No More Standing By

When I was 17, still unable to vote, my mind was lit on fire by the Clinton-Gore campaign. In my senior-year government class, all our discussion revolved around the 1992 election. Growing up in Republican rural Kansas, I had never even considered another side to the issues. My classmates were solidly pro-Bush (the first). While I was already committed to being as socially conscious as possible at that time, in that place, I was suddenly opened up to a new way of political thinking with the help of this young, energetic ticket. 

It was Hillary who really formed my impressions.  I will never forget the morning I was getting ready for school, and all the Today show chatter was about her Tammy Wynette "not gonna just stand by my man" comment in a 60 Minutes interview. 

Standin’ by My Man Like Tammy Wynette - YouTube

Sure, it was news fluff in some ways, but for my young, idealistic, female, Sassy-reading self, it was an exciting revelation about how all women could be strong and independent as well as supportive and direct. With her hairbands and intensity, she was my new shero, and I followed the campaign closely. Naturally, America hated her for it.  How dare she?!?! it screeched. 

After yesterday's election, little to nothing has changed. My intense hope yesterday morning collapsed into despair on Tuesday night.  Rampant misogyny and gullibility combined to smear our map red, despite the popular vote indicating an HRC win. Our home began to feel like we were hosting a wake for our country.

Today, I've kept scheduled appointments, but I've spent the rest of the time in bed, sleeping or simply sad but calm after the grim results. I haven't even wanted to text friends -- I'd rather see their faces. I can't even find the hope and motivation my husband has right now to do more work in the community.  I am just not there yet.

My votes in the past have never been anti-Obama, anti-Bernie, or even simply anti-Trump.  They've always been pro-Hillary. I've believed in her for over 25 years of my life, and to see her denied this office, this role, this opportunity -- it is crushing beyond belief. I simply wasn't prepared for this outcome.  I was never fully confident, but I was .... well, I was ready for her to get her due. 

Obviously, that didn't happen. 

Today has been a fog. I mused that we were in the Upside Down, ala Stranger Things. I have taken some pills. I have slept for hours. It is like shock and grief, and I am not to full capacity yet. It might even take me a few days, a week, to regain my sense of where I am and how this happened. 

I blame myself for not working harder, volunteering more, calling more, committing to more outreach. I blame Trump supporters, I blame third/fourth-party voters, I blame so much. But none of these are truths. And none of that matters. We got what we got.

But here's the thing: I'm not stopping. If anything, I'm going to do more, fight more, read more, write more, and be more in my community.  I will keep as my central word hospitality. I will commit even more time to volunteer work and leadership. I have much to offer, and I've held back too much for too long.  I need to attend meetings, rallies..... all the things I seem to skip because I'm too tired or doing something else. I can't sit out. No longer. 

The country might need me even more now, so no more standing by, just watching the wreck.

And just like Hillary, I'm not some little woman who is gonna stand by this man.  

Let's go, world. 

Why I Left Academia (Getting Honest, pt. 1)

Because I no longer wanted to do research in my area.
Because I always felt like an imposter, even when things were going well.
Because I could no longer ascribe to the policies of my workplace in good conscience.
Because I didn't desire to find another job in academia.
Because other job listings didn't motivate me to improve or move.
Because I just wanted out.
Because my teaching methods and content were outdated.
Because I had no energy to overhaul them.
Because my workplace was problematic in ways I couldn't change.
Because I lost energy.
Because I'm not a 'good enough' Christian.
Because I'm not even a practicing Christian right now.
Because I couldn't talk about my job without getting stressed out or upset.
Because I grew bitterhearted and hopeless.
Because my friends and family worried about me.

Because we had a business plan we'd been working on since 2010.
Because I wanted new challenges.
Because I wanted to reconnect to myself.
Because the thoughts of Urban Roost inspired me like nothing else.
Because I could.

Not because I didn't love teaching or my students.
Not because I didn't love literature.
Not because I regretted my Ph.D.
Not because I think such work is unnecessary or unimportant.
Not because I didn't love my colleagues.

Just because.

Days Go By (Getting Honest, pt. 2)

"The days are long, but the years are short."

--Gretchen Rubin

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it."

--Ferris Bueller

"And days go by, / I can feel 'em flyin' /
Like a hand out the window in the wind."
--Keith Urban

Ever since I ended my career as an English professor last spring, some people have asked me if I miss those days. They ask me if I miss the academic calendar (not a chance), or they ask if I miss writing syllabi (of course not). They ask if I'm doing okay (umm, better than!), and they ask if I'm feeling sad not being in a classroom (with dysfunctional technology? leaking all my good energy? realizing my time evaporates without much to show for it? not. one. bit.)

