In five short months all of the local Adobe employees will
move into a brand new office building. The new location is 20 minutes away from
our current business park. Everyone’s commutes will change as a result. Some
will be adding 20 minutes each way while others will be more fortunate. Right
now my commute is only 5 minutes. I am planning to move closer to our new
office in order to keep my commute in check. This will mean moving out of
P-town. Everything about this is scary. I have lived in P-town without
interruption for six years. I’ve even been in the same apartment complex for
four years. Each year I let my roots sink deeper into P-town has been a year
full of shiny new faces, cemented friendships, and constant transition. Much of
the transition comes in the form of friends getting married and/or moving away.
I do my best to follow along with their exciting new lives far away from
P-town. It’s easy to be tempted to wander even farther away from my California
home town as I wonder what life would be like elsewhere. But then one thought
always stops me is, “My job is in Utah!”
That’s right, folks. My feet are pretty firmly planted. I
think it’s in my DNA. My parents had the exact same jobs until I graduated from
high school in 2001. At that point my mom got a new job working outside of the
home and she has remained at that same law firm for 11 years. My dad stayed with
his job until he retired in 2010 and totaled 34 years of employment with the
same police department. (My parents definitely know a thing or two about
commitment – they just celebrated their 42-year wedding anniversary yesterday!)
When I was growing up I always assumed I’d dedicate my career to one employer
because that was the noble thing to do. Of course that was before I knew
anything about the terrors of economic recession and widespread unemployment. Now
my loyalty comes from a place of fear of the unknown as opposed to confidence
in a steady and thriving future.
Staring down a tunnel of future possibilities can feel
like looking into a kaleidoscope. With one twitch of my finger the entire
landscape changes. Since the future refuses to hold steady for me (or reveal
itself, for that matter) I must instead decide what I want most. Up until this
point I have strongly prioritized stability as a quality I want to have in my
life. Last week I started thinking of two alternative qualities: fragility and
agility. Maybe instead of building my future out of concrete I should build it
out of glass or put it on wheels. At least it would be something different.
Yesterday I went on a tour of our office construction
site. (Keep in mind that this new office building could very well incent me to
stay in Utah for another several years.) After my coworkers and I donned safety
vests, eyewear and helmets we set out to imagine what this structure would look
like upon completion. The experience was foreign and enlightening (and even a
little bit dangerous – double bonus!) There were fragile, stable and agile
components all over the place.
FRAGILE (“fra-jee-lay!”)
We came upon a pallet of glass windows sitting on the
ground waiting to be installed. Of course the shiny objects immediately drew my
eye. “Okay,” I thought. “What if I want to model my life around being fragile?
What would that look like?” After some careful consideration I concluded that a
fragile life is all about pretty and shiny things. Fragile people do the
minimum work to reinforce their internal structural support. They hollow
themselves out and wring themselves dry trying to figure out how to keep
appearances up. The motivation is to appear to have everything. In the end they
barely hold onto anything. Much like a delicate painted egg they dry themselves
out – almost to dust – as they wait for a wealthy patron to curate them and
lock them in a fine glass display box in a gallery of forgotten treasures.
Their lives are on display so everyone can see how much effort and time was put
into their artful appearance. They don’t realize that their velvet perch is
their final resting place. “Oh no, little egg, you can’t go outside. You’ll
break. Oh no, little egg, you can’t see the sun. You’ll fade. Don’t be silly,
little egg, you can’t ever change. You’ll lose your value.” Fragile people are
eventually rescued and frozen in time or they fall so hard they can’t be put
back together again. I think I’ll pass.
STABLE (not to be confused with Stabler)
Ah, now we’re in my element. Everywhere I looked there
were thousands of cubic feet of cement ready to offer their undying support for
whatever would be placed on top of them. Be it structural foam, carpet, wood, tile
or sheet rock, that cement was ready to roll! Well, I guess it can’t roll. I
guess it can’t go anywhere. But still
– the firmness and steadfastness of it all had me convinced, “This is the way
to be!” Offering yourself up as the foundation for everyone else to rest on is
noble indeed. Holding perfectly still so no one else could fall would never get
old, right? Promising everyone you’ll never change or falter is really no
pressure at all. Or is it? Of course it is. Crap. Maybe in the end the “stable”
approach only guilts other people into staying the same. Maybe the diehard
concrete slabs become so heavy they
sink into the ground to be forgotten forever. The general contractor told us
the crane they used last year required a 60-feet deep foundation. Now that the
crane is gone it isn’t practical to dig the foundation out. It will stay buried
and hidden underground waiting for its next chance to be of use to someone.
Talk about a depressing outlook.
AGILE (you know this one's going to win)
Near the end of the tour we wound our final path out of
the building. The contractor pointed to a piece of equipment outside and said,
“That right there is worth its weight in gold.” I don’t think he told us its
official name but he aptly described it as a “giant suction cup thing.” It was
made to lift panels of glass and glide them toward the building as workers
guide them into the windowsills. A single piece of glass can weigh hundreds of
pounds. The device (mounted on a small crane and adjustable with pulleys or
something of the sort) has the strong grip and fragile touch necessary to lift
the glass high in the air and then deftly maneuver it to its final destination.
On top of it glass raising ability it can also zoom around to different parts
of the construction site. (No 60-foot foundation necessary.) Now that, my
friends, sounds like a quality I should strive for. It seems like in the midst
of a construction site where odds and ends stuck out all over the place I was
able to stumble on a machine to model
my life around. Honestly I’d rather be worth my weight in gold than be covered
in it. It seems more fun to be on wheels than to be stuck in the ground 60 feet
down. My quest now is to transform myself from a rock into a set of wheels - wheels
with a great big arm, powerful cables and “giant suction cup things.” It’s
slightly strange but very true.
I have no idea if I’ll still be in Utah in the distant future
but I have a pretty good idea of what this weekend looks like. Tomorrow my
parents will arrive in town and we’re going to have a great time seeing plays,
concerts, movies and friends. I am thankful for the examples my parents set for
me. Their loyalty provided my sisters and me with a stable home life. I will
always value that. I make careful decisions and I don’t plan on changing that
any time soon. My roots are still deep with my friends and my employer and I
would never sever them carelessly. I just need to figure out how to fit them
into a giant pot and transport them to a new city where I can start fresh. Maybe
everything about this is scary but I know I can’t turn my back on a perfectly
good reason to move somewhere new. I won’t build a fragile life there. I won’t
limit myself by being immovable. Instead I will learn to go with the flow, find
a niche, and maybe wreak a little havoc. Movers and shakers always do.
