Archive for the category "career transition"
Midlife and Crisis: An Uneasy Relationship
This essay is the introduction to my new book, All That's Gone and Still Remains: Reflections of a Man at Midlife, based on the Midlife Dude blog.
Midlife gets a bad rap. What else can be concluded when "midlife" is practically married to "crisis?" Two peas in a pod they are, "midlife" and "crisis." But are they really well matched?
Canadian psychologist Elliott Jaques coined the term "midlife crisis" in 1965, concluding in a study that creative geniuses underwent changes of style or declines in productivity in their mid-to-late-30s. The term gained traction in popular culture by the 1970s, describing the time of life roughly between ages 40 and 65 when adults become attuned to their own mortality, concerned with leaving a mark before dying, and reflective about whether their first half of life has been meaningful.
But the term has snowballed from its origins documenting the imaginative processes of artists and poets in an obscure, dry journal of psychoanalysis to represent everything cataclysmic that seemingly afflicts the middle-aged trying desperately to ignore failed dreams and roll back the merciless tide of aging in a culture fixated on youth. Author Gail Sheehy cemented the gloomy view of midlife in her landmark 1976 bestselling book, Passages: Predictable Crises of Adult Life, referring to decades of life as the "Forlorn Forties" and "Resigned Fifties."
Time to Ditch Wife for Bombshell?
"Midlife crisis" is more typically applied to males, at least when couched in a derogatory manner signifying an unofficial malady. "Midlife crisis" has come to denote the man who ditches his long-devoted, slightly wrinkling and graying wife for the platinum blonde bombshell 20 years his junior in his office; trades in his practical suburban family vehicle for the candy-apple red Porsche roadster; and transforms from dull and predictable to flamboyant and impulsive, fueled by a surge of drugging and boozing in a pathetic effort to recapture the carefree, raucous days of yore.
For women, the term "midlife crisis" generally carries an undertone that is more forgiving and socially validating, one tilted more toward liberation than debauchery. Sure, some midlife women succumb to vain attempts to recapture youth through medical and cosmetic procedures, or irresponsibly abandon a family to engage in self-indulgent, feel-good, self-destructive behaviors. The 40s decade certainly seems a marker of heightened vulnerability and confusion, as the beauty of youth wanes, marriages grow stale and risk of divorce increase, and children become more independent and leave, diminishing what many women regard as a primary raison d'etre.
Yet, midlife is characterized more as a time of renewal, rebirth and exploration for women. It is seen as an opportunity to shed an old self that may have been contorted to meet societal, cultural and parental expectations and transform into a more authentic, independent, self-accepting, self-confident being, and to reclaim aspects of personality and passions lost along the way. Midlife is viewed as a period of re-evaluation and adjustment, of increased wisdom, strengths, experience and vitality, when old dreams that no longer inspire are abandoned and more genuine desires and talents take hold, a process known as self-actualization, or becoming more fully oneself. Rather than a "crisis" producing angst, depression and dissatisfaction, psychotherapist and author Stephanie Marston declared that the women she chronicled in her book, If Not Now, When? Reclaiming Ourselves at Midlife, characterized midlife as "one of the best times of their lives."
What's the Crisis?
Social science researchers have varied widely on whether any identifiable phenomenon that could be labeled as "midlife crisis" exists; numerous studies have shown midlife is not characterized by pervasive crises. Certainly, there are no commonly defined symptoms and nothing resembling a midlife disorder appears in the Bible of mental health, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.
Count renowned psychologist Daniel Levinson, author of the 1978 seminal book, Seasons of a Man's Life, among the true believers. Following a group of working men for 10 years, Levinson developed a theory that delineated adulthood as a series of stages and transitions, each with a developmental task or crisis to resolve to advance to the next with a sense of well-being. Unlike some other researchers who rejected the concept of a "midlife crisis," Levinson determined that 80 percent of the men he interviewed found the midlife transition a tumultuous struggle and psychologically painful. He bluntly described the existential predicament men face at midlife in Seasons: "Adults hope that life begins at 40 – but the great anxiety is that it ends there…It is terrifying to go through middle age in the shadow of death…and it is a self-defeating illusion to live it in the shadow of youth…"
I believe the stereotypical male version of a "midlife crisis" is overblown, hyperbole, a caricature. In reality, I contend a man's "midlife crisis" more closely resembles the woman's experience of re-evaluation, greater self-knowledge and wisdom – at least among those adults who aren't withering in place – than the stereotypical jerk wearing shiny new bling glinting through an open shirt, cruising in an eye-popping Corvette convertible, ditzy blonde under his arm, toupee blowing in the wind.
