What would guide your steps in a gap year?

In March of this year I decided to end all of my current work and take a gap year in 2024.  It’s been a process of letting go, handing off, and ending well.   Let’s unpack this a bit!

The facts are I’ve been working independently as a solo facilitator since 2006.  Before that, I spent 25 years climbing through a career in organizational leadership development.  I’m turning 65 in 2024.  I can cover a year of living expenses without dipping into my retirement savings.  My kids are well launched and don’t look to me for much more than loving on their kids now and then.  Those are a few of the facts.

The stories I make up are many. 

·     “You’re old and it’s time to turn it over to a rising generation.”

·     “You’re young and have plenty of fuel in the tank to create impact.”

·     “Everyone only knows you in your “Leader” persona.  They may not like you if you leave that persona behind.”

·     “You have been doing the same thing so long you have completely lost touch with your earlier desires, passions, and interests.”

·     “Your body might stick with you, or it might have a different idea.  One never knows.”

·     “You don’t know what to do with yourself when there is nothing you have to do.  You’ll  become a slug on the couch and likely die a lonely death face down in a gutter.” 

I could go on.

When I think of all that, I feel anxious.

What I want is to curate a full life and be open to the uncertain adventure.  I want a world grounded in love and belonging.

Is there more?  Of course there is more!

For the most part, I have the world I want.  My circles extend across the globe and in my hometowns.  I have good people around me who accept that I am not “full time” anywhere or with anyone.  My world is diverse and stimulating.  The “magnitude of change” between my current state and any desired future is very small.  The big question comes as I allow my current state to wind down and invite a moment standing at the precipice of the unknown.

What I know about myself in this is that I am almost always optimistic.  I don’t camp long on the “Island of Victims” and have a track record of taking stock, adjusting, pivoting, and making the best of the circumstances that are in front of me.  Why I think that might change is rooted in the difference of “internally motivated change” and “externally forced change.”  Most of my transition moments have been driven by external events.  I got fired.  A relationship ended.  My kids grew up.  I adjusted to those realities.

This time is different.  I am creating the change.  I am bringing curiosity to what 65+ wants to look like.  And it scares me.  I’ve had enough health issues to know that capacity changes sometimes in the blink of an eye.  If I let go of the fear and anxiety there is a risk that I will flounder, and there is the possibility that I will thrive and discover a whole new path.  I choose to take the risk.

What then will guide my steps?  Here are a few of my ideas.

·     Be gentle.  Live the life I am living and adjust to the reality of a “mostly blank” calendar.  Capture learnings in the quiet moments.

·     Look at this as a series of experiments.  Design low-cost probes.  Take some risk.  Do some things differently than I have in the past and intentionally learn from the results.

·     Connect with others on similar journeys.  Observe.  Engage.  Stay curious and suspend judgment on anyone else’s choices or pathways.

·     Have fun.  When feeing anxious make the shift to appreciation.  Re-focus on what I have over what I don’t have.  Find the joy in every circumstance.

 There is likely more.  And, I’d love to hear your story.

 What would guide your steps in a gap year?

The Coffee Cup

A million years ago I took on re-developing an outdoor leadership camp in the High Sierras of California.  What we started with was rustic, rough, and run down.  An old marine generator would put some flicker into a few light bulbs, there were ancient propane-powered refrigerators, the cabins were a patchwork of styles that served as better homes for rodents than people, and the water came from a straw stuck into the creek that ran through camp.  I loved it.

We got to work.  Built a new chapel area.  Added a deck onto the dining hall and moved the outdoor tables off the dirt.  Cleaned up the cabins as best we could.  Dug a 1/2 mile ditch and connected to both  town water and power, retiring the old water vault and marine generator.  I loved it even more.

We were serving about 100 people and the two Wolfe Range ovens and griddle were adequate.   We had a 1929 Hobart Mixer which the Hobart Company refurbished for free they were so impressed it was still in use. With power we had a brand new commercial refrigerator and freezer.  

Unlike our bigger camp properties, we ran the kitchen with volunteers who committed to join us only for a week.  For each meal, someone took on the "griddle-meister" role, "salad maker", "buffet line host" and such.  We served breakfast and then everyone including the cooks packed a sack lunch for their day of outdoor adventuring.  We'd come back to the kitchen around 4 to prepare dinner.  And, this is the part I really loved.

