Like a Rolling Stone

I am writing this from my new temporary residence in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I knew coming into Manhattan that my time commitment in this town was short. The graduate program would last for only two years and then it would be time to figure out a next step. And until quite recently I had no idea what that step might be. It turns out, in an odd twist of fate, to be a two month stop in Tulsa. My recent tour of the middle states continues. (I would sooner move to Cuba as Castro’s masseur than move to the state just north of Kansas). Allow me to explain how this happened. Quickly, if I can.

The big debate for the past year was what to do in the future—more graduate school (i.e. PhD program), seminary, or returning to the business world. I was waffling as it came time to make the decision, per my usual tendencies. There is a lot to debate, a lot that I don’t have time to rehash, but when push came to shove I decided to go back to the business world in the hopes of landing back in Colorado. This isn’t necessarily an irrevocable decision—PhD and seminary are both still on the table—but it is the one I felt the best about making as I did a lot of deep reflection.

I like myself better when I am working full-time at a job. It structures my life, gives it a rhythm, and from looking at my past I thrive around structure. Grad school is great in a lot of ways but it gave me a constantly open, yet burdened schedule. I had very few strict time commitments—teaching and taking a couple of classes—which gave my schedule a lot of flexibility, but also a lot of potential to waste time. Further, even though I did not have strict commitments, it always felt as if there was something I could/should be working on. So I was free, but felt busy the whole time. Some people with different dispositions can and do handle this better. I just don’t feel cut out for it.

When I was working full-time I was extremely committed time-wise. Generally 55-60 hours per week including commuting time. But it sharpened me. If I was going to run it had to be right after work or right before work. If I was going to read I had a precious short window of time in the evenings to accomplish this. If I wanted to hang out with people I had to sacrifice to make it happen. But I did all of these things more when I was working full-time than I did in a much freer graduate school schedule. I am not saying this wasn’t my fault—it completely was, but I never seemed to be able to shake it. And that worried me when I thought about doing something like a PhD—four more years of trying to fight my tendency to be lazy when my schedule is up to me.

As I was working through some of this, I took a personality test. It said a lot that I already knew (I’m good at taking tests; I like teaching), but one category that surprised me was my military preference (something like 90%). In other words, what I was sensing throughout school—structure and discipline=good—was borne out by my test. I figured that meant something.

Another thing, having a kid changes the way that I think about everything. The first time I held him when he was born last year my life changed, including the way I think about the future. As I watched my parents hold him and we took him to Colorado when he was a couple of weeks old to meet the rest of his family something changed. My life was no longer only about where I want to be and what I want to do but about how I could provide for this little person who was all of a sudden in my charge. I also decided then that I wanted him and the ones that come after him to be raised around as much of their family as they can be. This is a precious and increasingly rare ambition. But I want him to know his cousins, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents. Given that all of these people happen to be in Colorado, I also want him to grow up around the mountains, skiing, hiking, climbing, and breathing the mountain air.

In many ways, these ambitions supersede my career goals. Our generation has been taught to make much of our personal preferences and goals. Sometimes this can lapse into outright selfishness. We are increasingly reticent to rescind our independence because we don’t want others to have the right to make claims on us. We want to be able to do what we want to do. My life does not have that option. I gave that up when I got married; still more when we had a child.

There is a lot to be said for duty. I am banking on the idea that there is also pleasure in duty. We are taught to look for the next big thing, to not limit our options lest something better come around the corner and we’re stuck. I am deciding that my best life is here with this woman and this boy and whoever else joins our bunch over the next few years. I am deciding that Sunday lunches at grandma’s, watching my kids running around in the backyard playing with cousins, is more important than me getting to teach Milton every three years at a junior college in North Dakota.

There is also a lot to be said for doing what you love. I would never deny that and I don’t think that someone trying to do so is selfish. This is about me, not about others. But I think in large measure we can decide to love what we are doing. I am also banking on that.

Here’s to the next step.