."
It matters to me deeply that people understand the significance in my life of this particular act, and of the words that are used to describe it. In my younger years, I lived fairly hand-to-mouth and was unconcerned about financial stability and medical care. As I've aged, and with the development of some chronic medical issues, I've come to appreciate paid health insurance along with the ease that comes from a steady paycheck. Giving these up is a leap over a huge mountain of fear and inertia; calling it "retirement" is, for me, like making a mole hill of that mountain (play on words intended).
The greater significance has to do with my finally acting on something I'd realized long ago: I am a bad fit for bureaucracies. They play to my worst tendency toward a rule-driven work style, and they do not nurture my spirit. At a team retreat some four or five years ago, I realized that I was a cow in a field of the lushest, juiciest, most varied and tender greens -- I had the pleasure of working with an amazing group of folks. In this verdant field, however, surrounded by such richness, I was tethered to a trough filled with crappy cow feed. I enjoyed my colleagues several times a year at our retreats, and then returned to the trough. My perception was that, having spent a day laughing, sharing our open hearts, eating, singing and crying together, we would return to work all shut down and ready to meet our deadlines. The light was gone from people's faces. My impression was that we barely made eye contact so as to avoid the possibility of a conversation; conversations will really put you behind on your progress notes, you know?
This knowledge of my bad fit was like a bird flying around looking for a place to land. In early 2011, the bird did finally land -- in my heart -- and I knew I would have to leave.
I started looking for work elsewhere, including overseas. However, I had two old cats, sisters, whom I'd raised and cared for since they were kittens, and it made no sense to leave the neighborhood they knew and the veterinary practice I trusted. I committed myself to waiting until my cats had died. I put Squeak down in August of 2011, and Tigger in July of last year; they were 17-1/2 and 18-1/2 years old, respectively -- old and very dear friends. I continue to miss them at a level beyond words.
My great love for my clients and my colleagues, along with inertia, yes, kept me at my job longer than I'd planned. Now, however, I am out. I did not retire; I left. The lightness and expansion I feel far exceed the heaviness and constriction of the fear I continue to experience at times, and I am glad to be alive.
I end with some quotes that guide me, in particular at this time:
"And the day came when the risk it took to remain closed in a bud became more painful than the risk it took to blossom." Anais Nin
"You cannot lead where you will not go." (African proverb)
"If you don't risk anything, you risk even more." Erica Jong
"Don't ask yourself what the world needs - ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." Howard Thurman
meg 2-27-2013
No comments:
Post a Comment