I hate going through stuff and cleaning out. There are people who get joy from this practice. I’m not one of them. And yet, I find myself in the unenviable position of doing this personally and professionally. Personally, I’ll need to purge for a move. Professionally, I’m getting ready to hand the reins over to a new leader. In both cases, I don’t always know where things are buried or hidden or stored away. Fortunately, unlike the personal stuff, there’s little to no attachment to old papers in the office.
This week is bulk trash pick-up week. We get two of them a year. As I’ve walked around the neighborhood, I’ve seen televisions, sofas, screen doors, overhead light fixtures, and assorted pieces of lumber. For a few days people have been driving around the neighborhood scavenging. What’s there one day is sometimes gone the next. I’ve put out a busted treadmill, five rolls of carpeting (cut in to appropriate sizes), some crappy particle board shelving, litter boxes, a standing lamp, and some extra bags of trash. Of the things I’ve purged, only the litter boxes and few pieces of clothing (a matching ball cap I bought with an ex in Sea Isle City, a coat that was gift, etc.) brought up memories. But being around all of my other stuff (furniture in the garage and boxes in the basement from the various lives I’ve lived) made me feel a little sentimental – like the old fool I am. Looking at those things, I’d pause and get a little lost, a little overwhelmed. It was as if I was being reminded of the future plans that never were.
For me, this process of starting over again raises questions and doubts. For one, I wonder if this is my new normal: a life punctuated by temporary stops with no destination in mind. Another question I ponder is, “what am I looking for?” In answer to the first question, I suspect my next stop will not be the last stop. I may end of moving back to the Philly area to take care of a parent, or moving closer to my daughter should she have kids. I also may end up with a partner and moving for reasons related to them, their job, or their family. I open to the journey, but I think it hits differently when it’s two people moving together. As for the second question, the best answer I can come up with is balance. I’m looking for balance.
I had a stable life for much of my adulthood. I was married and raised a kid; I was usually employed and sometimes gainfully; and I stayed geographically rooted near family and friends. When the marriage ended and the kid was in college, I suddenly had to figure who I was outside of those responsibilities. A significant part of how I had defined myself (family man) had disappeared. I suddenly had to figure what type of partner I might want to be and what type of individual I might want to be. I spent a year or two trying out slightly different versions of myself. I dated a lot of different people. I took up hiking again. I started reconnecting with friends and made a few new ones. I started going to lots of live shows. After each relationship, I went back to the drawing board to figure out who I was, who I thought they were and why we fit or didn’t. After a while, I felt like I had gotten a good sense of what I was looking for and how I wanted to feel. When I got engaged, I think my life was in about as harmonious a state as it had been. I was with someone I was crazy about, I had a job where I was respected by my colleagues and community, I was doing lots of things that I wanted to do. It felt like the future was blindingly bright and full of infinite possibilities. Admittedly, parts of that life may have been unsustainable, but it seemed certain to shake out the right way.
When it didn’t shake out, everything went sideways. I’ve been out of balance ever since. I left the remnants of that life behind because I felt like I couldn’t stay. I didn’t know how to rebuild or what pieces I had left. I had plenty of support at work and from family and friends, but none of that seemed to matter. I wanted the life I had been building or else I wanted something that looked nothing like the life I had been building. With the first option off the table, I moved to Tennessee in pursuit of the second option. There, I had a job that was supposed to be the job, and I would be surrounded by the music I enjoy most. Much like after the divorce, I tried to figure out who I was, what I wanted, and where things got off track. I pursued my own interests – mostly listening to lots of live music and writing (almost the entire first year of this blog is that struggle). I made a few friends in Memphis and despite dipping my toe in the dating pool a few times, I really and had no interest in partnerships. The job didn’t work out and then the pandemic hit. It seemed as though that reinvention was a bust.
The first few months of being unemployed during the pandemic were surreal. I went on a lot of long walks where I revisited this question “what do I want?” There were no jobs in Memphis (or in very many places). I was interviewing on the west coast – Seattle, San Francisco, and San Diego, but as time went on, I interviewed just about anywhere. As my savings dwindled, I went month-to-month on the lease and eventually gave notice that I’d be moving out. I was planning to hole up in State College for a little while and regroup. That’s when my current job became available.
My first half-year to year here was challenging. It took many months to gain the trust of my team and even longer to make new friends. A relationship and friendship I had started in Memphis helped me through my first winter here, but when that ended, I again had to look inward and outward. As I started to make progress with my team and as I made some dear new friends, I began to realize that I might want to try dating again. Politics and demographics made this a non-starter… and, coupled with the bad weather, the political leanings, and lack of access to many of the things I enjoy (travel, beaches, cities, and live music), I decided I’d need to leave to find a better balance.
The thing is, I have weekends here when I feel like I’m close. When the weather is nice and I spend time with my friends or time outside at a backyard concert, I begin to feel like I have a pretty fantastic life. When I sit in the sun with coffee and a book or beer and some poems, I begin to feel like I have a pretty fantastic life. But there’s always this nagging sense that it doesn’t feel as full and rich as I’d like it to be. It doesn’t feel as balanced or inspired as I’d like it to be.
A recent post on Twitter asked: “would you rather live somewhere where there is only one kind of brie and Olive Garden is fancy but rent is $800/mo or 10 kinds of brie, fancy is some French place and rent is $2400/mo?” I’ve asked myself different versions of this question dozens of times. The answer always seems to hinge on where I’m finding my fulfillment and who I’m with. I suspect I could fall in love with Olive Garden were I with the right company. And that seems to be at the heart of my current dilemma. I’ve come to realize that with the right company, most other things matter considerably less (geography, friendships, access to quality soft cheeses). But without that bit of companionship and sharing, I seek fulfillment in multiple domains (work, friends, self interests, good food, good music, etc. etc. etc.). To some extent, I’ve tried the cheap rent option and have found it unfulfilling. Time and time again I read and hear that a meaningful life is often closely associated with the quality of one’s relationships. And of course, none of this is as simple as an either or scenario. Some people responded to the post by saying they’d rather save the money and travel for the brie. Unfortunately, in places where rent is $800/mo, wages are typically depressed and it can be hard to save… not to mention you may not be anywhere near an airport. And, given the typical American’s tendency to not take vacation, saving for tomorrow seems like it only increases the chances that tomorrow may not come.
As I went through some of my stuff, I began to wonder if discarding the past ever gets easier. I tend to think with help from others, the ones who make the present moments sing, it might. I have an ex who has moved too many times to count and left lots of people behind. I imagine she’s a woman practiced at forgetting and I sometimes want to ask her if the trick is to not carry anything with you – to live a life without a trace? Maybe then, nothing knocks you off balance.