Midlife Challenges
Midlife requires leaps of faith, acceptance and tolerance of uncertainty. We encounter the realization that our careers may have hit a ceiling, and re-evaluate whether the work at which we might have labored for decades provides meaning or nourishes our soul anymore, or ever did. We pause to question whether the race for success, advancement and achievement, as defined in young adulthood, is worth chasing anymore. If we haven't already experienced job loss through no fault of our own, we are prime targets for downsizing and early retirement packages because of our age and salaries. We have to run ever faster to avoid becoming obsolete in the face of rapid societal and technological changes, the province of the young.
We grapple with the financial pressures of mortgages, college tuitions, accumulated debt, material acquisitions, increasing health care costs and looming retirement. We question whether our marriages are satisfying or have gone flat, whether the grass may be greener. We groom our children and ultimately set them free – except those suffering from Failure to Launch Syndrome — experiencing some sense of loss entering the childless phase. We may be sandwiched, caring for ailing parents while parenting our own kids. Mounting midlife challenges can be associated with high levels of stress, anxiety and sadness, which can lead to unhealthy lifestyles, deterioration of physical and mental health and acceleration of aging.
Through it all, we face choices, the biggest of which is whether we will transition at this crossroad toward reimagining and reinvigorating a life with new possibilities, purpose and contributions through continued growth and development, or whether we will hunker down, circle the wagons, kick like a mule, pull the covers tight, switch on autopilot and hang on mightily to the status quo, resigned to becoming a member of the walking dead until the nursing home comes calling.
Giving Back vs. Giving Up
Psychologist Erik Erickson captured this dichotomous phase of life in his preeminent Stages of Psychosocial Development theory, identifying midlife as the period of Generativity vs. Stagnation. Adults entering their second half of life would either help guide the next generation through socially valuable work, creativity, productivity and loving relationships, or would stagnate in a pool of self-centeredness and ineffectiveness. Those who do not associate change with growth but rather with loss, being passed by or failing are destined to weigh on Erickson's Stagnation side of the scale.
I have dealt with many of midlife's rites of passage. I have lost jobs multiple times; changed careers, requiring a return to school and sacrificing years of experience and money to start over in an occupation that stirred my soul; moved to experience a new environment and culture; divorced and remarried; faced the challenges of parenting teen-aged kids and watched them leave home for independent lives; cared for an ailing mother, and lost her; observed a colleague succumb to the ravages of alcohol and depression; experienced a major health setback and long rehabilitation; and strived for self-fulfilling goals involving creative expression. I believe I'm heading down Erickson's path of Generativity; if I wasn't, I imagine my life would be crushingly bland and I would be miserable.
These essays, compiled upon my entry into and over the course of a clinical mental health counseling graduate program from my late 40s to mid-50s, provide commentary from a personal perspective on these and other midlife issues, and seek to relate my experiences broadly to others going through similar midlife transitional phases and events. These writings reflect the opportunities and challenges, risks and rewards, hopes and fears, and triumphs and setbacks I've experienced and observed in midlife.
In tone, the essays are inspirational, triumphant, motivational, hopeful, wistful, prideful, contemplative, inquisitive, wondrous, melancholic, depressing, upsetting, mournful, resigned, disappointed, critical, self-questioning – in short, the kaleidoscope that the midlife passage presents to our minds, hearts and souls.
Posted in All That's Gone and Still Remains, career, career change, career changer, career transition, caring, change, choice, counseling, death, divorce, fear, finances, freedom, kids, marriage, meaning, midlife, midlife crisis, money, moving, new career, parenting, relationships, remarriage, risk, Sirenian Publishing, transition, Uncategorized and tagged All That's Gone and Still Remains, midlife, midlife crisis | Leave a comment
Striving for 'A Big Agenda' Instead of 'A Small Life'
In 2014, just after turning 50, I pursued a dream – for the second time – of running for political office, this time for Maryland state delegate. In 2016, I published a nonfiction book recounting the rollicking, 10-candidate free-for-all campaign that some observers called a "circus," and taking a look at the dog-eat-dog, mucky, incestuous, narcissistic business of politics from the trenches. Don't Knock, He's Dead: a Longshot Candidate Gets Schooled in the Unseemly Underbelly of American Campaign Politics, would "amuse some and infuriate others," wrote a local political blogger and campaign strategy consultant who reviewed the book.
Here is the story of how I came to enter this exhilarating yet disillusioning political world, and an excerpt from Don't Knock, He's Dead describing my final push over the precipice of reservation and into the tangle of the state race.
