Change and more change

I’m two days into my final week of newspaper work and have yet to hit the wall of nostalgia. Sure, I’ve had some pangs as I clean out drawers and toss some long-saved items in the trash. But my heart doesn’t ache and I don’t spend hours feeling acutely sentimental — and believe me, I’m more than capable of the sentimental-and-then-some frame of mind.

The vast changes in my industry are surely part of the reason I’m able to contemplate leaving with such a reasonable attitude. Our staff is so diminished and the number of empty desks that have surrounded my work area for months are hardly uplifting. Morale is questionable on good days and downright dispirited on bad ones. Everyone has pulled together as best they can, but I think we all feel like we’re crashing around in the forest, searching for a path out, or at least an experienced guide who can lead us out. In today’s newspaper world, experienced guides are hard to come by.

Which isn’t a knock on the good folks who are trying. It’s just a fact.

Meanwhile, on the home front, as if there isn’t enough CHANGE in my life, our house has been selected for a “staging” event, which is Realtor-speak for “our stuff’s better than yours.” Or maybe we’re just being sensitive. Bottom line is some professionals are going to give our house the once over and by tomorrow at this time we’ll be sparkling. Furniture will be moved, books will be packed, perhaps plants will be brought in. But I have a lot of questions. If you’ve ever had your house staged or restaged, give me a hint of what to expect, OK? Will they pack up my earring tree? Raid my closets? Hang new drapes? Cook me dinner? Hey, I’m just askin’.

‘Cause I find I’m feeling kind of sentimental about the home front, now that I’m shutting down the work office for good.

 

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Regrets, I’ve had a few

Appalling.

The list of stuff I need to get done to transition into retirement/writing a book is getting ridiculously long. Am I missing something? I’ve envied (OK, hated) retired people for the past 2 years at least, noting their slothful ways with disdain (OK, jealousy). And yet the closer I get, the more chores I see that need to be accomplished. Shouldn’t retirement be more restful than this?

Today I finished the second to last story I’ll write for my newspaper, and so I took an hour to begin deleting old computer files, which thank goodness I started early because this task inevitably led me down memory lane, as I began scanning old files before trashing them. Naturally, I occasionally came upon a file I want to keep, but making the call on whether to clog up my home computer by transferring said nostalgic trivia gets old quick. I’m starting a new chapter, right? How much of this dated stuff do I really need? OK, none. But how much of it do I want? What if I purge too much and start to regret it?

I really want to be past this stage — onto my new playing field. But the only way to get there is step by step, whether it’s transferring digital photos and files to taking down the beloved Texas flag from my office wall. I’ve got old correspondence, stacks of newspapers and a whole bulletin board’s worth of memorabilia yet to deal with. And when the last shred of evidence of my presence is finally cleared out of my office, I’ll need to find somewhere here in this already-full house to store it all, while simultaneously arranging some sort of small work space here at home for my future book work. (Unless, I decide to write it propped on my knees in bed, which is pretty dang comfortable, thank you very much.)

Meanwhile, I’m resolutely squelching the bleak feeling that steals in when I contemplate how much I’ll miss my beloved daily lunch table at work, my podmates and a few other co-workers I’m close to. Not to mention my loyal readers!

I know, I know. After all this whining, you’re wondering why the heck I made this choice.

At the time, it seemed like a no-brainer, trust me. And frankly, I’m guessing that about 2 weeks into my book project, I’m going to be so psyched about the new territory ahead that today’s apprehensions will be forgotten.

But we’ll see, won’t we? That’s why I’m blogging. To see how it all turns out.