My work trips both stretch me and expand me. They trigger endless lists of conversations, ideas, new knowledge and friendships that I want to follow up on. (Incidentally, I admit that around this time, a lot falls through the cracks. Don't hesitate to give me a nudge so that I follow up on something if you feel this may be the case, please! I appreciate it.)
Anyway. I've been doing this long enough that my yearly calendar has a pattern. I plan all my long trips between October and April and then spend the bulk of my time in Croatia between April and September, including family and friends visiting.
While I am away, my rhythm is dictated by everything necessary to deliver what we've promised. It is full-on and awesome and 90% social, but there is little room for improvisation. "Home" is where most stuff that requires unscheduled time, improvised food, access to my books and notebooks, etc happens. Home is where I can allow plenty of room for the unplanned.
It's become very evident to me now that another pattern has emerged. Last year I noticed it but I thought it might be related to the timing of TED. I hit the ground running in that direction. (One day I may write about how that TED process is one of the scariest and most growth-inducing things I've done.)
But anyway, the thing is that last March/April, I was dreading TED and trying to distill big ideas and beliefs into a homeopathic dose that would be relevant for anyone who had to/cared to listen to me. Succeed or die trying. Or anything you can manage within that range. And that forced me to spend a lot of time with its numerous possibilities and a blank page. Or a hundred. And a lot happened, because many ideas were totally wrong for TED but totally right for me, so lots of purposeful inspiration and expanding ideas.
But anyway, the thing is that last March/April, I was dreading TED and trying to distill big ideas and beliefs into a homeopathic dose that would be relevant for anyone who had to/cared to listen to me. Succeed or die trying. Or anything you can manage within that range. And that forced me to spend a lot of time with its numerous possibilities and a blank page. Or a hundred. And a lot happened, because many ideas were totally wrong for TED but totally right for me, so lots of purposeful inspiration and expanding ideas.
Together with the grateful awareness of what my long absences from home do for me, I have also learnt to acknowledge that at the end of the stretch, I am feeling a bit uprooted and in need of replenishing, to say the least. I don't mean nourishment, of which I feel I have lots of all the time --at least in mind and heart. Worn out.
By the time the spring tour in China is over, though, I am looking forward to recovering my natural rhythm, which is quite the opposite of a routine, but has a delicious flow to me. It takes me weeks to get back there. I know exactly what to do to find my own cadence, really. But I've not managed to reach a grown-up level of self-regulation yet. (Not surprisingly, I've done more and better since accepting this flaw lovingly, and improving on it slowly, than when I was beating myself up for it.)
By the time the spring tour in China is over, though, I am looking forward to recovering my natural rhythm, which is quite the opposite of a routine, but has a delicious flow to me. It takes me weeks to get back there. I know exactly what to do to find my own cadence, really. But I've not managed to reach a grown-up level of self-regulation yet. (Not surprisingly, I've done more and better since accepting this flaw lovingly, and improving on it slowly, than when I was beating myself up for it.)
The ideal would be to get home, put the house in shape, including buying fresh groceries, getting everything administrative and/or tedious out of the way, tie all the knots of what I've just done and then, with a rub of my hands and a clean desk, start the new projects.
This above is always my intention. I swear. I write lists, and lists of lists. And I commit to be unpacked and half-way through the laundry and cleaning within 4 hours after crossing my door, which I recommend to anyone who travels frequently.
When I arrive I feel so wired that I do the unpacking, cleaning and laundry pretty quickly. Except when I unpack, I use my dining-room table to place smaller stuff, that takes longer to put away, and my toiletries remain in a ziploc and I unpack them on a need basis.
This above is always my intention. I swear. I write lists, and lists of lists. And I commit to be unpacked and half-way through the laundry and cleaning within 4 hours after crossing my door, which I recommend to anyone who travels frequently.
When I arrive I feel so wired that I do the unpacking, cleaning and laundry pretty quickly. Except when I unpack, I use my dining-room table to place smaller stuff, that takes longer to put away, and my toiletries remain in a ziploc and I unpack them on a need basis.
I give myself a day, and the next morning I start with the urgent tasks and stick to my intention. Soon I also start ordering books, because I want them here by the time I'm ready for them. I obviously start catching up with people both socially and professionally, which is delightful but at the same time, the mother of all evils.
I don't hang out with people who do small talk. The people I love hanging out with, are capable of very present conversation. Which inevitably leads to all those ideas I am "containing" to come to life. They just can't wait, and neither can I.
I arrived home twenty days ago and here's a sample inventory of stuff I've done or am in the process of doing: I have joined and expanded a team working on an ambitious project for Croatia about which I will write more soon. I've written some stuff that I actually approve of and I hope to one day be able to call "my book". I've caught up with most of my main people and dogs. And I just got back from Osijek, where I did a workshop which in itself, deserves a separate post. It was a delight to be part of that for a bit!
I don't hang out with people who do small talk. The people I love hanging out with, are capable of very present conversation. Which inevitably leads to all those ideas I am "containing" to come to life. They just can't wait, and neither can I.
I arrived home twenty days ago and here's a sample inventory of stuff I've done or am in the process of doing: I have joined and expanded a team working on an ambitious project for Croatia about which I will write more soon. I've written some stuff that I actually approve of and I hope to one day be able to call "my book". I've caught up with most of my main people and dogs. And I just got back from Osijek, where I did a workshop which in itself, deserves a separate post. It was a delight to be part of that for a bit!
In the meantime, the sample inventory of what lies on my dining-room table includes (and is not in the least limited to!) headphones, Chinese mobile, Chinese ATM cards, some yuan, my handbag (but that's obvious), mail, bills I need to archive, receipts for expense report, cables/chargers, among others.
I'm not apologising. Among the pleasures that I should have delayed but didn't, I couldn't resist starting "Braving the Wilderness" the moment I got it. Early in the book, Brene Brown (one of my utmost heroines), explains this technique I had never thought of. Writing ourselves permission slips. Literally: "I give myself permission to xx" I've given myself permission to flow with what I consider the most important right now. And also to ask for help. Both work!
I'm not apologising. Among the pleasures that I should have delayed but didn't, I couldn't resist starting "Braving the Wilderness" the moment I got it. Early in the book, Brene Brown (one of my utmost heroines), explains this technique I had never thought of. Writing ourselves permission slips. Literally: "I give myself permission to xx" I've given myself permission to flow with what I consider the most important right now. And also to ask for help. Both work!
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