A Midlife Wham-Bam Combo: Job Loss and Divorce
I was 42 years old, and midlife was slamming me hard, hurricane-force winds compelling me to grip a light pole tight lest my legs blow out from under me and hurtle me adrift. For the second time within two years, I had been laid off from a public relations job with a nonprofit organization because of budget cuts amid a post-9/11 World Trade Center terrorist attack economic slump.
Following the second layoff, I entered the Baltimore City Teacher Residency program, seeking a new challenge to do something more meaningful at midlife, an opportunity to make lemonade with the lemons I was accumulating. I taught elementary school in low-income communities. I struggled to survive the torrent of urban education: The needs were great; the resources and support meager; the kids lagging woefully behind and a handful to manage. I met with the principal, who emphasized if I didn't commit to the task with every ounce of energy, I would drown. I contemplated for a night, and accepted reality: Mentally and emotionally, I was half in, half out. The next day, I submitted my resignation, jumping ship from my fledgling teaching career with no life preserver.
Only four months earlier, I had separated from my wife, headed for divorce, with two young kids. I was both free and free-falling.
When I quit my teaching job, it was just short of a year before the next election, and the dormant thought of running for political office surfaced. It was one of those bucket-list things, something I didn't want to go six-feet-under without having attempted.
As a reporter for the Baltimore Sun, I covered a largely rural county's political delegation to Maryland's state legislature. It was my first glimpse of citizen legislators up close. The part-time lawmakers were provincial men, long-established and well-respected in their tight-knit, small-town communities—a tire shop owner, a gentleman dairy farmer and banker, a pharmacist, a Realtor, a stock broker. Covering them alerted me it was possible for regular folk to ascend to political office and become bedrock representatives. I wondered if I could do what they did. Anyway, it was a moot point as a journalist; the two endeavors couldn't be intermixed.
It wasn't until I transitioned into public relations eight years later that the light bulb came on. As community affairs director for a social services agency, I organized political forums for state candidates. Observing the forums, I thought that I could perform as well as many of the inexperienced, run-of-the-mill candidates. The seeds were planted; they didn't germinate for another few years, until I was left blowing in the wind, unemployed and on the path to divorce.
Maybe I would have time to campaign while I looked for a job, I thought after bailing out of the Baltimore City classroom without a parachute. I didn't know if it was a life raft to cling to or a bold dream to fulfill, or both. Meanwhile, I obtained a communications position at a health insurance giant—far from a dream job, but a consistent paycheck. Instead of waning, however, the idea of running for council fortified, even with that new lifeline.
I knew the Democratic county council member from my suburban Baltimore district had fallen out of favor. I gathered my courage and filed as a candidate to challenge him. Soon after, the incumbent announced he was resigning before completing his term – a sign from God? I thought. Maybe the idea wasn't so quixotic after all. A county Democratic Committee would interview applicants and make an appointment to complete the term.
It was almost a great break—except that the one other officially registered candidate had run and lost against the departing councilman in the previous election and since had become a connected political insider. The insider with a track record was selected.
One and Done?
In that 2006 Democratic county council primary, I ran a bare-bones campaign against the newly appointed councilman with party backing. I lost, garnering 34 percent of the vote—respectable for a late-arriving political no-name who couldn't check the prerequisite boxes as stepping stones. I had not "paid my dues" or built my political network.
I received compliments during the campaign from insiders about my potential and encouragement to stay involved and build upon my effort. I didn't. Life intervened: an aggravating divorce, a new girlfriend, young kids, aging parents, a stressful job. I figured the newly elected council member would become entrenched, and he did, ultimately serving the maximum three terms. The desire didn't burn intensely enough, and I faded from the political scene.
I was satisfied to have given electoral politics one shot in midlife, so I wouldn't spend the rest of my life wondering whether I had the courage to run and what it would be like to put myself into the court of public opinion, to expose myself for all to judge and render a verdict. I had closed that chapter and had no plans to return. I'd sworn it off, closed the door—but left it unlocked. I was occasionally reminded by friends about my run and was asked if I was going to run again, as if I really was a dyed-in-the-wool politician. My answer was no…followed by the caveat that allowed for a sliver of possibility: But I never say never.
Seven years later, the perfect storm conspired to compel me to open the door again, when all three Maryland state delegates representing my district announced they were retiring from office, an unprecedented exodus leaving a gaping hole in a business where participants typically solidify their vise grip on power like the Jaws of Life tearing the roof off a car.
A Dream II Takes Shape (Excerpt from Don't Knock, He's Dead: a Longshot Candidate Gets Schooled in the Unseemly Underbelly of American Campaign Politics)
The momentum toward registering as an official candidate was growing in my own mind, yet I still hadn't talked to anybody about my intentions…I knew the time had come for a Come-to-Jesus moment with my wife Amy.
