He doesn't blog often, this Joseph at joyrides without maps -- subtitle "notes on a reprehensible way of life" -- but I'm wishing he would. I read every word of his long July 9 post on being, for the past two years, on Accidental Sabbatical. Anyone who has ever felt the call to abandon their career to start fresh might enjoy it.
Two years ago today, mid-career and mid-life at Union Bank of California, the nation's 35th or 36th largest bank, I said, figuratively and perhaps literally, "Take that, you bitch," and walked out on the whole crowd.
But he's not the seething, demoralized American male that opening might suggest. He heads home to reinvent himself -- after a devilishly timed resignation -- with a spring in his step.
It wasn't especially hurtful to leave at that time. There was something I was interested to do anyway. For the preceding five months I had been looking to establish a business of my own—indeed, I very nearly bought one. I left the bank July 9 and applied for the Fictitious Name July 12. I thought that this would be a swift transition.
But it was summer, and I also took the opportunity to—Linger. Dally. Read. Write. Drink. And Garden, too. All the things I typically did on weekends.
It is a beautiful thing, to do nothing, and then rest afterwards.--Spanish Proverb
He detoxed. Realigned his concept of aspiration.
Do not get me wrong, I would love to write an award-winning book, and/or discover that a bird swipes a tree branch with a certain kind of unfragrant beetle
to keep squirrels away. But whatever I do, it won't be for the purpose of maintaining a brilliant career arc. In fact, I don't want a career arc. None whatsoever. Never have. Maybe I will someday.
Even with a significant other who works 12 hours a day and who doesn't get it -- "she's one of them. Those worker-people" -- he learns to love the life.
I think of the things I thought previously of only on weekends, on time away, on vacations: the difference between meditation and contemplation, the pure fun of restaurants, what to drink next, where to drink it, whether or not my lime tree will bear fruit by Labor Day, when I might get around to plugging in edits to the second draft of my most recent glacially-progressing work, whether life is next going to lead me to Argentina, France, Spain, Paso Robles, or Pasadena.
And finally...well, read it here if you choose.
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