It was time for a complete change, and my new life as the owner and manager of Urban Roost has reenergized me. Even when it wears me out completely.  Even after I fail many times. Even when I've been unmotivated on some days, manic on others.  Simply put, I'm just a much happier person than I ever was as a teacher and academic. (More on this in pt. 1)

The days have gone by so quickly since I broke up with higher Ed. Here's how I typically spend them now.... 

First things first:  I get to sleep later now. My commute is short, nearly non-existent. Sometimes I do yoga. Sometimes I manage to get in a morning meditation. I drink water. Lots of water. I have a vegan green monster smoothie.  Hair and makeup no longer matter -- I am all about braids, pinups, and ponies. I don a bit of sunscreen, blush, mascara, and lip gloss. That's it.  I drink coffee. Lots of coffee. Clothes are easy -- long tunics, sweaters, boots, yoga pants even -- I don't need to worry about heels or perfect outfits. I can just be comfortable and able to work on my feet. 

Morning (9:00 am): I jump online and manage the future reservations for Urban Roost on AirBnb.  This task involves answering questions, completing reviews, sending welcome letters, or updating anything that needs it. I usually do this throughout the day, even into the evening hours, but I try to catch up as much as possible in the morning. I also look at the day's check-ins to determine when they are arriving and if I have updated our Smart locks with their codes. Eventually, my goal will be to devote this time to the website, blog, and other social media.

Turnovers (11:00 am):  Urban Roost workers, Beth and Lucy, usually arrive around 10 or 11 to complete the day's turnovers.  I'm so thankful for them! They clean the apartments after guests check out to prepare Urban Roost for incoming guests. Turnovers involve not only cleaning but also staging the place so it always appears welcoming and stylish. I usually take this time to put out some new decor, restock items that have run low, make sure clean towels and sheets are plentiful, and complete general checks of the apartments.  We want the apartments to be homey, warm, aesthetically pleasing, and show no trace of previous guests.

Afternoon (2:00 pm): Beth and Lucy typically leave by this time, and I have time for lunch! I usually take a break around now and determine other errands or projects for the afternoon. This time usually involves a Home Depot-Target-Revive-bank-Aldi-bill paying run, if anything. (Pssst....after 2 is a good time to reach me on most days.)

Later...(4:00 pm): Guests usually arrive by now, or later. If I'm not able to do a live check in, I stay close to my phone in case anyone has problems accessing their apartment. 

Evening (6:00 pm): Dinner (Blue Apron has been a real game-changer!).  This time of day gets tricky for me because I'm usually more tired than normal.  It's so easy to melt into the couch with wine and TV.  I need to reintegrate a work out or a daily reflection time so that I can better prepare myself for the next day. #lifegoals, right?!

Night life?! (7:00 or later):  The perk of hosting a BnB is that you need to know the best places to go!  Guests have all sorts of preferences, so the more we try out the local scene, the more we can provide personal service to them.  And can you say "write-offs"? ;)   Ok, naturally, we don't go out every night, nor do we write off every outing -- we aren't always working! :)  However, as we learned at a BnB seminar several years ago, hosts must know their scene, and in order to do that, part of our work doesn't always seem like work. Isn't that the goal for everyone?

When we aren't out exploring our city for our guests or working on Urban Roost directly, our evenings might include Jesse's improv shows, seeing friends in the neighborhood, or just catching up on some Netflix with the cats. Do I miss grading? (what do you think?)

What I do miss is being in better touch with my friends.  It is hard for me to find time to return calls during the day because of being on the go, and at night, I'm making dinner, heading out somewhere, comparing days with Jesse, or maybe.... just maybe!.... I'm spending some time all to myself.   

But my days make me happy now.  They have energy and urgency.  I meet new people every day, and I can never predict what will come up. It is a new way to spend days -- whether long or fast -- and I'm grateful.  Very.

Iron Man

Last week, my Facebook memory feed for May 4, 2008, reminded me that I had kicked off the month that year in typical fashion: watching a blockbuster movie. A Marvel movie. Iron Man, to be exact.

Perhaps many of you did this very thing last weekend with the latest installment of Captain America. We probably take for granted that May is the month of commencement.....for the summer movie season.  For the past several years, May belongs to Marvel...Iron Man, The Avengers, Captain America, and the incarnations of all of these.

As for me, I'm always tied to Iron Man.