"I'm thinking of running for state delegate," I blurted over dinner, and braced for a catapult of mashed potatoes.
"What? Are you serious? Where did that come from? When did you decide that?"
"I'm just thinking about it, checking it out. I haven't decided."
"When were you going to tell me?"
"Tonight. I just did."
"I've supported you in a lot of things before, when you quit your teaching job and when you ran for council and when you went back to school. I don't know if I can support this."
My proposition had landed like a Biggest Loser contestant's balance beam dismount.
"How will you have the time?" Amy asked. "You complain about not having enough time to do things you want to do now."
"I'll just use whatever time I have. Maybe it won't be enough time, just some time."
She had a good point, but I didn't care about such logic or practicality. The idea had taken root, and it had grown hardy, and I couldn't prevent its development. Like a cocaine addict, I knew I was too far gone to stop.
My council run in 2006 was an easier sell. Since our relationship was new, I had decided I was going to run for county council no matter Amy's opinion, and Amy would have to adapt—or leave if she really didn't like it. It was an early test of our relationship, whether we could support each other's goals. Seven years later, it was harder to take such an uncompromising position since we were married. I didn't feel I could be as cavalier—and maybe self-centered—anymore. There's no 'I' in 'Team' mister, Amy would rib me cornily when I was all about me, which was often.
Still, I countered Amy's reflexive dismay at the idea by expressing concern about being controlled and giving up dreams for my life. Amy and I were fundamentally different. She valued safety, security and predictability. I felt restless and stifled without risk, ambition, challenging goals and freedom.
I Want The Real Life
At 50 years old, I wanted the freedom to live life my way, like Sinatra crooned, the freedom to make my own choices and to live with the consequences of success or failure. A midlife crisis? No. I didn't give a crap about a red Porsche or Botox injections. But I did feel the clock ticking on the time I had to do meaningful things with my life. What was I going to wait around for? A heart attack? Dementia? Retirement? I don't even play golf. I had the nagging sense, as John Cougar Mellencamp sang in The Real Life, that opportunities to grab the "gold ring"—hell, even bronze—would be continually dwindling:
My whole life
I've done what I'm supposed to do
Now I'd like to maybe do something for myself…
I guess it boils down to what we did with our lives
And how we deal with our own destinies
But something happens
When you reach a certain age
Particularly to those ones that are young at heart
It's a lonely proposition when you realize
That's there's less days in front of the horse
Than riding in the back of this cart
As I pondered launching a campaign, my sense of urgency about life heightened. A month after my 50th birthday at my daughter Rebecca's high school graduation, the student commencement speakers referenced the new buzzword "YOLO" —You Only Live Once. They were right, of course, but what can a teenager realistically know about YOLO? It's not until we've had dreams dashed, experienced bad luck and bad timing, suffered life's tragedies, disappointments, cruelties and failures, come to terms with our own limitations, and battled against becoming stultified or buried in mediocrity and tedium that some of us truly embrace the YOLO creed. Much more than failure, I feared regret. I subscribed wholeheartedly to the saying that you will not regret the things you did; you will regret the things you didn't do…
Some people told me about the courage it takes to run for public office. It might take a certain kind of courage to expose oneself to public scrutiny and judgement, step into the spotlight and put reputation and ego on the line. But I never thought of running for public office as something that requires real courage. To me, real courage defines people who put their lives on the line, military members who defend our country and liberate other people, or police officers, firefighters and other rescuers. Or teachers who face the toughest challenges in the roughest school districts. Or people who take a stand despite risks and public condemnation, whistleblowers and civil rights activists such as Martin Luther King, Jr., Nelson Mandela and Harvey Milk. Or people who are unflappable and unstoppable in the face of abuse, tragedy, disease or disability.
A Hat over the Wall
For me, entering a political race was more like throwing a hat over the wall. "Throwing a hat over the wall" was the metaphor used by President John Kennedy, referring to America's determination to explore space and land a man on the moon. Kennedy appropriated the expression from Irish author Frank O'Connor, who wrote a parable about two adventurous boys who were halted in their journey by an imposing stone wall—until one threw his hat over the top, inspiring them both to scale the barrier to retrieve it. For me, it was crossing the line from consideration to commitment—throwing my hat over the wall…
I drove to a nondescript, red-brick State Board of Elections office in Annapolis, threw my hat through the third-floor window and, for a $50 fee, filed my official registration papers as a candidate…
A Big Agenda
I had told my 17-year-old daughter Rebecca, who had just started college, about my plans the day before registering. She was supportive. The same day I talked to my 15-year-old son and budding computer scientist Daniel about being my "Chief Technology Officer" —a cool title that wasn't to be found on the state registration forms. Daniel already knew about my potential candidacy; he had helped me shoot a video promoting a single-payer health care system.
