Restless(ness)

- adjective
1. characterized by or showing inability to remain at rest.
2. unquiet or uneasy, as a person, the mind, or the heart.
3. never at rest: perpetually agitated or in motion.
4. without rest; without restful sleep.
5. unceasingly active; averse to quiet or inaction.

Last week was a long week of much action. I had more free time on my hands than I've had for a few months, and I chose to use it doing a few things that I've been wanting to do all summer: reading (for pleasure) and running. And so I did them, as I do most things the need for which has been building: with wholehearted, almost maniacal, purpose and focus, while also trying to be moderately productive at my job and remember to eat healthily now and then.

The book was A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. I remember seeing this book at bookstores for years but never felt a need to read it. It seemed too mainstream or something, and I rarely enjoy bestsellers. Doug read it in late May/early June and I remember it affecting his mood greatly, so I picked up a copy.

The best thing about running is, it gives me time to think and the energy to think fast and furiously and positively; reading tends to agitate my imagination, because when I read something I want to read I don't just process the words, I deeply experience and internalize what I'm reading. And then a conversation with Doug about discontentment (no, restlessness!) and my past sent me reeling...what a week for thinking.

As usual, it all ties together. Where I've been puts me where I am today.

AHWOSG was published about ten years ago. Ten years ago I graduated from college. As I read Eggers' description of furniture, wallpaper, people, places, shows, I was reminded of the world I grew up in: a world without internet, with lots of plaid flannel and MTV and grunge music. The 1990's were just another cycle which among other things saw the rise of my generation of slackers, the MTV generation, the teenage counter to the ambitious preppie hard-working yuppie culture of the 80's who are the parents of the high schoolers I advise.

Too much has been written about differences in generations for me to go into it here, except to say that I have always been a misfit in my generation. Technically everyone's a deviation from a "norm" to some degree, but I'm increasingly aware (and appreciative) of just how strange I was, and am, relative to my age group. I was born in what was then pretty deep country to an educated but rural-cultured family. My dad was a wildlife officer, farmer, and an alcoholic. My stepdad was northern and Polish, he yelled and was pushy but took me fishing and bike-riding and left me alone most of the time, so I didn't know whether to hate him or like him most of the time. My mom was a housewife, then a secretary, then a paralegal, then put herself through school to become an adviser to the US attorney. I was by far the youngest child in the family, so I was virtually raised as an only child which was fine with me, because I was far more comfortable with adults than other kids.

My first years of school were in Tennessee, a different school for pre-K, Kindergarten, and first grade. I remember being an outsider because I took advanced reading classes, didn't talk or act or look or play like other kids, and didn't particularly want to fit in. This meant that I was teased and bullied a bit, usually for "acting too smart" and being "ugly" (thanks for the paige-boy haircut, mom), but not too much, because I wasn't small and I didn't make myself available because I wandered off all the time. Not to say I wasn't lonely; I was! But never for too long... I didn't realize it until just now, but my best friends came to me then, and they have always come to me when I needed them most. wow.

Anyway, thank God we moved to Texas. Texas offered a pretty stable suburban childhood during important years, and Texas schools had stuff for kids like me to do! Stuff to keep us from going insane. Stuff that made me feel not-so-smart-anymore and actually compete with other kids! I hated competing, I refused to play teenage social games, and I remained a misfit or an outskirter. But the other kids did give me something to compare myself to, so I learned to play an instrument, indulged my talent at drawing and painting and sculpting a little bit. And I read. I read so much. I filled shelves with books. I sold shelves of books at garage sales. I have so many memories which are tied intimately to what beloved book I was reading, or re-reading, or re-re-reading. Books were my best friends when kids were not.

Horses had always been a passion, and looking back I see that they were an outlet for all of my teenage tension. Coming back to TN and leaving my Texas life behind wasn't that hard because my friends were horses. Webb nurtured this even more: my friends were the children of professors, the hippie-ish smart outerlimits-loving kids who didn't smoke or drink, to my knowledge. And instead of going out and getting in trouble, I was working myself to exhaustion at the barn. This made me even more of a misfit with my generation, but by the time I cared, it was too late to catch up. So I just kept going to the beat of my own personal percussionist.

I marched right on into college, and about 3 years in, the percussionist died. Or maybe took up the lute or harmonica, because there was no longer the clear purposeful marching but instead a hesitant sort of humming sound. Maybe it was the internet or the Matrix or just ringing in my ears. I started to feel kinda lost. And I felt absolutely no connection to my generation of culture and purpose to yank me in any particular direction. In 2000, about the time AHWOSG was published, my dad died, which further rocked my world. So I started to wander (metaphorically, of course, I stayed pretty firmly planted physically in Middle TN). My wandering was supported by a pretty good work ethic and a great job with a global company that took me places and showed me people and concepts I'd never have been exposed to otherwise. I had so many friends, I traveled almost every month, I dated and had my heart broken, I dated and kept my heart out of it, and I learned how to be alone. I learned so much, but I felt increasingly lost and disconnected. I didn't stop wandering until about 2007.

In 2007 my customers were colleges and universities. Learning about their business challenges, thinking about the learning environments they were trying to create, woke something up in me. Physically I woke up, too. I decided to start taking care of myself again. I started dating with a little bit more purpose, and decided that I was much happier alone than trying to conform myself to any over-ambitious man's idea of what he wants in a wife. And I found God again. By Jan 1 2008 I had paid of 100% of my non-mortgage debt. I felt free and confident and secure. And I felt like exploring.

This time I wasn't wandering, I was actually searching with a purpose. I didn't need a percussionist: I knew where and when (and why!) to put my feet. I took myself into a completely new career path, one that would expose me to education, non-profit, small business, children, and (by virtue of being a school) give me time and a reason to discover what's happening in the world from the safety of my desk and via conversations with people whose business it is to know things. Fast-forward two more years and you're here.

No wonder I'm restless. I always refused to stop and join into anyone else's world, and now I'm somewhere that tries to coerce me, daily, more strongly than anywhere else I've been, into stopping and growing roots. But my sense of purpose is itching again. Wanderlust is setting in.