Outward and inward

I conceived of my gap year as an opportunity for “climbing, sailing, exploring, and reflecting”. It is time for some reflecting.

When I stepped away from work and community commitments, and then found myself quarantined at home instead of traveling the world, I ended up with time on my hands to do things like rummage through old files. I recently stumbled upon an essay I wrote in 1984 when applying to business school. In it, I quoted the 8th century Chinese poet Tu Fu:

It is not that I lack the desire to live beside rivers and among hills,
Hearing the wind scatter leaves, watching the rain breed fish;
But the thought of disproportion in public affairs
Offends my sense of rhythm, and disposes me
To expend the passion that normally takes form in song and painting
On matters of administrative interest.

At the time, I was trying to explain why a former English major and cross country ski racer, who was currently traveling the world as an expedition tour leader, had decided he wanted to leave that life behind to attend business school. That decision propelled me toward a career and life direction that I have been following for almost forty years.

While I am happy with the path I chose, my current gap year has been a U-turn in the reverse direction. At the end of last year, I retired from management consulting, took a sabbatical from several non profit boards, declined some interesting business opportunities, and set my sights on re-connecting with mountaineering, ski racing, and long distance sailing; at least for a defined period of time.

Covid has interrupted my plans, forcing me to postpone Everest for a year and to defer indefinitely long distance sailing with Jill. But the basic contours of my gap year remain in place, albeit extended to a year and a half. I am turning inward, away from active involvement in “matters of administrative interest”, toward my version of “song and painting”. And I am doing so at a time when the pandemic is forcing many of us to turn somewhat inward: working from home, cancelling travel plans, focusing on our immediate families. As I suspect is the case for all, this has prompted some reflection.

My days currently unfold in a relaxed yet structured cadence. The responsibilities are roughly as follows: wake up, read the newspapers while sipping Sumatran coffee, decide on and execute a morning workout, shower, eat a cheddar cheese and pickle sandwich for lunch, do an afternoon workout, shower again, engage with email and social media, have a glass of wine, have dinner with Jill and those of our children working from home, read a book, go to bed, get up and do it again. When time permits, I sneak in a sail or a round of golf. It sounds a bit like the “Florida retiree” lifestyle I have long sworn I would never adopt. And so far I am loving it.

My overarching goals for the year ahead are revised but clear: perform as well as I am capable of in the World Masters Cross Country Ski Championships next March, climb to the summit of Mount Everest next April/May, and along the way see what it feels like to reconnect with things that mattered a lot to me in my twenties. Daughter Holly, who is home from New York working remotely, asks me frequently: “Dad, are you bored yet?” This is a reasonable question, especially for someone confronting the dual discontinuities of retirement and Covid quarantine. Six months into my gap year, I can report that I am never bored.

The core of every day are the workouts: mostly outdoors, often in beautiful spots, pushing my aging body to get stronger. There is the satisfaction of moving quickly, covering lots of ground, interacting with the natural world, and testing limits while endorphins course through my bloodstream. There is also the drudgery of having to get out there every day and get it done, overcoming tiredness in the legs, and enduring especially painful interval sessions.

I am struck by how many benefits are derived from just the core structure and commitment involved. Covid may again derail my plans, but the preparation will have been rewarding in its own right. I am reminded of stories of prisoners of war in solitary confinement, their conditions unimaginable and futures intensely uncertain, using daily exercise regimes to create purpose and maintain their bearings. Or of round-the-world solo sailors, for whom a concerted inward focus on every micro action enables a safe journey through threatening oceans.

Age adjusted, I am in the best physical condition I have been in since my twenties. This is turning out to be highly satisfying. I am also fundamentally relaxed and happy. It is tempting to keep doing this for more than just another year, but I expect it would lose its luster. Like Tu Fu, I feel an obligation to focus outward. Particularly now, with Covid threatening the lives and livelihoods of so many , and recent events highlighting profound racial disparities in life experience, the self indulgence involved in my inward path is clear.

At age 60, I am confronting the same questions of balance and purpose I wrestled with at age 24. I don’t have many decades left on this earth, and I want to invest the precious gift of life wisely. How exactly I spend my time feels like it matters more than ever.

Last week, on one of those perfect June days that cry out for being on the ocean, I sailed alone on Buzzards Bay. This was my view from the helm:

Our boat is large enough that soloing demands concentration and thoughtfully orchestrated steps. It also requires a careful eye on the weather, as picking up the mooring in the anchorage can be challenging when the wind blows hard out of the south. I planned every move and executed with precision. The conditions were what pilots refer to as “severe clear”, with intensely blue water and sky. Sunlight danced on the wave tops. Outward, the horizon beckoned. It was great to be alive, and for the moment I was right where I wanted to be.