One year ago, exactly, I walked out of my office for the last time. My personal effects had fit into a couple of battered cardboard boxes that I toted to the truck with mixed emotions. In minutes, I detached from the tenacles that had held me to the oversized chair and the daunting screens that unceasingly screamed for my attention.
I left behind a part of my life, a fair salary, and the security a consistent check with its benefits in tow allows. But there was no use kidding myself, it was the end of this relationship. I had known that this day would come for well over a year. I wasn’t just leaving this company, but big business (at least that’s what we called it) for good. We had both changed and now I needed to escape.
My allergies seem to flare frequently as goodbyes and well wishes were scattered from office to office. Most were great people whom I still called friends, but it was over now, and everyone knew it.
A different kind of tired had crept into my life choking out any joy. Corporate business was a demented carousel of a ride that stopped only briefly, to let you swing unknowingly from above as a new VP or idea was either loaded or pushed off. The direction changed more often than Oklahoma weather and few could stay ahead of the current strategic initiative. We scrambled to find grandiose adjectives to describe the emperor’s newest designer suit before either the fictitious garment or its delusional model was cast away.
We had meetings about meetings where we all tried to look indispensable and important although our insecurities whispered otherwise. Missions and plans all in shiny packages were tossed about until replaced and the janitor sent them to the dumpster where they finally felt at home. We analyzed and discussed every number real or imagined along with forecasts spun from tired men’s minds. Precious hours were spent in selecting the right letters or font with no pause for the messages impact. We ran a business while never actually focusing on the business. The customer to employee relationship was relegated to the newest, least engaged, and poorest paid member. But the ride never stopped and weary faces making the circuitous journey and always ended up in the same place.
On one nondescript day, I sat at my desk in an office that was exponentially larger than necessary and asked myself one disturbing question. “If the way you live your life for the next few months became a template for the rest of your life, would you be happy?” Talking to oneself is dangerous enough, but I demanded an answer, and the response was immediate. “NO!” This was the beginning of the breakup.
My bride was consulted and plans of a simple life with grandkids four meager miles away was formulated. My brother offered a job with no specifics to help build barns and grow his business. I sat behind that same desk and asked another question. “When it’s below freezing and the sun doesn’t’ even want to get out of bed, will you still be glad you chose this path?” The answer was just as loud of a yes as the no had been before. (It was 15 degrees yesterday with a wind made of knives. I sang “Beautiful Day” by U2 although I’m sure they wouldn’t have approved of my cover)
Properties were sold and 8.55 acres became ours just a half mile from the Illinois River. Over several months we built a nice but modest home, retired all debt and dispensed of trinkets that no longer seemed necessary. My new bed in Arkansas was literally made before I let the rest of the world in on our plans. We trekked from the metro of the state’s largest city as interstates and on ramps gave way to country roads. And somewhere along that journey of a path less traveled I found my soul, longing to be reunited.
The particular split ends in happily ever after (or at least so far). The job was better than advertised, the grandson added a sister, and joy became common instead of unattainable. We travel more, spend more time with my folks and are chasing our dreams. It’s not a life without challenges, but they are challenges that we willingly engage, with renewed hope of making a difference in this barbaric world.
Seems like there should be a moral to this story and not just a bit of my history strung together. Here it is. Chase your dream. If you’re not where you belong, you already know it. You may fail, you may struggle. But when the grim reaper raps on your front door, make sure you can look him in the eye knowing you chased the dream of living your best life. Whose responsibility is it to attain your highest calling? It’s not me, it’s you.