If pressed, I knew I could have gotten any meal out on my own.  But, on any given week, there would be 4-6 folks who had come to camp specifically to serve the hundred or so campers.  These were business owners, donors, professionals, parents and grandparents.  Their experience of serving was part of the magic we wanted to create.  So, the question became, "What do I do with me while they cook?"  

"Not all of us are made to cook.  Some of us are made to have conversations with those who are cooking."

And, this is where the coffee cup comes into the story.  I would hold one.  Almost always.  Because, if I was holding a coffee cup I wasn't doing anything.  I was coaching, cheering, and conversating.  Sure, I'd maybe grab a box of something out of the pantry or show someone how to quickly stem a strawberry (just ask me sometime), but the coffee cup reminded me that my best contribution was not in cooking, but in accompanying.  I'd get teased regularly by the cooks and yet they also appreciated what I was doing by not doing.

Michael Eisner (the former Disney CEO) was involved with us and we talked once about his book "Camp" and his early learnings. Well, this is one of the things I learned about leadership at camp.  I learned that "my lane" as the CEO was to accompany others on their journey of growth, development, leadership, and success.  And, what I really learned was how much those I was leading appreciated it when I stayed in my lane.  Success became their success.  

I doubt if anyone notices it today, but on every 1:1 video conference call, the first thing the person I am meeting with sees is me taking a sip from a coffee cup.  It's a subtle (too subtle?) way to remind them (and me!) that "this hour is about you, your growth, your success."

So, when are you cooking, and when might you be better holding The Coffee Cup?

Stressful Week?

This week was exhausting.  I feel depleted.  Last minute additional travel with venue changes.  Challenging group.  Very little down time.  Eating and drinking a bit off the rails.

What do I know when I am feeling this way?

• Best to only make decisions that must be made right now.
• Gentleness goes a long way.  Be gentle.
• Take time to slow down.  Breathe.  
• Take a walk.  Get a good workout.
• Do some simple tasks like laundry and grocery shopping.

While it is not always pretty, these work for me.  How about you?

V

When I'm 64

It was the summer of 1971.  Kim Stamper and I were in a summer school theatre production and sang the Beatles' "When I'm 64".  You remember the lyrics... "...When I get older losing my hair many years from now..." and finally, ..."Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64??"  Kim pinged me on Facebook last year when she turned 64.  

And now, it's here for me.  What's my reflection?

I've eaten caviar in a foreign ministry and searched for a mysterious Bao Bao tree on the African Savannah.  I've served meals hanging out in a homeless center and BBQ'd for 600 to support a friend on his cancer journey.  I've been to a wet market in China and been offered drugs on the streets of Jamaica.  I've wandered the ancient Sikh in Amman and gotten lost in the Scottish Highlands.  Played with cutting edge robotics and seen the Dead Sea scrolls.  Done scavenger hunts in San Juan and Frisco, and trespassed on a military base to float the Salinas.  I've seen James Taylor in every decade and a salon quartet in Vienna.  Walked the Silk Road in the Caucasus and topped a dozen 14'rs in Colorado.

And... it's not the places.  It's the people.

Family.  Rec Lab. The Y.  YPO.  My Colorado and Palm Springs Tribes.  Partners.  Neighbors.  Lifelong friends.  Even when on the road alone, it's always the people who are most memorable.  The Muslim shop owner in Jerusalem sitting down for a coffee and sharing his story.  The guy in Revelstoke jumping on his mountain bike to ride his favorite trail together.  The fellow surf hosteller in Eraceira and the AirBnB host in Belfast.  The couple from Melbourne learning Italian in Taormina and the owner of the French Winery passing through the desert on New Years.  The Sicilian Gang in Sciacca and the Villa Roca crew in Costa Rica.  

It's always about the people.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?  The evidence says, yes!  And I love you all.

Coming up... By the end of the year, an ending to all of my current work and then an intentional gap year to see what kind of good trouble gets stirred up for 65 and beyond.  It's going to be fun.  

Onward!

V