eThoughts : The Art of Withdrawal

Sometimes vacations are not enough. Sometimes cultivating rocky ground is an exercise in futility. Sometimes staying the course means running off a cliff. Sometimes persistence is just plain lame. Sometimes we need to do more than take a break from what we do—we need to break what we do.

I’m considering withdrawal. Yes, some consider that a defensive mechanism, some a passive-aggressive act. And it could be. But withdrawal could also be an art form. That’s the one for me.

As I said previously, I’m tired. And I can’t seem to make much work—so I’ve finally considered breaking things. Oh, not stuff or others—my routine. I have experience here, I’ve done it before. And it worked beyond anything I imagined—though it took time for me to see the entire realm of benefits.

In fact, I feel kind of dumb that I haven’t thought of it before now. I’d set a course for renewal nearly four years ago, but I didn’t consider withdrawal—instead pursuing a course of attending to what I liked best. But it’s nearly four years later and all that attention has left me feeling out of the common loops all the more. I get little long-term pleasure out of feeling sorry for myself and I’m not fond of the bruises from running into brick walls, so on my way to work one morning, sitting in traffic and surrounded by the usual levels of inattention, it finally dawned on me what I had learned so long ago—I don’t have to always find beauty in where I’m at, I can find beauty in leaving.

That was some serious clarity. And I know that it wouldn’t be art if I just up and ran. It will take some planning, it will take some thought, and it will take some time. But I could feel it in my bones—the idea hit me like an insight. Nothing I’ve tried or thought of lately has seemed so right.

It’s time to dump responsibility for a good while. I need to craft a period of time without a massive to-do list. It’s time to forget about shoulds.

I do have some things going for me. My children are all grown and out on their own. I don’t have any debt to carry or worry about. I have a job in which I can take a year off without pay if I can’t garner a sabbatical—in fact, the college even owes me one semester of pay.

However, even at that, it won’t be easy. I have a house and land that have particular needs not so easily transferred to another’s long-term attention and responsibility. I’ve got a cat to consider. It’s clear I have to make a living, not just now, but when I’m older and retired. In short, I’ve got responsibilities that I can’t and won’t just shove out a window. And if my withdrawal goes on for a while, I will have to plan very carefully so I can go forward without carrying or creating regrets.

Ahhh, going forward. That’s part of the art of withdrawal—knowing that leaving means going and going means towards something. A good and artful plan in leaving, combined with the mysterious and unknown destination will shatter those eminent hamster-wheel futures. And that’s the best course of action for me, finally noticing again that no amount of polishing or fineries will make a hamster-wheel life any more appealing.