Life: What Happens When You’re Making Other Plans (A Guest Post by my Mom)

This is a guest post from my Mom, a woman I respect and admire.  In 2005, she retired from nearly 20 years of work with a major corporation.  Her first position with that corporation was telemarketer–she worked the night shift and returned home to her other full-time job:  mother, where she prepared four children for school each morning.  She finished with the corporation as a Senior Vice President.  Just a week ago, she decided to become an employee again, a wonderful reminder that there is a difference between “having a job” and “going to work.”

How many times have you heard the expression, “Find a job you love and you’ll never ‘work’ a day in your life?”

I’m sure it’s been a source of some decisions you’ve made related to course selections, career goals, job opportunities and–ultimately–landing that primo job.Well, sometimes that expression can apply even in your “senior” years.

I loved to draw, even as a child. My signature still survives on my old First Birthday cards that my Mother neatly arranged in my baby scrapbook. I scribbled on all of them and was very proud of my work. I pursued the artistic route in high school, but never went to college. I took an office job after graduation, fell in love and got married.

I got pretty good at making babies…. four of them to be exact. It’s still the most beloved job I’ve ever had. The domesticated goddess that I became continued to feel the “gnaw to draw”; it got put on the back burner as I took another position with a major corporation.

Climbing the corporate ladder, rung by rung, became my new mantra. Until that fatal day when I opened my e-mail only to see the words “volunteer retirement” What? I’m how old and I have how many years of service? I thought I was still scribbling.

Should I stay at my job and fight to keep the position, as new, more experienced candidates came up that same ladder? Should I stay at my job (the one that now I dreaded) or should I take that leap of faith? It was a no-brainer. I took the leap.

I had great plans to enjoy my life: go back to using the creative side of my brain. It’s been four years. Family illness, a wedding, and the birth of a new grandson have all filled the time. But wait, I’m still feeling that I’m not really retired–I’m just in the process of re-inventing myself. Who am I? What do I want? What is my purpose?

I’ve been meditating on this for years:  rewind to childhood, art, and drawing.  So, I decided to sign up for a class “The Joy of Drawing.”  (It sounded appropriate) What a joy it has been. I’m there for three hours and sometimes I never even take a sip of water. I think I could do this and it wouldn’t feel like work.

So, remember that thing called “Life?” Well it happened.  I’m walking around a store one day and I see a sign “Scrapbook Instructor Needed.” I like to be creative, my artistic juices are flowing right now, and I have some experience with scrapbooks–even if it is as a scribbler! I decided to apply for the position.  But–it’s going to be on my terms this time.

I go to my job, do what I love, and it never feels like work. I’m excited to teach people to create what they see, not what they think they should create. Wow! Is that a life lesson or what? It could relate to everything: Do what you like, not what you think you should do.

My life has been a real circus lately. A little bit of a magic act–but I can relate to the trapeze artist. I’ve let go of the bar and I’m flying. I haven’t quite reached the other side, but sometimes in mid-air, in that stillness, you get to experience life’s greatest lessons:

Don’t be afraid to let go and follow your heart. Do what you love to do. It is never too late to create your own “Still Life.”
-The Flying Stuhlinski

What do you think?  Is retirement an end or a beginning?

Share your thoughts and comments for my Mom below.

Coors Light, the Cops, and an Angry Old Man

I want to tell you a story today about adulthood.  You might not expect that a 27 year old student has much to say about the ins and outs of being an adult.  But an experience I had just 14 days ago has convinced me otherwise and I hope relating the experience will convince you, too.

Let me paint the picture for you.  Imagine that you’re me.  I’m walking Mackenzie the Dog around our neighborhood in downtown Madison, Wisconsin.  It’s a Friday–but not just any Friday.  It’s a beautiful, here-comes-the-weekend, everything-is-perfect Friday.  It might help you conjure up this image by picturing that a soundtrack is playing in the background.  The soundtrack would sound something like Boyz II Men because they’re epic (and the reference to this band might be considered foreshadowing)

My house and Mackenzie’s dinner is just a block away–across Reynolds Field, one of the few city parks in town.  Next to Reynolds Field is Breese Stevens Stadium, where all of the high school soccer teams in Dane County come to play their games.  We are fortunate to live in this area of town because we have so much green space to run around.  In fact, Mackenzie is kind of pissed that there are people occupying Reynolds Field at this particular moment.  She feels like she owns this park,so she takes a pee on it.

There must be a game tonight because the stadium lights are on.  And the street is all “parked up” by spectators looking to get a good seat.  This is fine by me.  It adds to the sense of community.

But something’s not right about this picture. Here’s what I see:  about 20 high schoolers gathered around a pop-up card table.  They are being fairly loud and rowdy for Friday at 4:30pm.  And the closer I get, the more Red Solo Cups I see.  And then I spot a trash bag full of Coors Light.  My first thought is:

“Who the eff drinks Coors Light?”

