So It Begins

I must dash to my flight, but while I have internet access at the airport bar, I will say this: airport Bloody Marys are the best Bloody Marys. And I'm off!

"Therefore I go, dubious, but elate; apprehensive of intolerable pain; yet I think bound in my adventuring to conquer after huge suffering, bound, surely, to discover my desire in the end." - Virginia Woolf

Bittersweet Goodbyes

I have a weird confession: I get my hair cut far (and I do mean far) less frequently than I believe is recommended by hair stylists and most sane people alike. Perhaps this dates back to the time I had my bangs cut in three uneven, too-short chunks, prompting me to dye my hair bright red and pretend it was edgy and intentional (I fooled no one). Or maybe the time I worked at a salon, an experience I ended with tri-color chin-length hair that wouldn't have even looked good on a fashion model. Perhaps it's rooted in a deference to other spending priorities (see: whiskey, fresh produce, plane tickets). Or maybe it is simply a reflection of a more metaphor-friendly hesitance to embrace change.

I officially leave Boston one week from today. And, although my hair still looks terrible, my life in Boston that led me in pursuit of new adventures looks more and more wonderful every day.

It's not that I'm second-guessing my decision to go, I think I'm just appreciating the beauty of this life with an abandon I really only allowed myself once I made the decision to leave it. I have found so much to love here. I have a routine I enjoy, a job I've learned how to do well, friends I love, a house that feels right to come back to after any time spent away. I've found lovely spots to hike, a running route I begrudgingly enjoy (or at least know), I am learning to cook and I pack my lunch each night and make coffee every morning. I'm surrounded by music and musicians who, despite their incredible talent, tolerate my plunking attempts at playing basic chords. I can finally drive around without blind deference to my GPS. I have made, of Boston, a home.

But I'm not leaving because I wasn't happy here. I'm leaving because I want to make myself completely available to learn more about others, communicate more with myself, and eek out my place in this big world, And, of course, enjoy some adventures along the way. This is about shaking up the routines I've come to love and making myself open to be grabbed by passion as I figure out what comes next.

Back to my coiffure confession: I am reminded that, whatever the cause of my initial hesitation to schedule that stupid appointment, more difficult still are the days that lead up to it. I manage to have myself convinced, as the big moment rapidly approaches, that my hair looks better and better every day. Only through taking the necessary step to eradicate them am I able to overlook those things I sought to change. From dead ends and lifeless shape to the realization that my job was no longer serving to enable my growth and I lacked a sense of what direction to pursue next, I choose change for a reason. But knowing I need a change should neither undermine nor glorify what I've had. Instead, I take the next step, emboldened and strengthened by all I have learned and all that I love that has served not only to grow me but also to prepare me for wherever my path next leads.

So I'm leaving yet another home, and one that I love dearly, but I'm not closing the door behind me. I don't know where I will end up in just a few short months (which may render my departure more of a sojourn), or with what goals, priorities and dreams. But today, with one week left to my first flight and my bright, beautiful room dismantled into messy piles and suitcases, I'm taking a moment to simply revel in the beauty of this life and the people in it who have filled my days with love, laughter, whiskey and music, who have made me strong enough to know I need to go and also made me sad to say goodbye.

Reasoning Myself Into Faith

A few weeks ago, I went to church for what was arguably the first time in my adult life. I was not brought up to be religious and, in fact, spent many years deploring not only organized religion but faith itself. Belief in a higher power (and the fervor and violence with which people historically defended and spread these beliefs) stood at odds with my youthful and analytical brain. It seemed to be nothing more than a security blanket for adults, and one with often destructive effects. I valued instead what I imagined to be hard truths and realism, feeling perfectly satisfied that there was no greater power than my own mind and the minds of others around me.

This view, thankfully, has matured and expanded with time. I am neither so narcissistic as to confidently believe in the supreme power of my own self nor so narrow as to so easily dismiss the perspectives of others. But what really led me through the doors of that sunny and welcoming Unitarian Universalist church was what I have realized is a quest for faith.

Not faith in God. Or even really faith in myself (although who couldn't use more of that?). Not faith in the goodness of others, I've seen enough to know this exists in excess between people. Not even faith in love, although that too could never hurt to increase. What I sought was the simplest and most complicated kind of faith I could imagine: faith that it will all actually be okay. That the forces of the universe, combined with my own will power, hard work and skill, will lead me to a fulfilling life that I want and value.

For those of you scoffing, a part of me is right there alongside you. Of course it will work out in the end: we are all alive right up until we die. And, furthermore, most of us, myself included, are better than we let ourselves believe at enjoying the moments as they occur, even within tumultuous and uncertain times. I have always been happier than I am sad, had more fun than I've been bored, found more love and friendship than I have loneliness. And I've never shied away from change and growth, so in that sense, if it hasn't worked out, then it isn't the end.

These arguments are my process of reasoning myself into faith: what if I take another job that isn't for me? Then I'll leave and have the opportunity to try yet another. What if I miss people? Then I'll have the strength go where I need to be instead. What if I run out of money? Then I'll live with my mom (right, Mom?) and find odd jobs to pay the bills. What if people don't like me? Then I'll find people who do (and those guys probably were probably jerks anyway). What if I never find what I love? Then I will keep looking and I will find a way to enjoy the moments in between.

Absent in me, which of course no single church visit can instill, is a sense of contentment with these analytical answers. Put another way, I lack the conviction and faith that things really will work out for me to be who I want to be and lead a life that I enjoy.

