Monday AM. I was on a retreat this this weekend, and am suffering reentry shock. Retreats are a great way to have time and stimulation to reflect on my life, and to reset my thinking (reboot) to go forward.
I am at one of those major turning points in my life, going from full time self employed to semi-retirement, or retirement with a bit of work, whatever happens. All have a series of these turning points our lives, end of schooling, career training, working, upgrading, working, employer changes, self employment, marriage, children, and many other major changes. We have little choice other than to go along with these changes. This is the first time that I have not faced a deadline to make those changes. I have the luxury of time to sit back and reflect before making the next move, what ever that is.
The decision of what that is, is the issue. Indecision is not good for this compulsive person, a CO. I could write a book, but my writing is not great, and although, for many years, my major output has been writing bloody reports, I do not enjoy more that a few minutes, perhaps an hour of it per day. I totally agree it is a good way to get to the root of the problem, but enjoy? Well that's me.
What would that book be on? Memoirs - boring, Stories - some truth but stretched, Engineering - Soils, boring and no one would read it, overeating, and recovery or just a blog. At least with a blog, my costs are low. Short bursts of time works. But what is only a hour or so per day? The story will unfold.
This weekend was a time of reflection on some of the past relationships with various people. It is apparent that I am likely a type B personality, who would like to be type A, that switches back and forth. As a type B, with farmer father who was type A, who expected everyone to be as driven into making that farm produce as he was, it was not a easy life. My mother used procrastination and her stubborn nature, - perseverance? to get her way. Looking back on it all, she was abusive toward me, likely due to frustration with a person who was more stubborn than her, me. But I survived, and left.
I never had a real conversation with my mother, until the last one. By that time much of her memory was gone. She was always very personable to others, but belittled me every time we every spoke. I accept that she was trying to mold me, but I did not need to hang around and be abused. She did mold me, but not the way she wanted. Others never saw that side of her. Oh well. We still need to have her name adder to our parental headstone. All the resentment is gone.
What we try to teach others without telling them, may not be what they learn.
Enough reflection for today. Any comments?
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