Over the past several weeks, an interesting pattern has started to emerge in my life. When we first decided to move to Mexico full time, we had many questions. We knew that we would not be able to completely answer every question in advance. We were aware that there would be many elements of this decision that we would not foresee. What I was not prepared for was the simultaneous feeling of being here and there at the same time—and witnessing the balance literally shifting daily. A shifting that is so conscious it is almost like a separate being standing in front of me.
In my previous life, the rhythm of both my personal and business life day and night was set almost exclusively by work. I had little space for family or personal affairs. Of course, many things and people suffered because of this—not the least of which was my time with Lea. In fact, Lea jokes that despite being married 25 years, we have literally only be “together married” for something like 10 years. Now that I have a constant and discreet locale that is distant from the magnetic pull of the office and new daily orbital rhythm is emerging. This distance has reduced the “pull” of the office and, interestingly, my obsession with success for the firm.
When I awake in the morning my first thought is not what does MSR need from me today. It is what do I need to do to balance my life. I begin by climbing the stairs to see how my veggies are doing; and to tend to their needs (trimming, harvesting, checking water levels, etc.) It is almost like they are responding to the attention of a person who understands that they are growing to be sacrificed. Yet we both know that if they are not eaten, they will die without ever nourishing anything—except perhaps as compost for a new generation of plants. Since this is my first venture in gardening, I suspect that this is not a new feeling—only new for me. What is fascinating is when I get the clippers, unlock their stainless precision blades, I approach the plant with a reverence and care not to wound. This connectedness to the process of seeding, planting, growing and harvesting has spilled over into my personal view of where I now sit in the world.
I am approaching 66 years in a few months. I find myself thinking about 70 like no other decade. Maybe it is because dad died within that decade (way too soon—damn ALS.) How many years do I have? How many cycles of growing and harvesting are left? What have I sacrificed these past 40 years of professional practice? Is this a closing or new opening?
How do we change? What clicks that inner switch to move from a habit; be released from an inertia? I suspect it is different for everyone. For me, living in Mexico, it has been the trigger of patience. Besides the obvious patience of waiting for seedlings to emerge and then the plants to mature, there is patience with the Mexican people who have personal limits to their willingness to adjust to others needs. They know their own limits and will not bend to others. I have seen the negative consequences when they try. It is best to adjust to them. To not adjust is foster frustration. I am seeing this waiting becoming, for the first time in my life, a virtue. However, it collides with my need to have things built and cared for in a first class way. This need has not been satisfied. So, the act of reconciling this is creating in me this new rhythm. A rhythm of calm and impatience—setting up a weird inner conflict that is being resolved through looking, listening and drawing.
I am back in the studio. Back to drawing. Back to let my unconscious guide the pen, pencil and brush—not the program, budget, politics or what someone else wants from me. This focus is, ironically, establishing a perfect mental and spiritual place to circle back to resolve the opening question: what will I do with the remaining decade or so my life? Stay tuned.
Hi Jeff, Very nice post which I’m sharing with Noreen. Seeking balance in my own life, I’ve been building toward (a) regular exercise (yoga, running, the occasional 10K), (b) leaving work at the office (which is very hard . . . every time I’m at my computer at home, I do fine when checking Facebook or gmail, but when I click to open my work email I almostliterally feel my chest compress & I must take a deep breath before seeing what’s unfolding at work), and (c) not using a smart phone since I left Durham. The last item is the one that’s given me the greatest freedom and balance. – Skip Auld