Life. Really.

Balance. I admit that I have had little, if any, balance between work and "life" over the past 20 years. (I'm in my early 30s. I started young.) If anything, work has been my life. And not in the sense that I'm an incredibly productive workaholic. But recently, I have had to recognize that work accounts for the overwhelming majority of variance in my identity. For example, a new colleague recently commented on the progress of her DIY home renovations and how enjoyable the process has been. My internal response was How on earth does she have time for that? She's only been in her job two years - doesn't she feel pressure to spend more time on her work?

There was absolutely no negative judgment in my reaction. Just awe. And I remained in this state of mind for several weeks. Fortunately, I eventually recognized that there is something unnatural about my response. Not only because it indicates an absence of balance, but also because it is completely out of touch with social reality. Plenty of people  - including academics - have time for and do their own home repairs! They also read novels, play instruments, and go to the theater! And, most important of all, they take vacations. Real ones! Away from work and visiting family. 

These all are activities that I enjoy, and would love to spend more time on. But I don't. Particularly scary is that I haven't taken a real vacation (for more than two days) in several years. Living to work is great when work goes well (e.g., when I get to start my independent career), but as many of you have experienced, it's soul-crushing when it does not. And then what?

My next response: Home repairs, novels, vacations, etc. are what sustain you when work doesn't go well. You need to make time for them. This is by no means a revelation to anyone but me. I'm a health psychologist, and I would be the first to guide a patient toward such an insight, because I know that it's true. Yet somehow, I was the exception. I spent the past two years in a major city and did not take advantage of it. Partly because I do love my work, partly because of my particular circumstances, partly because I lived in that city when I was younger and took advantage of it then. But I missed out on seeing it through the eyes of an adult. I won't make that mistake again.

So. For someone like me, what does "life" actually mean? Is it simply "whatever I enjoy doing when I'm not working?" It's much more than that, I'm sure, but I'll start there. I just moved to a new, smaller city, which afforded two excellent opportunities: 

(1) A full week of not working, because there was that much packing and unpacking to do (which continues), and
(2) A chance to appreciate a new location, which I know little about. And it's gorgeous! Every day, I marvel at how beautiful it is (see below), and how no one tells you that when they describe it. I won't make that mistake, either.

Treehouse in the park behind my new residence.

View from a  nearby shopping center.

This is your life moment of the week: This is your LIFE. And it's more than your work.

Transitions

Surprising Truth: We spend a significant portion of our lives in transition. Many of our early transitions concern new learning environments; from ages 4-22, many of us experience five or more different school buildings (and associated sets of interpersonal dynamics) even before we make it to college. We make it through, though that's pretty impressive when you think about it. Throw in your family moving to a new town, and it's a wonder that we ever know what it's like to be "settled."

For those of us who pursue advanced degrees, it seems that the transitions never end. College, graduate school (which may include different institutions for a Masters and PhD), postdoctoral fellowship (sometimes two), and finally, the first "real" job. You're in your 30s before you feel comfortable unpacking all of the boxes you've trucked from tiny apartment to tiny apartment - why bother with the boxes of items you rarely use, as it will be time to move before you look at them again? My academic colleagues bemoan the situation from time to time, and those outside of academia (whose first post-college jobs at the age of 22 were more than my current salary) have no idea what to make of us. 

I'm fortunate to be the type that gets a bit restless, and eager for a new challenge, every few years. So even though my upcoming move will be to my fourth city (and 10th residence) in a decade, it's never caused too much distress. But like my colleagues, I find it strange that I lived out of at least a few boxes for the past two years, because I knew that my situation was temporary. This state of "unsettled" is tough, and I can see why it's not for everyone. 

Yet one of the best aspects of a transition is the accompanying opportunity for a unique brand of reflection. As sad as it can be to leave a situation that you've only just gotten used to, both the winding down process and the initial months in a new situation provide helpful psychological distance from recent experiences. *For the sake of this post, I'll assume that "work" accounts for a meaningful amount of variance in your identity - your professional self, your goals and development, the quality of your work, etc. all are extremely important to you. (Believe me, I'm with you!) 

When I'm not in (or looking toward) a transition, I am engrossed in the daily operations, hassles, and seemingly all-consuming projects with the highest of high stakes. Everything my bosses/mentors and supervisees do (or don't do) is meaningful. When I'm unhappy with the specifics of such a situation, it is incredibly difficult - if not impossible - to see the forest. I focus on the few trees that represent my worst experiences and lose sight of the rest. (Same goes for when I'm happy, but that tends to be far less problematic.) 

These trees are important, of course. But a transition puts them into perspective. That distance I get allows me to see the full context, to make connections between events that I haven't made before, and to take a more balanced view of the overall experience. It also gives me the opportunity to do some tough self-reflection and to decide what I need to improve for the next experience. There is a relief that comes with looking "at" an experience, rather than looking "through" it (for you ACT folks).

With luck and some hard work, my next location could be permanent. That's exciting and disconcerting at the same time - will I have the same opportunities to reflect, learn, and grow? Semester and summer breaks, a sabbatical (I hope!), and earning tenure (I really hope!) will be my new transitions, and I commit to using them in the same way that I've used moving around the northeast. Growing older and wiser in the meantime can't hurt, either.