I knew I couldn't rely on either of my teen-agers to be big-time volunteers, with one in college and each with big academic loads and teen social lives. More importantly, I hoped I could serve as a model for striving for something meaningful, accepting a challenge, and being bold in life—maybe even a little courageous. They had seen me run for county council as 10- and 8-year-olds and had enthusiastically passed out literature to voters on primary election day. Now they had more maturity and wisdom to understand what being a political candidate meant and what it entailed. Still, they were baffled by why I would want to do such a thing, viewing it as another one of dad's quirky "adventures," like when I pulled them on a sled through two feet of snow and over snow banks a mile-and-a-half to Blockbuster, or when I suggested going to a remote, mountainous West Texas national park for Christmas. Regardless their involvement and the outcome, I wanted them to know and remember that I had a dream and wasn't afraid to pursue it, that I strived for a Big Agenda instead of settling for a Small Life even though success was a longshot.
Posted in author, book review, campaign, candidate, career, career change, career changer, career path, career transition, commitment, connections, creative nonfiction, Don't Knock He's Dead, election, job loss, journalist, meaning, midlife, narrative nonfiction, nonfiction, political campaign, politician, politics, public relations, reporter, running, self-publishing, Uncategorized, writer, writing and tagged author, campaign, candidate, courage, creative nonfiction, Don't Knock He's Dead, election, midlife, midlife crisis, narrative nonfiction, nonfiction, nonfiction book, political campaign, political candidate, politics, primary election | Leave a comment
On Being Alone: An Unanticipated Thanksgiving
I had moved into my new apartment in Summerville, SC just five days before Thanksgiving and two weeks into a new job, which I took to start a new career in counseling, more than 500 miles from where I had called "home" for nearly three decades, Maryland. It was too soon to fly back to see family for the holiday, and too ominous to face the Thanksgiving Day and subsequent weekend travel frenzies. Besides, my kids were scattered – my daughter in France for her post-college job teaching English and my son visiting his mother in Texas.
So I resigned myself to that most melancholia of situations that Americans seek desperately to avoid – spending a hyped holiday alone. I was too new in my adopted hometown to be taken in as a Thanksgiving orphan – barely anybody even knew I existed here, save for my new work colleagues and one college alum.
I was destined to join those invisible people who had nowhere to go for a holiday that screamed Americana, with its pilgrim, culinary, family, togetherness and football customs, and nobody coming to visit them – the stereotypical widowers, spinsters, shut-ins, homeless, outcasts, infirm, aged, black sheep, oddballs, cat ladies, mountain men, lone wolves, eccentrics, hermits, hoarders , rejects and recluses.
I searched for a volunteer opportunity to serve meals to the less fortunate on Thanksgiving Day, but couldn't find one. A big meal-serving charity in Charleston already was overloaded with volunteers and could accept no more, and other organizations needed help in the days before Thanksgiving. I settled on volunteering for the Turkey Day Run 5K in Charleston, SC, a big fund-raising event. That got me out at 6 a.m. and occupied me on a chilly, rainy day until 10:30 a.m.
For the preceding week, a common salutation with clients at work, exchanged both ways, was "Have a good Thanksgiving," or, "So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?" constant reminders that I was doing nothing for Thanksgiving and that Thanksgiving, if I stayed strong mentally and emotionally, would be no worse than any other day, but certainly not "good" or "happy" in the traditional sense of celebrating a sacred time with friends and loved ones.
When I returned to my apartment, I did what anyone would do on a rainy day holiday
My "chair" and "table" in my Spartan apartment
with nowhere to go and nobody to entertain – took a long nap to sleep some of the day away. If spending a uniquely American holiday alone was melancholy to begin with, it was amplified by my current Spartan living conditions. I have no furniture – none. My place is bare, except for the air mattress serving as my bed, a food cooler as my chair and a plastic container as my dining table. I could not fit any furniture in my car on the move down, and I won't be returning "home" to retrieve furniture and pack a rental truck for another two weeks. Not even a TV or a stereo or Internet. Silence. Just me and books. On my Thanksgiving menu: catfish and frozen sweet potato fries.
