There are years we remember for the good things that happened, and years we remember for the stresses or heartaches. Lately I’ve been thinking about 1997, one of the latter years. My thoughts turned to this year partly because I’ve lost a little weight recently, reaching a number I hadn’t seen since 1997. While I celebrate that and the figure I had in my 30s, I can’t help remember the rest of the year. It was a tough one, with both stress and sadness. But with that year, I learned important lessons about perseverance, change, and love.
It isn’t a year I would do over. But it isn’t a year I would give up, either. Lessons learned that year carry me to today. Most importantly, I learned that you can’t say “I love you” too much or too often. People need to hear it, and you never know if you’ll get another chance to tell them. Another lesson is to embrace change, allow myself to become “un-stuck” and try something new. Perseverance should not be mistaken for stubbornness, and quitting isn’t weakness, if you’re quitting for the right reasons. The positive perseverance is in moving forward and committing to new challenges. Things always work out, even if it’s not how you expected.
As 1996 ended, I was in my fifth year of a PhD program in Finance, trying to push through my dissertation, trying to persevere. For four-and-a-half years I’d kept at it, sure if I could just endure long enough, I’d earn the degree, find an appropriate position at a mid-level university, and start my career doing academic research and teaching. One problem: I hate doing academic research. I wasn’t any good at it and never would be, and the idea of chasing tenure for years, doing something I hated, was depressing, to say the least. Then one morning I had an epiphany, nearly a literal light bulb moment, when I knew I didn’t have to, that my life could be something different.
So I began 1997 with loose ends to tie and a job – a career – to find. While I finished my obligation to the department with a teaching assistantship, I arranged to graduate in May with a MA in Business Administration. I wrote and mailed resumes and cover letters. Few positions were available within the geographic reach we were willing to consider. Finally I saw one for a position as an investment manager about 30 miles from our home. I interviewed for it locally in April.
In mid-May, the same week as my graduation, I interviewed for the local position at corporate headquarters in Milwaukee. The discussions went well and I was offered the job, beginning it in June. I was lucky to have the transition period between my decision to leave the doctoral program and starting a new career. But starting any new career is stressful, of course.
I learned the basics of my job over the next few months, while my husband and I looked for a different home, a little closer to both of our jobs. We moved in August, another big transition for us, as well as for our son, who started in a new school.
In the morning of October 19, a Sunday, my husband left for a family reunion in Illinois. After he left, my brother called to tell me our mother had died over night. With no way to reach Jim until he got to his destination, I called the church community center where the reunion was held and spoke with a brother-in-law. I told him Jim should stay, visit with family, not turn right around. It’s a two hour drive, and as long as he was with family, he should take advantage of the time, which he did. By mid-afternoon he was back home and we began the process of mourning together.
I spent the week away from my job, traveling for the funeral rituals and also dealing with my son’s strep throat, which developed toward the end of the week. The day he was sickest was on his birthday, Friday of the same week, and we hadn’t had a chance to buy presents, make cake, or celebrate in any way.
I told my corporate compliance officer that I was sorry to be out all week, but it wasn’t like it would happen again any day soon.
Two weeks later a good friend of mine died of liver cancer. She was a dear woman whose compassion and wisdom and affection had buoyed me over the prior couple of years as I struggled with my career issues.
In the meantime, we heard that my dad was quite ill, admitted to the hospital for probably his last go-round with lymphoma. He and my mom divorced when I was quite young, and my relationship with him had developed mostly during my adult years.
Jim and I visited him, with our son, in Lansing in mid-November. I have few memories of that visit – I think we stayed with an aunt and uncle, but I don’t remember well at all. I think I stayed an extra day after Jim and son left, but I don’t know that for sure, either. I do remember my dad, small and weak, knowing I would not see him again.
At the beginning of December, Dad died. On the way up the elevator the day before he passed, a co-worker asked how my day was. I told her, “Well, today I needed to sign the permission to have my dad cremated when he passes, and get that faxed back…” Surely it was not the response she expected, but I was so dazed by the past few weeks, I couldn’t pretend it had been anything but an abnormal day.
As I read this account over, it sounds very clinical and direct, and I’m sure doesn’t convey the level of upheaval my life had that year. My old career dream died while a new one blossomed. We moved homes, and I lost my mom, dad, and a good friend in the last three months of the year. We had challenges and sadness with both of our daughters, as well.
Thanks for listening while I thought through an important year in my past. Do you have a particular year that changed how you address your challenges? I’d like to hear about it in comments.