[ 65/250 ] The 11th of September is a remarkable day

A story of deconstruction.

Good morning, lovely one

I write this letter to you in the fading light of Tuesday afternoon. The rich yellow-and-orange sun is slicing its way across the suburb, grasping hold of any piece of land in a last bid to warm the earth before it disappears.

It’s an apt analogy for how I feel about my work life right now.

I spent the better part of today commencing the epic task of packing up my office.

If I had been in a corporate kind of role, the ‘packing up’ might take a few days. Clear papers. Shred unwanted things. Write handover notes.

But in my world, it’s not just clearing things out. It’s packing things away, finding new places for all of the furniture, and rebooting an entire space.

I’ll confide in you that what I’ve done so far doesn’t seem like much of an accomplishment. I cleaned up and moved two bookcases full of reference books and files from my office to what I affectionately think of as the Reading Room. Where before it had three bookcases and a writing bureau, the Reading Room now has five bookcases and a writing bureau.

Not all of the books survived. A collection of books on micro- and macroeconomics, cost-benefit analysis and project management didn’t make the cut.

I’ve shredded a bunch of papers, have binned about a thousand business cards.

Then I took stock of what was left, wondering where on earth I’ll find homes for cupboards, standing desks, degrees, a table, and more besides.

Methinks they’ll find a new home in the shed.

In order to create new things, one must very often deconstruct what has been. I’ve been putting off the deconstruction for an age. Until last week I didn’t understand my own procrastination; it was a result of fear and grief that I hadn’t been able to lift a finger before now. It turns out that shifting identities comes with a whole lot of baggage. After having been “business-woman” for the last thirteen years, dismantling things brought to the forefront the immense changes in front of me. It might nominally be “six months”, but the way I reacted you’d think it was forever.

And that, dear reader, brings me to The Weirdness:

My first day of maternity leave will be the same day I began this most recent business adventure: 11 September.

Seven years to the day since getting on board Brutal Pixie’s wild ride, I will be putting her into a holding pattern.

If I was a gambler, I might say ‘seven come eleven’; or if I were working hoodoo I might recognise the vision emerging from thought/consciousness and emerging motherhood.

Whatever it is, it seems auspicious to me.

There are just 65 days (give or take) left until that day.

In the meantime, I face working inside an unusual kind of upheaval: One characterised by a strange blend of excitement, grief, and change.

How might the company re-emerge from its hibernation?

Well, I dunno. I guess we’re about to find out. :)