When I awoke around 4, I decided to get out of my threadbare confines and bring my computer to the apartment complex's clubhouse, where I could get Internet connection and watch the football games. I predicted I would have the place to myself, as other residents would be celebrating Thanksgiving with friends and family elsewhere. As I approached the clubhouse, I saw a bunch of people mingling inside.
"Oh, great. Booked for a private party," I thought. "Looks like back to my apartment for catfish and a book."
But I decided to check to make sure.
"Is this a private party?" I asked the woman who greeted me at the door.
"No, come on in. We're The Misfits," she replied.
"Are you sure?" I asked, still feeling as though I was crashing a closed event. "I didn't bring anything."
"Don't worry about it. We've got plenty," she replied.
I entered to find about 40 people, from toddlers to grandparents, celebrating around a veritable Thanksgiving buffet feast. Turns out, The Misfits were what my greeter called "implants" – well, she meant "transplants," not people with dental work – people at the apartment complex and their friends who had moved to South Carolina from elsewhere and had no family nearby. They had been gathering for holidays and other events for several years.
I stayed for several hours, stuffing myself, watching football, and meeting friendly people in a festive environment. It sure beat being alone, and made for a surprising, grateful Thanksgiving.
That said, being alone is not dreadful. It does not equate to sadness, depression, or even necessarily loneliness. It's not to be feared. I often embrace solitude, and have done and continue to do many things by myself, even though I enjoy social activities, spending time with friends and being a family man. Enjoying solitary pursuits and engaging in social endeavors are not mutually exclusive. I'm an introvert. I am often more inspired by things I do alone than energized by being around lots of people. But that doesn't mean I don't like a good party or social outings.
Being alone is about being comfortable with the self, and knowing that it is a condition that one can change if desired. It is about finding things to do that one values and from which one derives pleasure when undertaken alone. It is about feeling worthy and valuable as a human being, even if one is alone, at least temporarily. It is about being comfortable turning inward and exploring the messages of one's own soul – the often hidden wants as well as the often elusive sense of peace and acceptance, the true self – rather than constantly craving and responding to external stimuli. It is about having the chance to slow down, quiet the mind, reflect and recharge, and direct one's energies toward passions, free from the pulls and distractions of others' wants, needs, expectations and demands.
By twist of fate, my 2017 Thanksgiving combined both ends of the spectrum – aloneness and togetherness. I give thanks for both in my life.
Posted in alone, career change, career changer, career path, career transition, change, counseling, emotions, fear, friends, gratefulness, gratitude, introversion, introvert, living cheaply, living on the cheap, loneliness, lonely, midlife, moving, moving on, new career, relationships, soul, Thanksgiving, time, Uncategorized and tagged alone, being alone, comfortable, gratefulness, gratitude, introversion, introvert, loneliness, lonely, Thanksgiving
When I would tell people I got a new job to start a new career in another state and would be moving, one of the first questions they'd inevitably ask was, "How much will you be making?" Or, so as to be less crass, "Will you be making good money?"
In our competitive, capitalist, consumerist society, it is only natural that money is the first thing that comes to mind when someone accepts a new position. To be sure, why would anyone choose to move more than 500 miles and three states away for a job if not to make good money?
I had three answers for that question, and all had validity:
Yes, of course I would be making good money, because there's no such thing as bad money.
No, I wouldn't be making good money, compared to the much better money I had made in previous jobs.
None of your friggin' business what kind of money!
The answer is not simple. My job as a therapist under a two-year provisional license pays considerably less than my previous positions in public relations. I am at the entry level in the mental health field, where salaries and pay, though variable depending upon many factors, are relatively low compared to many other professions.
However, my job pays considerably more annually than the series of Gig Economy counseling internships and part-time and temporary jobs I had pieced together for the final two years of my counseling master's degree program after leaving my full-time job. So viewed from that perspective, my new job does pay good money, and I'm grateful for that.
In midlife, we evaluate what we've already done and what we'd like to do with our remaining years, which no longer seem infinite. Priorities change, as we shift from the achievement-oriented, ladder-climbing, self-focused goals of younger adulthood to an increased desire to make a contribution to others, pursue meaningful activities and leave a legacy. My change to a career in counseling reflects the internal re-evaluations of the midlife transitional period.
When you realign priorities and make a significant change, there will be sacrifices. For me, one of those was money – good money. I knew that consequence of my decision from the start, when I embarked on the graduate program nearly six years before actually entering the counseling field. But I ignored that inescapable fact at the time.
Now that my new level of pay is a reality, I'm adjusting my life and budget to match. I may not yet qualify as a full-fledged Minimalist, but I've moved closer to that end of the scale in my spending, decision-making and thinking.