I never read comics, but Topher did.  When Robert Downey, Jr., was first cast to play Iron Man, Topher sighed in satisfaction: He will be perfect as Tony Stark.  A reformed playboy alcoholic who saves the world? Downey was the man, Topher affirmed.  I knew nothing about any of it -- why was downtrodden Downey even back in the spotlight? (Topher rolled his eyes at my ignorance) -- but I knew how excited my husband was to see this movie. And we went to see it that weekend. We loved it. How could we not?  Downey's sarcasm, his genius, his wise cracks, his power..... and the comic movie was back, in a big way. Topher was ecstatic to see this happen. Comic books were the new books-turned-movies in 2008.

Despite the action and fighting scenes, Iron Man wasn't without emotion. In one key scene, Tony Stark's assistant and love interest, Pepper Potts, learns the intricacies of Stark's new "heart," an implant made of mineral and metal (um, I think?).  He asks her to help him with an important transplant process, and she nervously acquiesces, helping to stabilize her boss's glowing heart.

How could we know that this would be the last movie Topher and I would see together?

One week later, my husband's own heart broke, but I couldn't fix it. In a flash of cardiac arrest, Topher was gone, collapsing on our kitchen floor after dinner. Everything that came after his death was a hell akin to Iron Man's Chitauri wormhole. But I need not dwell on that today, the 8th anniversary of Topher's death.

What I do want to dwell on is the laugh and delightful nature of a man who loved comics, adventure, video games, and dry wit.  A man who got excited for the latest movie, who would have loved every Marvel movie from the past eight years.  A man who knew good characters when he saw them.  I think of him every time May rolls around.... not only for the anniversary of his death but also for the movies he would be lining up to see. These simple things are where our true memories live, keeping loved ones alive,

For those of you who knew him, think of him when you watch a Marvel movie, would you? I know I do.

Cross my heart.

Book...ish

I love and hate books.

Ok, wait. Let's reconsider. I hate that I love books.

No, I might just hate them....

Even after a good old-fashioned spring cleanse, there are always too many books in the house. They take up space, they are heavy, and you can only read one at a time, so the rest just sit there, looking at you, shaming you for not reading them instead.

We have all our books in totes in the basement right now because (get this) I don't like bookshelves. They look cluttered, no matter how nicely the books are arranged.  They just end up looking like a pile of.... stuff... on one side of the room.  And why do I need all of them right there??  I just want them.... somewhere else.

So we set aside a bunch of books and had a book swap happy hour. Great idea, right? Others bring their books, we have our books, and.... we all swap, resulting in everyone having books they want. Well, no. Guests brought books but they didn't 'swap' -- so now we have two more totes full of books than we had before.

Couple this problem with the fact that I'm quitting my job as an English professor, and I have many books to lose.

So consider this a cry for help. Take my books....please??!?!

Improv(ing) my Life

Forgive the pun. Or not. You choose.

I started taking improv classes a year ago.  After Jesse and some friends began classes a few months earlier, I sensed that I would also enjoy the experience.  I'm not sure why -- maybe I just wanted to learn what they were talking about. I didn't have a strong desire to perform, and I certainly didn't expect to be funny.  I know myself well enough to know that I'm not funny, nor do I even like comedy very much.  In fact, I often watch most comics in a stance of belligerent defense: "So you think you can make me laugh? Well, just try, idiot."  It's an area to which my hospitality rarely extends.  Still, I started Level 0 with neither good nor bad expectations.  I just simply made the choice to do it. I'm forever thankful that I did.  

In the spirit of my favorite warm-up game "Seven Things," here are seven things I've learned from improv:

1) Focus on the present:  I've always been a future-oriented person, skipping over the very moment to dwell on what I need to do next.  Improv requires that I listen, watch, and let a moment happen.  I can't plan ahead, nor can I go back and correct something.  That's really liberating.

2) Put all of your energy into other people:  In our lives, no matter how conscious we are of others, it remains hard to put them first, especially in a high stakes situation. There is a fierce temptation in improv to be the person to say the thing that gets the reaction, the laugh, the applause. But improv teaches us to give gifts and support others.  Once I forget about myself and put all my energy into the others on my team, the result is right, even if it isn't the best show in the universe.  I'm not always successful in this area, but improv is great training for continually sending loving kindness to others and working to make them shine.

3) Be honest and vulnerable: Paging Brene Brown, here! I've linked much of my reading of her books to my experience in improv.  Brown discusses how so much of our daily routine involves putting on armor to shield ourselves from shame, vulnerability, fear, fatigue, and self-loathing. It is exhausting, right?  In improv, we come to each other in vulnerability and honesty. We must. If there is a falsehood among us, then it will tear down the whole team.  I think that in our jobs and daily lives, we often cling to images of ourselves that aren't real -- the whole "fake it 'til you make it" idea of success.  Improv has shown me that you cannot fake it.  You just have to get in the arena (thank you, Brene!) and commit to your best/worst self.

