Beds -- 50+

Why am I counting the number of "gap year" beds? Good question. At first, the count was kind of a game, I guess. Something to keep me amused and interested.  But I could have counted cities visited, countries visited, cabs taken. But I selected beds.

A number of years ago, I completed a dissertation which included data collection and analysis. During the process, I came to appreciate data in a new way. Information can help us describe, understand and explain experiences. So perhaps counting beds is a way of capturing and understanding the year. My husband R has been tracking miles driven. Periodically, he reports our miles travelled (by car only -- not plane, bike, ship, train, or any other mode).  It seems we are both attempting to capture and understand our experiences via numbers.

 No matter, this is how the count began. Our bed in Chicago was old, purchased several states and moves ago. We decided it wasn't worth storing or moving west. Our plan was to dump the bed the day before moving day and sleep one night on our blow up mattress. Problem was the battery operated pump had unexpectedly died. No prob, we decided. We'll just sleep on our bedroom floor. It's carpeted! With a few quilts and all, it will be fine.  This is the kind of bad thinking that comes when people are overwhelmed from making too many decisions, have way too much to do, and have been living the stress generated by an imminent cross country move. R is 63 and I was closing in on 60 at the time. It  had been a long time since we'd slept on any floor. It was getting late and since the movers would arrive by 9:30am the next morning we snuggled down (more like lowered ourselves) to the bed/floor to sleep.

I wouldn't really describe our time on the floor as sleep.  At 2 am we were both awake, hips and backs loudly protesting their treatment. At 2:30 am we were up, drinking the first of many cups of coffee, and by 3 am R was working on packing up the car. Bed #1 is really a non-bed that launched the gap year.

We left Chicago that afternoon, unrested, sore, a little anxious, and excited. After the sleepless night on non-bed #1 any place we stayed would be a step up. That optimistic belief actually did not hold true -- unbeknownst to us, worse beds were in our future. That day in the car, I started the bed-counting-game, tracking the number on my iPhone. Traveling from the Midwest to the west took us through -- Davenport, IA, Kearney, NB, Colorado Springs, Cortez, CO, Flagstaff, AZ, Tucson, AZ and finally Palm Desert where we met up with family and friends. Seven beds. Who knew there would be so many more?

Why count beds?  At their most basic, beds represent rest, a place to sleep. I think tracking beds expresses my restlessness. More beds. More adventure. More cities, countries, experiences.  R likes to say this is our time to "pick up and go." Will the gap year cure the restlessness? Do I want it to?

Keep counting.

By the way, current count -- 53 beds.  

New Day, New Plan, New Options: When will I select a plan?

When I started to put in motion plans for this change, I was clear about two things: I wanted to travel and I would take a year off from organized, structured work.  I would embark on a gap year.  I was half way to 60 when I made this decision.

I envisioned a gap year in which I enjoyed myself and time with my husband, traveled to beautiful, interesting places, and figured out this next phase, the phase some financial advisors call "The Go-Go Years." Sounds good, doesn't it?

Travel we did, by ship, by plane, by car, by ferry, by train, by bike, by bus and by foot. All was good with travel. And we continue to travel.

Figuring out a plan for the next phase? Well, that's more of a muddle.

It seemed a part of my mind was at odds with selecting a path. Like an adolescent who can't decide on a college, a major, a girlfriend or boyfriend (take your pick) or a young adult who can't decide on a career path, job choice.......my brain and I entered the adolescent-like world of endless options, zero decisions.

"May be we should move to Puglia, Italy," I'd excitedly (or anxiously depending on one's perspective) tell my husband. "Here, read this blog about this couple who moved there."
The next day I'd have a new plan.  "Perhaps we should buy a small camper van and for the next five years, we could drive around the US." "Whataya think?"

To my brain, the options were limitless.

One day I might be ready to board a cruise ship for an extended voyage and the next I'd consider moving to a small farm, where perhaps we could raise llamas. Or pigs. Some days I came up with two quite dissimilar and even competing plans. My brain gave little consideration to the probability of any one option working out or really being what I wanted (as if I knew).  All this extra thinking yielded less focus and more disorganization. I became discombobulated, misplacing stuff, spacing out, alternating between racing about and sitting inertly for long stretches. I found the inner-workings of my brain fascinating and would have enjoyed the exploration had it not been my brain and my life.

I finally figured out that I needed to, if not enjoy the ride completely, at least accept the process. Big transitions require time to sort themselves out. Giving myself and my brain some space to take in the experience could yield a plan or perhaps plans.
Gap year lesson -- don't live with pressure; this can be a time to let life unfold.