I don't want to minimize the importance of making money – good money – or pretend I don't care. It certainly helps in many ways and I always endeavored to make good money – at least the best I could in any given circumstance. I'd certainly rather be well-off and feel secure than poor and living anxiously paycheck to paycheck. Wouldn't everyone? Fortunately, I have some financial cushion, enough to allow me to overcome the financial anxieties of making a career change, but far below some golden threshold to claim money doesn't really matter.
But making ever more good money – however one defines it — isn't the end-all be-all path to an ever more glorious Shangri-La, as a 2010 Princeton University study concluded. The Princeton researchers found that no matter how much more than $75,000 per year that a person earned, their "degree of happiness," or emotional well-being did not increase. It also found that, though earning less than $75,000 in and of itself did not cause people to feel more unhappy, it did magnify and intensify negative feelings from life problems they had.
Beyond the practical realities of how I spend and the reduced margin of discretionary money available to save or burn compared to my previous work life, I've had to make a humbling mental adjustment: Here I am, in my 50s, peak earning years, with two graduate degrees, making less than half of what I made at my last full-time job, and less than or equivalent to many workers with much less education or years of experience than I have. Yet, I would still contend I am making good money, not bad money.
I gain fulfillment and a sense of purpose and contribution from counseling people and helping them improve their lives. Work is stimulating, rewarding and challenging, which I couldn't always claim before. I look forward to my future in this new profession, and its many opportunities for learning, growth and entrepreneurship.
For those reasons, I know I can take this to the bank: I am making good money, with the promise of better money to come. When you truly enjoy what you are doing for a living and apply yourself with a passion because of that, the money naturally tends to follow. Good money.
Posted in anxiety, career, career change, career changer, career path, career transition, change, comparison, counseling, counselor, courage, education, employment, fear, finances, frugal, fulfillment, gig economy, Gig Economy, good money, gratitude, growth, happiness, internship, job, living cheaply, living on the cheap, meaning, mental health, midlife, minimalism, minimalist, money, moving, moving, new career, older worker, passion, public relations, purpose, risk, sacrifice, therapist, transition, Uncategorized and tagged career, career change, change, counseling, finances, fulfillment, gig economy, good money, happiness, meaning, mental health, midlife, minimalism, minimalist, money, moving, new career, new careers for older workers, purpose, sacrifice, transition
Man in the Mirror: 'Compare In, Not Out'
In the substance abuse therapy group I co-led as an intern, the group leader would tell members to "compare in, not out" when he detected a member analyzing whose addiction was worse than another's, assessing who among members engaged in more risky or reckless behaviors or seeking salacious details about others' misfortunes and misadventures.
The leader's message to the addicts was as clear as the typical pre-school teacher's emphasizing individual responsibility and self-control to easily distracted and influenced children focused on others: "Worry about yourself."
It's a simple message, but one that takes discipline and introspection to implement, whether for the purpose of changing addictive behaviors or many other goals or pursuits in life in which the temptation is to compare ourselves to the status, abilities, fortune and accomplishments of others. The era of social media has compounded the phenomenon of "comparing out" through the instantaneous access we have into the windows of others' lives – their new jobs, kids' achievements, lively social gatherings, adventurous vacations and other things of which to be envious.
We would be more satisfied with our lives if we would "compare in, not out." To me, "comparing in" means evaluating myself according to my assessment of my own potential, my ability to strive for and attain goals I believe are worth pursuing, being happy with what I have at any given time rather than desiring what I don't, and living life in a way that makes me feel positive about my actions, conduct and treatment of others, even though it will be far from perfect.
Still, living life without "comparing out" is a challenge for me, as I imagine it is for nearly everyone who hasn't mastered some form of meditation or inner peace.
Right now, I am struggling against "comparing out" as I begin my second summer as a seasonal tennis instructor at a large beach resort tennis club, a "gig economy" interlude as I make a career transition to counseling.
Among the instructors, several of whom are year-round employees, it is apparent that I am ranked lower in the pecking order, understandably and justifiably as a seasonal staff member, similar to last summer. I know what I have to do to be successful is to conduct each clinic and private lesson to the best of my ability, stay upbeat and high-energy, engage clients in a friendly, interested and courteous manner, and work cooperatively with the staff as part of a team. But I still find it hard to resist comparing the assignments and the number of on-court teaching hours I get – which determines income — to others. Such "comparing out," and the ruminations it causes, only makes me feel worse; on the other hand, "comparing in" when I give my all for a lesson or clinic, or assist a fellow instructor when needed, makes me feel positive.
