When it’s Time to Move On
Listening to the Heart
I recently heard a talk by the poet Mark Nepo that gave me insight into how one season of life forms and readies us for the next and the next. His talk was on aging with creativity and drew on his excellent book, The Fifth Season: Creativity in the Second Half of Life. (Mark’s Substack is here.) Mark’s message is relevant to adults of any age because he talked about being open to changes in direction and doing something new, having a beginner’s mind.
Mark used two analogies that resonated with me. Maybe they will with you too…
The first analogy is of a potted plant: if we keep a healthy plant in the same pot for too long, it will eventually stop growing because its roots become cramped in that original space. The plant may begin to wither if we don’t repot it into a larger space. Sometimes it is time to abandon the first ‘pot’ for something new that can accommodate who we are now.
The second analogy is one of rowing a boat: to move forward, we need to keep the oar in the water, propelling us along our planned course. He’s talking about being engaged with life through connection, relationship, curiosity, commitment, and love. But along with doing that, sometimes we also need to plant that oar somewhere. By this, he doesn’t mean to stop cultivating connection, etc. He means to be open to putting a stake in the ground, so to speak, to commit to something new when the time comes, and engage there with curiosity and commitment.
Here are his words:
“Eventually, we come upon the necessary yet difficult moment when, in order to stay fresh and vital, we need to abandon not what we’ve learned, but our identity as a master of anything. We need to put down our identity as an experienced know-it-all, because encased in that we deaden ourselves to life…if we refuse to return to a beginner’s mind and heart, our self-regard as a master can turn hollow and suffocate the soul.” Mark Nepo, The Fifth Season
Looking at the arc of my own work in the world over the years, I’ve repotted myself and replanted my oar several times, sometimes with career changes and sometimes with other life changes. There have been commonalities across them all, and a progression of sorts. Even though I was strongly drawn to each new venture, they all required a leap of faith and a letting go.
In the realm of career, I’d say I’ve had at least four:
After college, I pursued a graduate degree in Computer Science because it was a lively, growing industry, I enjoyed solving problems with others on a team, and I wanted the financial security that the field offered. Over the years, I became a manager and led teams through collaboration and a shared commitment to goals.
But eventually, I felt less and less invested in creating software programs to solve business needs. I wanted to do something that mattered more directly to people, to their well-being. Something with soul. I earned a Master’s degree in Counseling Psychology and ran a small private practice until life, in the form of divorce, intervened, and I needed to return to the financial stability of the corporate world.
After 21 years in that industry, I again knew I needed work that fed my soul. It was a leap to leave my secure world for a vaguely defined position as Executive Director of a non-profit called El Hogar, which had a lot of growing and learning to do. But the chance to use my privilege to help those with less spoke to me. I listened to my heart, and I jumped at the chance. I planted that oar.
That jump lasted 17 years, as our humble but committed organization grew in size, scope, and maturity – and served more children and families in ever-more meaningful ways. I learned as I went, using a beginner’s mind and drawing on useful skills from my days in software management. I knew how to approach problems creatively, rally people toward a common goal, stay organized, and have a vision for improvement and expansion. It was rewarding and fun, even if it was frustrating, as we were continually under-resourced in people, time, and funds.
Why I left such a fulfilling situation is complex. Again, I listened to what my heart was telling me. The under-resourced aspect was exhausting. Some relational dynamics became draining. And, beyond all of that, I felt pulled toward something else. I already knew what it was.
I wanted to devote my time and attention to the study and practice of Buddhism. This was not new; I had been a meditator my whole adult life, but now I wanted not just to practice it for myself, but also to share the rewards I received from my practice with others. After a two-year training program and immersive study, I began offering classes in mindfulness and Buddhist teachings.
Some important personal repotting and re-oaring included two marriages, parenting three children, doing a lot of personal growth and healing, and writing a book. My book, Light in Bandaged Places, speaks to the important influence of Buddhism in my life. You can learn more about it here.
As I reflect on these various seasons and endeavors of my life, I can clearly see how each previous planting of my oar contributed to who I am and what I do today.
Do you see a through-line in the course of your life - career and/or personal? Have you repotted yourself or planted your oar more than once? How do you know when it’s time to make a change, to move on; what helps you listen to your heart?
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