When it comes to the big things, I don’t make decisions. I’ve found that I give myself clues to my direction by watching what I do. For example, when I buy a car (every 12 years or so) I don’t decide, “Oh, it’s time to get a new car,” Well, that’s not quite true, when I traded in my Starion in 2002 it was because it needed expensive repair for the first time in its some 16 years. But when I bought the Starion I realized that I’d been looking at automobile ads with special interest for some time. “Aha!” I said to me, “there must be a reason why you’re doing this. I guess it’s time to buy a new car.”
And then there’s moving, as in leaving Connecticut for Minnesota. Oh, I had done a lot of spadework – even bought a house here and rented it under control of a leasing agent. But it was 2:00 a.m. one April morning that I said to myself, “OK. I’m moving in November or December.” I started telling my clients that I’d be leaving. That’s when I learned that things can move pretty fast with a deadline. I also told potential clients my plan, offering to give them a referral if they wanted longer-term work. Only one person asked for a referral. One potential client even said, “Good. I hate psychologists anyway.” We did get things done in a hurry. On her way out of our last session she thanked me for being the only therapist who ever helped because “You tell it like it is.” (If you know me personally and want to ask in private, I’ll tell you how that worked.)
Then there was the move out of that first Minnesota home. Partly it was my own behavior, and partly it was the snow and ice that clogged my garage door at the bottom of the steep driveway. “Wouldn’t it be fun,” I thought, “just to see what’s available around here.” Smart real estate agent. She knew better than I did what I wanted. In no time at all I had made a deposit on my current home and sold my ice collector. I love it here.
But here’s my question. What am I telling myself now? In the past three days I’ve stuffed my recycling bin with the contents of twenty business-size three-ring notebooks and purchased $32.00 worth of shredding. Gone are my teaching notes and materials for the workshops I used to do on “Forgiveness,” “A Healthy Woman is a Crazy Person,” and “Stress.” Am I subconsciously planning to move? I don’t think so. Am I accepting that I’m retired enough that I can spend my time hanging out with good books and traveling? It’s a possibility. Am I clearing a path for more devotion to writing? It could be. Is some new career creeping up on me? Maybe.
As soon as I know the answer, I’ll let you know, whether you ask for it or not.
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