My career transition from public relations to counseling is another area where I have to fight the lure of "comparing out" and instead "compare in," basing my assessment on what I deem is fulfilling and achieves a sense of purpose. Though there is potential for income growth with the establishment of an independent counseling practice in the future, my first job in the profession likely will pay about half of what I was making in the public relations position I left. Eyeing the reality of my pending job search, it is challenging to avoid "comparing out" to other professionals in my age group who may be at the height of their earning potential and aren't worried about scraping by. That's when it's important to "compare in" and realize I chose this path for a reason and I am fully responsible for my decision and the outcome.
"Comparing in" is difficult because it puts the onus squarely on us for our own successes and failures, our current condition in life, our decisions and behaviors, and, perhaps most importantly, the way we feel about ourselves and our own satisfaction and happiness. When we compare ourselves only to our own standards, goals, morals, ethics and beliefs, we strip away self-delusions and rationalizations and are forced to see only the "Man in the Mirror," our only true compass.
Posted in addiction, addictions, addictive behavior, alcohol abuse, alcoholism, behavior, career change, career transition, choice, comparison, counseling, counselor, discipline, drug abuse, ethics, gig economy, group counseling, group therapy, happiness, individual responsibility, job, life goal, living cheaply, Man in the Mirror, meaning, midlife, positive thinking, public relations, responsibility, seasonal job, social media, substance abuse, substance abuse group therapy, summer job, tennis teacher, transition, Uncategorized, values and tagged addiction, behavior, comparison, discipline, goals, happiness, individual responsibility, satisfaction, substance abuse, substance abuse group therapy | Leave a comment
Sweating it out to the End
I was sitting in the sauna after a swim, trying to meditate (and lose a pound), when the thought hit me (a welcome thought, nevertheless showing I don't know how to meditate): the only thing separating me from graduation with a clinical mental health counseling master's degree was one more paper, the fourth chapter of a final project.
In the heat, I felt a surge of accomplishment, the dripping sweat an appropriate metaphor for the 5 ½-year graduate school and internship marathon. I reflected on all that had happened during that time – a broken leg requiring surgery and a year of
These grads, including my son Daniel (left), are younger than me, but I'll be celebrating the same experience soon.
recovery; turning 50; my mother dying; leaving a seven-year job under contentious and demoralizing circumstances; both of my kids leaving for college – and felt amazed I had arrived at this moment. I had nearly dropped out after the first of my 22 classes and three internships, the path seemed so complicated and daunting.
So other than giving myself a pat on the back for perseverance, what can my experience say about sweating it out for a goal at midlife that perhaps could resonate with others?
Personal growth and development keeps life interesting. I feel more alive and engaged with new challenges and goals to pursue, and restless when I feel stagnated and mired in routine.
It's never too late to learn new things or set new goals. Changing careers is another matter entirely that involves issues of practicality, responsibility, risk and sacrifice. But those complexities shouldn't preclude exploration.
Moving forward on faith can work out, and could be a necessity for progress. Sometimes pushing through doubts is the only way forward. I still don't know how my whole counseling endeavor ultimately will work out, but I have faith that it will. Needing a guarantee on an outcome may preclude the journey.
Find a way. Don't let something that seems too hard stop you, if you can creatively discover ways to make it work, even just one step at a time, especially if you believe you might live with regret for giving up on a goal or dream too easily. I feared living with regret, which helped propel me to continue grinding ahead. Sometimes "a way" may seem impossible, but perhaps as likely self-imposed limits make it seem so.
Pursuing something new, whether a hobby, pastime, education or career, can bring you into contact with a new community that can enrich your life. The people I've met through my graduate program have provided community, enhancing my life and helping me learn.
I'm sure hoping this new counseling gig works out. I entered the Loyola University-Maryland Pastoral Counseling program at age 48. Back then, I couldn't imagine getting to the end, which has now arrived at age 54. I'm excited to see where it leads. At the least, it will open up a whole new range of opportunities and a greater chance to self-direct my career – possibly in the form of my own business and other entrepreneurial endeavors – as I head into its latter stages. I'm feeling now all the sweat I've poured into it has been worthwhile.
[In a serendipitous coincidence, my graduation is the same day as my daughter Rebecca's graduation from the University of Maryland. Read about my decision of whose big day to attend.]
Posted in adult learning, career, career change, career changer, career path, career transition, change, counseling, counselor, development, education, graduation, growth, independence, life goal, lifelong learning, midlife, motivation, perseverance, persistence, purpose, quitter, quitting, risk, sacrifice, time, transition, Uncategorized, uncertainty and tagged career, career path, career transition, counseling, education, graduation, journey, master's degree, mental health, mental health counseling, midlife, transition