This promises a very personal items: personal and not theoretical. Last Monday, the movers arrived, I took them as they filled their truck (and drank) our long-held storage bin and, separately, we traveled to Washington, DC. I got there first () on Monday night. They were pursuing and the country in our 12-story, brick-faced loading dock's residence on Tuesday morning. We have a Monday night in our empty bedroom comfortable enough for a queen-size Aero. InTomorrow, I've dug up our new coffee (first things first) and the plastic plates, bowls and utensils, which I brought with me in the car. After breakfast we decided to go early to work and Craig at noon to allow time because we do not expect the movers to 11.00 clock. I was not alone for half an hour, when sirens started blaring down our front window on Massachusetts Avenue. They were very loud, even for the city and even from nine stories high.
To understand what is righthappened, you have to understand that Craig lived in DC almost 20 years before we sold his condo a decade ago. He is from South Carolina and, when relatives or friends would come to visit, he was always able, to some diplomatic environment, or other finding by, so that his guests say, "Oh, look! There Goes the President's motorcade! " In this way, each visitor received to "see" the President!
Now back to the sirens and myself in the window of MassachusettsAvenue. First there was smashing half a dozen motorcycle cops, flashing blue lights and sirens, then four or five DC police cars arrived, then a big black SUV with tinted windows or two, followed by two big black sedans, then came a big black SUV -- the one with antennas protrude everywhere - big black SUVs, and then more and more DC blared cruiser with flashing lights and sirens. It can not be, could it? My first morning in DC, and not a piece of furniture inthe apartment, and President Obama passed underneath my front window. Talk about auspicious beginnings! Just to make sure, I called Craig at work and described the scene. "Yup!" he said, "that really was the president's motorcade!"
I'd like to say that the rest of the week continued with that level of excitement, but it did not. As a matter of fact, it's not been an easy week at all, and that's given me a deepened appreciation for what guys in midlife are experiencing all around me right now. Transitions - both the pleasant ones and the not-so-pleasant ones - are most often tough.
I would like to be able to say that I'm overjoyed to be here in DC. The fact is that I'm not. Don't get me wrong: we found a great apartment and, after a week of opening and emptying boxes and putting things together, our place is really very, very nice. We found an apartment in a building that feels more like a hotel than an apartment complex: they even post funny little graphics about the current weather day in the two lifts. All the residents we talked to say that the love living here. I like it a lot. So, I'm not very busy these days, so I am able to discuss the implementation of everything in its place and make sure everything works the way it is likely to focus (interrupted by numerous trips to the loading dock to stacks of flat cardboard boxes). One would think that I had really good feeling about it all really, is not it?
Regardless of my age, I amFirst-hand experience a mid-life trauma: career change. It is one of the three "biggies" Apocalypse of the midlife'': career change, relationships change, and change the health. Even with all my experience, even with all my knowledge, which is a career change "me where it really hurts: in my self-image. As much as I (or someone) has a spiritual awareness and realize the fallacy of" I am what I do, "yet it can be very good, not a practical impossibility to identify with your work. If I am not aminister, if I'm not a corporate manager, if I'm not a life coach, then who am I? It doesn't feel at all good to have to look the man in the mirror in the eye and admit that I'm not really sure anymore. I keep thinking that I know, but then the rules of the game seem to change and, whenever they do, the grieving process begins all over again. So, I grieve: I grieve for my comfortable home in Rehoboth; I grieve for my community of friends; I grieve for the clients that I've had to leave behind; I grieve for the connections I made in cyberspace.
Wisdom dictates that, for every life element that we humans are required to relinquish, there opens a new creative possibility. Although I genuinely subscribe to that belief ("When God closes one door, he opens another"), grieving must occur for every door that closes, and few (if any) of us can fully enter the opening door before fully grieving the closing one. That's why I think that 's/he's in a better place' is such a pitiful response News of a death. Regardless of the truth of the matter that is not where the survivor is emotionally now, nor if he / she should still is. From this side of the fence, it now seems almost cruel to someone who just lost a job or a career that "something will certainly come, you better calm down." That may be true, but the sadness unemployed should not be forced to behold at all. The beginning of the transition, the time for licking wounds andthrough the grief experience - all five stages.
I must admit that although I know what to be done to complete this transition in my life needs, I do not know what they do today. I still deal with the troublesome emotions "(as we in recovery ). One of the most difficult aspects of any kind of grief work refers to emotions such as painful drain our energy and our SAP initiative. It is done very hard to get anything. Everything seems to be up like a mountainclimbing, steeper all the time.
The worst thing we (myself included) can do in this situation is, 'keep your ears stiff, "as the Brits would say. In our culture, we call it' stuffing your feelings." This is a sure way to catapult to the right in a crisis, because the repressed emotions will come out, either obliquely ( "Sure you have a headache ... tense, irritable .... but do not take it out on them!") or in a moment of weakness. Rather the only healthy way arethrough pain is straight ahead, feeling every step of the road.
And by the way: talk about it with others (or, if that is not practical to write about them) as much and as long as you need to get them all from experience provides you with the healthiest possible outlet. That is one reason to harass the women, faster and more thoroughly than men seem to process: they are not afraid to talk about it. Men, does it meet a lot of courage to share and what is wrong with youemotionally. Do you have what it going against the cultural grain and live your real feelings? Trust me. It is the only way to go.
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