As I was sitting in the Knoxville Museum of Art yesterday evening, listening to a Violin Sonata, I looked out the window at the Knoxville skyline, the reflections from the museum, and the curve of the piano and was entranced. For some reason, the view reminded me of a photo I took in New York in February, although the neither the time of day nor the actual view were in any way similar. I will never know what connection my brain was making though, because I missed the opportunity to take a photo. At intermission I started talking with my neighbor and by the time I looked up the piano was being moved and whatever I had thought I was seeing was long gone.
All that remains is the photo from New York, which I will post anyway, despite the fact that I have no idea how it relates to this post. Perhaps that is exactly the point. I love this photo of New York and yet I have never managed a narrative in which to include it.
Much of my life has revolved around my ability to manage things, to organize, to solve problems, and I am good at it. I enjoy the challenge. But although this organizational ability is only a part of who I am, I have allowed it to dominate, to send the quieter, messier, more creative side into the corner quavering. Perhaps it is time to stop managing the narrative and let it find its own path.
This week I realized it was time to retire. I had told myself I was taking a sabbatical, or a short break, before taking on some other project. But I realized that although I am incredibly fortunate to have retired from paid work some time ago, I have never actually retired. I went from working full time to managing a construction project on our old house after the general contractor disappeared while simultaneously closing my late husband's business and managing his health care. Then I moved into managing his caregivers and medical care in his final years. After we moved, I went on to manage commissions and ministries at my church, and to serve on the church vestry. I am the kind of person who, if I agree to take something on, tends to give it my all. I am rarely only partially invested. And yet I am tired of taking on other people's problems. I'll be 60 in a couple of months, and although that is young yet, and relatively young for retirement, I am ready. But I also know I need to take baby steps. Force of habit is a tough roadblock to surmount.
For the moment I am letting myself be disorganized. It won't last, but it is a necessary little eddy in flow of life. I know I need structure, and I have a limited tolerance for disorder, but I also needed to push a reset button. In order to find my own path, I first need to see where the flow takes me. I also know that I will undoubtedly eventually take on something else, other new projects, but I need to wait, and learn what makes my heart sing. In the meantime there are small ways I can volunteer and help my community without being the person who takes charge, ways of helping others that also feed my soul rather than batter it down.
All I ask is for your patience. I will return to a schedule, but at the moment I am intentionally not forcing it. Some days I think I have nothing to say, others too much, but at this point even self-imposed schedules seem oppressive. This weekend is Big Ears weekend in Knoxville and I'll be listening to a lot of music, which I may or may not write about. I have to learn to let the flow carry me along. I know I've been saying this for some time, but it has really hit home that if I don't stop clinging to roots and rocks and things that obstruct my path, if I don't say no to obligation, I shall grow still and green and stagnant. I will find my own rhythm; it seems like it is about time.
