Letting go, saying Yes, and choosing wisely

Last year at this time I found myself slip-sliding into 2016 with almost none of the thought and intention that I usually had brought to the process each year. A couple of months in, I could see where the year was taking me, so I declared a Word of the Year and a general goal: this would be the year I divested myself of belongings, activities, attitudes, or goals that no longer served me well.

Some of that happened, and not by accident. I cleaned out closets and cabinets, tossing clothes I no longer needed. I leafed through and then tossed large boxes of publications and documents that once were valued evidence of my work or markers of battles won and lost. (There is plenty more clearing to do!)

After a long and frustrating struggle to achieve a smooth transition to new leadership for our 28-year commitment to save and operate a historic carousel, Peter and I announced our planned departure--and then quit in November a few months sooner than we'd planned. It was the best, most freeing decision we've ever made, and we believe it cleared the way for new leaders to step forward in ways they weren't doing while we were still in place.

While we were at it, we finally pulled the plug on our long-standing support for St. Paul Saints minor-league baseball. Charter season-ticket holders since 1993, we were no longer enjoying the experience as we once had, and neither were our kids and grandkids. We'd already cut down on the number of games we attended (from 50 to 6 or 8). Next year we'll go to 2 games followed by fireworks.

Quicker than I'd expected, new priorities rushed in to fill the void. And it turns out that life brought them to me, without my planning for them. All I had to do was say Yes.

This year I'm much more aware of my need to reflect and deliberate about my goals and interests. I'm already finding I'll be much more effective if I focus on a few rather than try to do them all. The coming of a new year--and all that it implies--makes me determined to choose wisely for this new stage of life.

I promise I'll be back soon to talk about it. Meanwhile I'd love to hear what's on your mind as we enter 2017.

--Nancy

Throw the bum out!

On Memorial Day I wrote that my dad was away at war from the time I was 8 months old until I turned two. The family photo album contains black-and-white photos showing my mom, grandma, aunts, and cousins. Society as I knew it was run by women.

Then a man came home, this stranger with a deep voice who walked into our house and acted like he belonged. What’s more, my mom and grandma acted like he belonged. (Let me quickly add that my dad was a respectful, even-tempered guy. But to my two-year-old self, he barged in and disrupted our lives, and of course he took away my sense that everything revolved around me.)

I’ve had issues with male authority figures ever since. As in, Who does this guy think he is? Why doesn’t he respect that I know what I’m doing? As I write this I can feel the creeping resentment I have felt toward so many male bosses. Women, fine, I can work with them. Men seem like they’re…barging in.

I was dealing with an especially large dose of this resentment in the mid-1990s. I reported to a boss who was in way over his head. I tried to give him helpful information and advice, but he didn’t know enough to take it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to keep me around. One of my benefits was free tuition for my stepdaughter at a great college. It would be a year until she started, and I was determined to hang on until she graduated. With my hubby’s coaching, I handled the situation. But I always had to be careful and act respectful, and sometimes I wanted to explode.

One night at a baseball game, I found release. The umpire made what I thought was a good call. The rival manager strode onto the field to complain. The crowd was yelling at the manager to get off the field, and yelling at the umpire to throw him out. I joined in. I climbed up on the seat and screamed as loud as I could. I kept it up as long as the two men kept arguing, as long as anyone in the stands kept heckling. A friend said he thought it had been a bad call and the manager was justified in complaining. I said I didn’t care, I was having a breakthrough.

I was very publicly voicing my disagreement with a male authority figure, and I reveled in the feeling. It didn’t matter that he had no authority over me. It only mattered that I chose to let go, to be loud and disapproving and unrepressed and, yes, undignified. I wasn’t trying to persuade him, I was just feeling free.

I don’t need to yell at the umpire any more. Whether I have a good boss or a bad one, I can cope. But it's only in the last couple of days that connected all this with that unsuspecting man who came home when I was two and shifted my reality in a way I couldn't understand.