New Years! Fifty-something makes life-changing career decision, heightening anxiety and need for encouragement.
Ash Wednesday! The well-intentioned, but support-craving fifty-something does what? Gives up Facebook for Lent, effectively withdrawing from 280 supportive friends.
Furlough! The fifty-something, newly cemented in an ink-on-the-fingers job, does what? Sets up a TweetDeck account, follows a slew of new media, API-mashing, GUI-oozing pundits, and winds up all-a-twitter wondering if he'll ever catch up to the twenty- and thirty-somethings changing how we commune, communicate and communify.
OK, maybe I didn't think things through.
So, what to do? Start writing.
Hence I now have a blog. I think it is as much for me as you. A chance for my thoughts to slip out, to make a little space in this ol' noggin for new thoughts.
What else did I do during my Lenten exile from Facebook? (Details to come in ensuing posts.)
I drove 1,603 miles from Reno to Des Moines with a special passenger grieving from a recent tragedy, and, amid laughter and tears, rekindled a dormant friendship.
I realized I really can work on airplanes and in airports.
I met my fourth Catholic bishop and served communion for the last time at Little Flower Parish.
I cheered the Tar Heels, marveled at the Predators and braced myself for another April of Capitals playoff hockey.
I said good-bye to a staff, seethed as a dear friend avoided saying good-bye, and hugged and kissed my three little ones good-bye for three agonizing weeks.
I was buoyed by J. Patrick Dobel's thoughts on changing life's path from his blog, "Point of the Game" and by a gray-haired, grandmotherly-sort who, while waiting for her plane at LAX, read "What Color is Your Parachute."
I passionately explained to a brother-in-law, sister-in-law and nephew why they are so fortunate to have a great newspaper like the Des Moines Register in their town.
I felt great support from caring journalists as eager to venture down a new path as I.
I moved in with my mother-in-law.
I met my fourth Catholic bishop and served communion for the last time at Little Flower Parish.
I cheered the Tar Heels, marveled at the Predators and braced myself for another April of Capitals playoff hockey.
I said good-bye to a staff, seethed as a dear friend avoided saying good-bye, and hugged and kissed my three little ones good-bye for three agonizing weeks.
I was buoyed by J. Patrick Dobel's thoughts on changing life's path from his blog, "Point of the Game" and by a gray-haired, grandmotherly-sort who, while waiting for her plane at LAX, read "What Color is Your Parachute."
I passionately explained to a brother-in-law, sister-in-law and nephew why they are so fortunate to have a great newspaper like the Des Moines Register in their town.
I felt great support from caring journalists as eager to venture down a new path as I.
I moved in with my mother-in-law.
And you know what. I think I really had thought things through after all. And I think writing this blog is going to help me realize that over and over and over.
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