I am home. I got home Friday and today is Tuesday. There is some symbolism in the juxtaposition of my travel. I left a sunny Overland Park that has begun to show some brilliant fall colors. I arrived in Portland and yesterday the rains came. It is fall here in Portland; even with temperatures being almost ten degrees warmer than normal, the skies are grey and the wind is blowing from the East. I am feeling the slump that surely must come from leaving a time and place of tremendous productivity and work and returning to a place where work is in short supply and my days are filled with too much free time for my liking.
I have also returned to my quiet little house, my Sweetie and the news that one of our cats is suffering serious health problems. We will find out later today if she is nearing the end of her life.
Meanwhile, I look around at my physical and emotional surroundings and recognize that there are trade-offs in everything. While In Kansas, I thought a lot about the possibility of moving there to work something closer to full-time; but the logistical considerations (no public transit where I would be living and a family situation that is not really conducive to relocation being chief among them) make it impossible at this time.
At home, I find myself without a regular synagogue job -- indeed, without a regular 9-to-5 sort of job at all -- for the first time in several years. There is income on the horizon, it's just not happening in a traditional way or on a traditional schedule. There are possibilities for some kind of advancement in my chosen line of work, but none of them are where I live, and they are not likely to appear here anytime soon.
I recognize that today I am feeling the letdown that comes after an adventure. It's normal, it's understandable and it doesn't sit well with me just now. I recognize that downtime happens now and then for everyone, and that I have a choice: I can be unsettled and squirmy with it, or I can try to still myself and listen for that "still, small voice" (within me? outside of me? I don't know, really) and see what I hear.
So today I will try to still myself, and watch the rain, and listen.
I have also returned to my quiet little house, my Sweetie and the news that one of our cats is suffering serious health problems. We will find out later today if she is nearing the end of her life.
Meanwhile, I look around at my physical and emotional surroundings and recognize that there are trade-offs in everything. While In Kansas, I thought a lot about the possibility of moving there to work something closer to full-time; but the logistical considerations (no public transit where I would be living and a family situation that is not really conducive to relocation being chief among them) make it impossible at this time.
At home, I find myself without a regular synagogue job -- indeed, without a regular 9-to-5 sort of job at all -- for the first time in several years. There is income on the horizon, it's just not happening in a traditional way or on a traditional schedule. There are possibilities for some kind of advancement in my chosen line of work, but none of them are where I live, and they are not likely to appear here anytime soon.
I recognize that today I am feeling the letdown that comes after an adventure. It's normal, it's understandable and it doesn't sit well with me just now. I recognize that downtime happens now and then for everyone, and that I have a choice: I can be unsettled and squirmy with it, or I can try to still myself and listen for that "still, small voice" (within me? outside of me? I don't know, really) and see what I hear.
So today I will try to still myself, and watch the rain, and listen.
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