(Especially in Wisconsin.  And especially because that beer company has yoked its entire marketing campaign to selling the “coldest beer.”  Come on, anyone can put anything in a bottle, stick it in the fridge and–guess what?–30 minutes later, it’s cold).

So I’m angry that these under-agers are disrespecting me and the law and the entire state of Wisconsin by drinking.  They shouldn’t be drinking out in the open like that.  They’re not even 21!  What if one of them has to get in a car and drive in about an hour?  When I was young we drank Natty Light or warm diet coke with cheap vodka.  Have some respect.

As these thoughts bounced around my raging brain, something in me presses pause for a second.  Who am I? Am I Andy Stuhl, the guy who celebrates the anniversary of his 21st birthday each year?   Or am I Andrew Stuhl, the guy who owns a house and a dog, is engaged to be married, and generally likes to lounge in his Adidas sweatpants on rainy days?

In this moment, I decided I was the latter.  And here’s the kicker:  I didn’t just get “all adult” by thinking that what those kids were doing was wrong.  I made a huge next step.   I called the cops.

Yup, I picked up the phone and rang the local police station.  This was not an emergency, so no 911 was needed (sorry Sean Kingston).  It was just a friendly neighbor alerting the fuzz of a potential situation.  I convinced myself I was doing my duty as a citizen–this was illegal and dangerous activity.  It was the “right thing to do” to call the cops and let them know that young, under-age, and possibly intoxicated kids would soon get into cars and drive away.

As soon as I put the phone down, I had pangs of regret.  Am I “that guy?”  Am I Mr. Hypocritical?  Of course, we must remember, I too attended soccer games as a high school student.  My high school team reached #1 in the USA back in the day, partly because I was there in attendance cheering the boys on.  And I may or may not have been drinking beforehand.

I realized there were two reasons why I called the cops.  For one, I wanted to assert my own adulthood by “doing the right thing” and making sure everybody was safe.

Underneath that motivation was something deeper–potentially more adult.  It was the nagging feeling that I was getting older and that I recognized in these kids a shade of my youth, a version of my younger self.

Having that out-of-body realization–that distance between where I stood in life and where those teenagers were–that was the moment I knew I was an adult.

How to Give Feedback

Tim and I were friends, which is why it surprised me that he kept flaking out on me. We were in a band and we needed to practice.  We had lunch plans.  We were going hiking with friends.  He had other things to do.

I wanted to let him know. Dude, this isn’t right.  We’re friends!  Keep to your word. So I did let him know, but not like that.  I didn’t choose the up front and honest approach.

We were walking back from class. Ironically, I think we had just discussed Thoreau that day.  Thoreau is one of my favorites and one of Tim’s too.  He may be one of the reasons Tim and I bonded:  we both want to drive life into a corner and see what it has to offer.

The moment came.  I think it was Tim who spoke first. He said something like, “Let’s hang out soon.”  This was like pressing the On button on the coffee-maker.  All of my grounds for not being a good friend were being percolated by my boiling emotions.

“Sure, sounds great.”  (You have to imagine that what I offer to Tim here is glazed with sarcasm.)  And I follow that up with, “Hopefully we can actually hang out this time.”

I got him.  Now he’ll never bail on me again.  He finally knows what our friendship means.  Winner: me.

A week passed and I kind of forgot about this private victory. It was time for  class again.  The group had a great discussion that spilled over to the walk back to campus.  Tim slides through the mass to my side:  Can I talk to you for a second?

Oh crap. Everyone knows these words are signs of things to come–bad things to come.  My stomach hollows out–what did I do wrong? Am I bad person?  I am a bad person.  I just don’t know why yet.

It’s obvious by the look on his face that Tim is the most mature person in the world right now. “Listen, man,” he confesses, “that was pretty harsh what you said last week.  You laid a guilt trip on me.  That’s not what I want this friendship to be about.  If you have something to say,  I want you to be honest with me.”

I was on the floor.  He leveled with me. I was stuck to my guilt as Tim strode away with his genuine freedom.  He was right.  I had to come to terms with that.

What got me is that Tim said what I couldn’t say–the truth.  He didn’t struggle with it.  He just put it out there.  He pulled back his sleeve and showed me his heart.

Last summer, I stood behind Tim as he got married. I was his best man. His feedback probably saved our friendship.  At the very least it redirected its course from “we’re good friends” to “we’re best friends.”   You know what I’m talking about–that friend in your life who you go to when things are a little crazy and you just need some realness. (Not the one whose Facebook pictures you flip through and suddenly realize you have no idea who you are looking at.)

The woman he married was the woman he started dating in college.  Tim was not flaking out on me–he was trying to balance a whole new life.

I wish I had had the guts to be sincere with him.  But maybe I wouldn’t have truly learned what it takes to be open and frank–until I knew what was on the line.

“Just Say No” is Decent Advice

Last week, I was on the verge of saying “no” to a great opportunity.  And I could have completely justified it without looking back.

I’m big on protecting my time outside of 9-5.  Though I’m not in the corporate environment, I consider my work professional–and I treat my days the ways most employees and employers do:  I show up prepared to log my hours in the morning and I head home when it’s time to go in the afternoon.

