⇒ (Moving) Forward

Hi!

I’ve been gone for a bit. The reasons are both simple and complex.

I’m coming back here in really the only way I know how: a post reflecting on major life events that eschews best practices for search engine optimization in favor of organically sharing my lived experience in hopes that (1) writing and posting helps me process further the relationship between identity and productivity, and (2) you, dear reader, gain something along the way.

With that run-on sentence complete, let’s get some bulleted summer updates out of the way:

• We sold the house (after learning how much it costs to replace the portion of the sewer line that runs under the street — ugh)
• I moved to an apartment in Chicago (scolded immediately by my downstairs neighbor for rearranging furniture at 10:30pm, which, fair)
• The kids started classes in the Chicago Public School district (so far, it’s excellent, with warm and engaging faculty and staff, and a father’s club to boot)
• I chaired my first three meetings of the Public Affairs Committee at the Union League Club (lesson continually learning: civic engagement is hard and sometimes very loud, but always worthwhile)
• Warrior-Scholar Project served 289 enlisted veterans at academic boot camps throughout the summer, and I got to meet exactly 180 of them while out on the road (most importantly, I made it through the entire summer using only this Topo bag, which I’m more proud of that I should be)
• I got to teach and mentor and lead, and I got to be taught and mentored and led (the indescribable value of working with people who are always making you better, if you let them)

And, perhaps unsurprisingly, I hit a breaking point.

On my last flight of the summer, I journaled:

I am burned.
Burned out, yeah, but more than that.
Burned.
Like butter spread over too much charred, tasteless bread.

Tolkien is the obvious inspiration here, but unlike Bilbo, I do intend to return.

The acute sense of exhaustion hit in a way I’ve never quite experienced before. I knew it was likely to happen to some extent, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how I would unravel.

—

I write to you now from a block of PTO where I’m striving to only doing things that fill my cup. No big travel plans, no “necessary” projects, no “quick checks” on Slack to see what’s brewing…just things that give life. Yoga and mindfulness and guitar and reading for fun instead of doom and coffee with friends and intentional time with family.

And this week comes after a quick escape to Wisconsin with friends, including a kayak and welcoming skies:

I am moving towards healing, bit by bit. Gradually, clarity of thought returns.

As I share a meal with a trusted friend with deep knowledge of the Chicago landscape, I feel connected to my new community, and I can almost hear my neurons connecting to each other and synapses firing while we talk. What’s my role here, as a citizen in this particular city in this particular time? I don’t yet know, but I want to find out.

As I read Story of Your Life, a science fiction short that formed the basis for Arrival, I pause occasionally to let my mind wander and imagine. It feeds a creative itch, the outputs of which I may someday share here. That creativity pours into bizarre chord progressions when I strum the guitar at night, searching for something that sounds just right.

As I walk the boys to and from school, not concerned in these precious off days about rushing back to login to a meeting, I can listen as they share how they’re doing.

As I embrace public transit to bounce around the city, I observe those around me and enjoy albums from artists that I’ve missed in my hectic and clouded time.

Collectively, I can draw closer to something like fully present. Life will demand much of me in the coming weeks, months, and years — can I channel this presence into a better type of balance in what comes next?

—

A mentor of mine likes to end his emails with a simple yet profound sign off: onward. I clock it every time I see it, as it’s a meaningful reminder that progress is possible, and indeed, happening.

Amidst all these changes, between every stage and task, I find myself building momentum. I’m moving, yes, but more specifically moving forward, even if I’m not entirely sure where to.

Onward to the next, without losing sight of the past, I hope.

-Rye

p.s. I wrote this from a trendy Logan Square coffee shop, where I went bold and decided to finally try matcha. Coffee shop rating: five stars. Matcha rating: zero stars.

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