I'm beginning to believe that very few of us know what we want to do with our lives. At least not in the way I have spent years believing I should, trying on dreams and careers like over-sized Halloween costumes from someone else's dress-up box. Instead, I'm seeking comfort with the uncertainty, with the constant only of change. I am seeking true enjoyment of the process, focusing on the fun, growth and beauty in this journey whose ending point isn't really the priority. And to do that, I am reasoning myself into faith.

Whispered like a prayer, chanted like a mantra, sung like one of those beautiful songs that nearly brought me to tears in the pews of that alien church building: it will all work out, it will all be okay, I will be okay. And if it hasn't worked out, then it isn't the end.

Going Up the River

First, some news: I quit my job! I had begun this process (and I do mean process, I think every person at my company had to be consulted first) thinking I may try to go part-time instead of just leaving. It seemed safer, left me with less uncertainty, maintained some form of income, gave me a reason not to sublet my lovely apartment here in Boston. But, dear friends, where's the adventure in certainty!? I've prioritized certainty for my whole life. SO I quit! (Did I mention that I quit!?) My last day of work is June 24th, a little later than anticipated, but it helps the agency so I willingly agreed.

My direct supervisor relayed back to me some of the many conversations she had on my behalf to facilitate this transition. The response of our Executive Director, in particular, stands out: "Oh! Mara's going up the river!" Perhaps you've heard the parable that makes sense of this statement, though it was new to me:

One day, someone noticed a newborn baby crying and floating down a river, followed quickly by a second and a third. A group of civic-minded kind-hearted folk, realizing this serious tragedy, began wading into the water to receive the children and take them in as their own. Frantically, they watched upriver, careful to let no child pass through their safety net. Soon, one woman left the water, and began walking upstream. "Wait!" the waders shouted after her, "We need to stay and save the babies!" She turned back to them and replied, "I know, I'm going upstream to stop the bastard who keeps throwing them in!"

As can be said for all of us (barring, of course, the one you may currently hold), I have left every job I've ever had. I have long been on the quest for the field, position and environment where I can apply myself, growing and utilizing my own skills while working towards some positive and rewarding end. Unsurprisingly, my criteria and even definitions of each piece of this have changed and broadened dramatically over the years. I did, after all, start this career journey in politics! Much of my experience has taught me more about what I don't want than what I do, which I have learned to appreciate despite its frustrating lack of resolution. I still have more questions than answers, but each step along the way has provided me invaluable knowledge about the working world, the way the world works and my place in both.

The most important lesson I am taking from this job is the realization that I am not well-suited to acting as a safety net. The work of the wader is both noble and necessary; after all, who will save the babies while others address the cause? But it is also never-ending, allowing for very little room to motivate big picture change or create long-term success and requiring an unyielding sense of optimism and patience. Service providers at this level across every field have forever earned my appreciation, admiration and respect. I am intensely grateful for this experience and the innumerable things it has taught me, chief among them the invaluable knowledge that this work is not for me.

So, I continued my history of quitting. This time, taking with me the knowledge that I want to be involved at a higher level of enacting change. I seek to address issues at their root, to apply myself toward identifying and treating the causes and not just the symptoms. I'm going upstream, moving up not only the proverbial river of working towards positively impacting the world around me but also the river of realizing my own goals, ambitions and career path.

An Honest Beginning

For years, if you were to call me and reach my voicemail, you would hear a recording that began, "Hello Everybody, you've reached Mara!" and ended, several sentences later, with "Thanks, and have a great day!" For those of you who never had the pleasure of hearing that message, imagine my most upbeat and enthusiastic tone - the consummate hostess, pleased to welcome you to our communications. It struck me as a perfectly obvious greeting. I had no doubt I would receive a high volume of callers, each of whom would share my excitement to ultimately connect and communicate, who understood and upheld my expectations for an enjoyable conversation with meaning and value.

Alas, professional contacts, efficiency and a touch of my own self-consciousness resulted in the message's current simpler and shorter form: "You've reached Mara. Leave a message and I'll call you back." Of course, time has changed more than my voicemail greeting. Having introduced a healthy bit of uncertainty about others, myself and my role in the world, I am less insufferably optimistic, more comfortable with silence, more self-reflective.

The point, you may ask? I am at a loss for how to welcome you to my new blog. I have no presumption about who will read it, with what emotion or even the value of what I will write. The simple certainty of my former voicemail won't serve me here; I can no longer write, "Welcome, Everybody, to my fabulous adventures and the insightful, witty and fascinating things I will be saying about them!" I am glad to have become more humble, reflective and even uncertain, and given you this long introductory rant instead. But a true welcome is still elusive. I suppose, in its stead, I will say this:

This week, I began the process of quitting my job with nothing on the horizon but adventure. I am in a place of huge transitions - I am not certain what I'm seeking or where it will lead me, but I intend to chronicle it here and I am honored to have you read, respond and join me as you see fit.

On the title of my blog: a completely silly song happened into my life today as I was beginning the process of starting this blog. The song is called "You Can't Rollerskate in a Buffalo Herd" by Roger Miller. Loathe though I am to end a sentence with a preposition, ("This is the sort of English up with which I will not put") I find myself very drawn to the song's main refrain: "You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd but you can be happy if you've a mind to." Perhaps I'm drawn to the independence behind the idea that you make yourself happy. Perhaps I'm drawn to it because balancing the future-driven leader I've always been with this new quest for comfort and growth in uncertainty feels a little like trying to roller skate in a buffalo herd. Perhaps I'm just silly. Or perhaps I'm really just toasting to this new journey that has caused me to accept challenges I would once have answered with "I can't."