Maybe it’s because I turned 60 a few months ago, maybe it’s the experience of spending 10 days in Europe, or maybe it’s the loss of my mother. Probably it’s a combination of all of those factors among others, but whatever the cause, I have the sensation that I have been lifted into space and then repositioned into my life in such a way that my perspective has shifted.
People often report, in the midst of the upheavals of life, that they feel disoriented — they can’t establish where it is they are situated inside of their own lives. Activities that once seemed rote now feel foreign. Items in their homes that they’ve had for years seem strange and unfamiliar.
I wonder if they were lifted into space, too?
It served a purpose — this momentary travel — it set me back into my life like a dollhouse character who had been facing only one direction and has now been given a brand new vantage point.
Most notably, as I was suspended in space, I must’ve gotten a glimpse of some kind of timeline because I’m now aware of being clearly past some arbitrary half-way point. This clarity has slowed down the way I take life in — it’s as though for years I had been set at a playing speed of 1.25x and now, I’ve been recalibrated to .99x, just a smidge slower than actual time. And I’m not irritated by it! I’m so very curious about how the slowing gives me just enough extra time to see a facial shift, to hear an intonation, to notice a change in posture. It’s surreal. And I’m not used to it.
This phenomenon is most notable in my work life where I have characteristically moved with urgency and intentionality. I walk briskly down hallways. I speak quickly in conversations — often cutting off other speakers. I hurry to meet deadlines. I rush.
Mrs. Rathje, the educator, has definitely, for most of her career been set at a minimum 1.25x speed with the one exception of when autoimmunity appeared. That time was also surreal because I abruptly and involuntarily shifted to .75x which was extremely frustrating. I couldn’t get work done. I couldn’t think clearly. I couldn’t perform how I wanted to perform. I couldn’t keep up.
So, as you may know, if you have been following along, I sat down.
I then took six years to learn a new rhythm, to try to be more intentional, to take breaks, to find balance. And, in many ways I have. I mostly leave work at work and do better at leaving home at home. However, while my home speed has been for the past many years closer to 1.0x — you know, actual real time– my work speed has creeped up as my health has improved. This last year in particular, when my mother’s health was declining, when I was tackling a new role, when I was navigating so much that was outside of my control, my work speed definitely got frantic and I found myself humming along, at times, at 1.25x.
I can do it in bursts, but guys, it’s not sustainable. Not for anyone, and especially not for someone whose body has imposed a speed limit and has cops on duty to shut it down if things get out of hand.
By the grace God, the literal and undeniable grace of God, at the end of the last school year — that frantic and stressful year — my body allowed me to take my mom on a brief trip to see her sister and then to stay and care for her for the last 12 days of her life.
And then I was lifted into space and set back down with a different viewpoint.
The summer was weird — I was mostly disoriented and processing this loss, which is likely obvious from my last many posts. But this past week, after the luxury of a work-from-home summer, I returned to my team. The leaders of our organization gather every year for several days to talk data, strategy, trajectory, and such. We then get a list of deliverables to accomplish in the next two weeks before our teachers report in. Last year, at these meetings, my stepfather had just passed away. I was spending a lot of mental energy caring for my mother while simultaneously adapting to a new supervisor and an expanded role. It was a lot. So, I did what Mrs. Rathje knows how to do, I tucked in and got to work. So began a very stressful and frantic year.
This past week was very different. I was so glad to be back in the midst of my team — the familiar, the confident, the determined. And I was stunned to find myself operating at .99x. I saw myself observing more, listening more. I was not butting in or raising my hand to contribute. I was responding, not reacting. I was not frantic. I was not rushing.
And, more shocking, I was feeling things. I was — dare I say — present to what was happening around me. I was aware of the coworker on his first day back after burying his brother. I was mindful of another — so young — with a new diagnosis of cancer. I was able — much to my surprise — to tolerate a talkative seatmate. I endured — without comment — a subpar presenter.
I engaged. I didn’t phase out. For hours at a stretch. Three days in a row! It was interesting.
Yesterday, we reported to my building early. We were planning an open house for our community — a relationship building event where we would offer resources, allow enrollments, provide sports physicals, and simply gather. The event wasn’t until the afternoon, but we needed to set up so we met first thing and then dispersed to take care of tasks.
Because I still had a long list of deliverables to accomplish back at my desk, I thought I could quickly do my part for the open house — gathering books and other items for our giveaway — and then retreat to my air conditioned office. The day was hot, and our building is old and not air conditioned, and for some reason, I temporarily got bumped up to 1.25x. I rushed to the room where our surplus books are stored. I rifled through and gathered a supply. I tacked on an additional step that no one asked me to do — replenishing our classroom libraries– which took extra time and effort, and finally returned to my office drenched in sweat.
Why did I hurry? No one knows. It was only 10:00am. The open house wouldn’t start until 3. I had plenty of time — still!– to knock out some items on my administrative list. I could’ve easily moved at a slower pace — taken my time — been more intentional — played a little music — enjoyed the morning. But something about being in that space, jarred me back to high speed. It wasn’t terrible — I got a lot done– but the result was that by the time the families and students arrived, I was spent. I had literally no gas left in my tank. I wasn’t running at any speed at all.
Now, don’t get me wrong — I greeted students. I spoke with families. I stayed to the end and helped clean up. I survived.
But here’s the thing. From where I am now standing, survival is no longer good enough. I have to find a way to keep in mind that the days and the moments are numbered — and the number isn’t all that high any more. If I rush through the tasks and the moments and the days, I will arrive at the end sweaty and exhausted.
And, that wouldn’t be terrible. I won’t mind if I am sweaty and exhausted if I am still able to notice the shift in someone’s mood, to see a change in their countenance, to hear the tenderness in a voice.
I won’t get that at 1.25x. I already know.
Teach us to count carefully the days of our short lives.
Then we will be wise in how we live. Psalm 90:12
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