For these reasons, I’m defensive about signing on to new projects.  I’m the guy who doesn’t claim any availability after 5pm in the Doodle.  I’m the guy who questions whether team meetings need to happen on the weekends.  I’m the guy who pushes for getting up early rather than staying out late.

It’s not that I don’t want to get involved.   Because at the same time that I’m the guy I just described above, I’m also the guy who is whole-heartedly on your team.  I’ve been blessed to have passionate people all around me working on wonderful, heart-breaking, complicated, and beautiful issues in real places.  I’m inspired by my colleagues and delighted to work alongside them.  I’m a secretary for a group of organized graduate students because I like to get things done.  I’m a representative to faculty on behalf of students because I want to make the programs I’m in better.  I’m a team player and I’m proud to be on your team.

But I know when to stop playing, too.  And that’s how I almost missed the boat on a wonderful project.

The problem was that I had trained myself to pick out the reasons why I should not be doing something.  Hmm, this looks like it would be fun–but it would take away from my time at home.  I’d love to be a part of this, but would I be able to keep up my exercise routine?  How will I still get 8 hours of sleep if I’m working four nights a week?

Time with loved ones.  Time for myself.  Time for health and exercise.  Time for sleep. These were my filters that helped me maintain my balance between work and life.  They keep my life in good order.

But they also have a tendency to keep life and work as they are. And, as we twenty-somethings know, we have to stretch to grow. We have to risk to get rewards.  So, when I sat down to analyze whether or not I could sign on for this project, I was so close to saying “No.”  It was easy.  It made sense. It would protect my work and life.

The thing that shook my filters from their sturdy foundations was passion. The project that I’ve signed on to is the kind of thing that I want to do for my work and my life:  work in communities to learn about the intersections of culture, history, and environment.  Work with and learn from under-served populations.  Spread the word through different forms of media about the wonderful senses of place people have in the neighborhoods and cities they love.

Sure, this project met the criteria that would lead me to reject it.  But it also had the potential to enrich both my work and life–and to create a new balance between the two.

The catch for me was checking-in with what my life was about and making sure I could still have time for the people and things I love. I talked with my fiancee.  Would you support me in this?  Can I eat up some of our time to work on this?  Will you make sure I don’t spend too much time on it? She was there for me by saying “Yes” too.  How thankful I am to have a rock when things get shaky, a lighthouse in the fog.

“Just say No” is decent advice. It protects your way of life, your sanity, your health, your relationships, your performance on the job.  But the advice is not golden–there are reasons to stretch, to upset the normal work/life balance and find a new, albeit temporary, working order.

Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There

We’re all confronted with tough situations we never could have expected. An angry customer yelling in your face. An injured stranger who appears in front of you on your afternoon jog. A loved one who dumps their stress on your shoulders.

In the heat of these moments, how do you react? Instead of responding to the pressure and taking action just because, what if your mantra was “don’t just do something, sit there?”

In a way, it is counter intuitive to sit on your hands in an emergent situation.  Usually, things need to happen fast in order to correct a wrong-doing or prevent a disaster.   But what do we risk by leaping first and looking second?

Safety, for one.  In first aid training, we are taught to assess the scene before entering it.  Take the injured stranger, for example.  You happen upon someone lying in the street.  Your instinct screams, “Help them.” If you approach them without taking a second to evaluate what’s going on, you may be creating more danger.  Maybe the building they’re laying in front of is full of noxious gasses–getting too close could turn you from the only rescuer into a second victim.  Who knows–the point is that one minute’s preparation is worth an hour’s cure.  This is why police officers train endlessly to see the big picture–and prevent the negative consequences of “tunnel vision“–when presented with a threat.

We can apply these lessons from medical training and security to other aspects of life. If we are too quick to respond, we might have sacrificed the appropriate time to listen–to what and who is around us. The angry customer and the loved one are similar cases. They want answers and they want them now.  You hear them out–or maybe you don’t; you interrupt to chip in your two cents–in any case, whatever response you come up with only seems to escalate the issue.  Try as you might to calm things down or come up with a solution, the situation spins further and further out of control.

Sure, there’s more nuance to inter-personal arguments and relationships than I’m giving credit to–but the mantra of “don’t just do something, sit there” could help here, too.  The customer rants for five minutes.  The loved one spills their guts.  You sit there.  They stop talking.  The room falls silent.  You wait, taking it all in.

In this split-second–which feels like an eternity–your brain processes everything you’ve just heard. And processes it again. Your instincts realign themselves.  The customer has a chance to hear the echoes of what they just said–and perhaps reposition themselves. The loved one takes a breath. You gain some clarity. You break the silence with a whisper.  The tone of everything shifts into a lower gear.

Sitting there is a win-win–but it’s a limited time offer.  You can’t sit forever.  After all, the stranger, the customer, and the loved one all need you–they just don’t need you at this instant.

The trick is to find the sweet spot between leaping and lapsing.