4) Get past obvious thinking: In improv, we rely on the audience for a suggestion.  That suggestion does not need to be taken at its most literal level.  In fact, often the most literal representation of that suggestion can take the scene nowhere.  If I get a suggestion like "roller skates," and then I just start to act like I'm on roller skates, I have bypassed relationship with my scene partner.  In such a case, I'm more concerned about a thing than a person -- never a good idea. Instead, if I take "roller skates" and think of "roller rink," then "lady's choice," then "date" -- boom! Now we can have a couple on a date. We don't even need to be in a roller rink -- maybe we are outside in the parking lot or at the karaoke bar inside or buying popcorn at concessions. Going beyond the immediate, obvious thing is more interesting, and it is usually more grounded in honesty and relationship.

5) The golden rule is really "Yes, and...":  Most people have heard this improv "rule," even if they have never taken an improv class. It seems easy enough, right?  To anything your partner says, answer "Yes, and..."  And yet how many times do we "Yes, but..." in daily life?  Always. We have been acculturated and programmed to "Yes, but..." our lives away.  We take away from others instead of adding to what they have. We dismiss harmony in favor of validating scarcity, tell others of what we lack rather than contributing what we have.  Improv reminds us to "Yes, and..." others and add to what we all have.  And, and, and.... what a loving conjunction!  After a year of improv, I still find this first rule the hardest to learn, but I'm working on it. 

6) Letting go: Once a scene is over, you let it go. Once a show ends, you let it go. To perform for an audience may create anxiety and fear, but it also produces bravery and joy. In every thing we do, we tend to replay it all in our "monkey minds," but we will no longer return to that time, that moment, or that event.  In improv, a scene disappears with an edit, in an instant. We observe it, learn from it, accept it, and let it go.

7) The approval of others is not the goal: Anyone can gain the approval of others if you play the game of pandering or lying.  We always fear that our most honest selves will not warrant approval for some reason.  So we often aim to win others over by allowing dishonesty into the equation, even if it's in small amounts. In improv, we are also tempted by dishonesty by going for the easy joke, grabbing for low-hanging fruit, or (as I learned from Susan Messing), "dropping our shit" by not staying true to a character.  I often sense that characters choose me instead of the other way around.  If I force myself away from my first movements or thoughts, I'm giving into dishonesty.  I might think, in a flash second, "No one will like this character!" or "This will be really funny!"  and pow! -- I'm made myself a panderer for the audience.  Obviously, the audience does matter, and we want them to enjoy themselves -- we aren't sadists, after all!  But we also aren't liars that take cheap shots. If are real with no expectation for laughter or applause, the viewers will naturally join us in that honest space. After that, any applause or laughter is simply a side benefit.

For any improviser, what I've written here is not new or revelatory, but it is what I've been enjoying and learning as I've taken classes.  Tonight, I'm getting ready to perform in my second of four showcases with my class.  Here goes!  I'm continue to improve as I improv (again, pun, avoid at will). For now, it's great to keep playing in this sandbox. 

Kitana & The Kittens That Found Us

On October 19, 2015, we put our dear Kitana kitty to sleep. She followed her sister Mileena whom we put to rest just over a year ago and whom I blogged about then.  You can read more of their shared history on Mileena's post.

It has now been nearly 3 months without her, our pumpkin Kitana-bear.  She was always the alpha-female of the two sisters - the bigger one, more social, always caring for her meeker twin.  After Mileena died, Kitana was clearly lonely and in mourning. No one -- no one -- can tell me that our companion animals do not grieve or have feelings.  She dropped much of her weight in the next few months, and it was clear that her own pain was increasing. Since she was now a 'lonely only,' we treated her with as much extra love and spoiling as possible. She got outside "catio" time in the sunshine, and Jesse always made it a point to hold her in a certain way that eased her pain.  Suddenly, in October, she made a drastic turn for the worse after suffering a UTI in September.  We had vowed that we wouldn't wait as long as we had with Mileena, and so, we wrapped her in a blanket, and took her to the vet one last time.

I fell into one of my valleys of depression after she was gone. Her death seemed so much more final than Mileena's. Now, there were no cats in the house at all.  I missed them both so desperately.  They had been my constant companions, especially in 2008 when Chris died and I moved to Greenville. Jesse had grown to love them so much, too, and it was hard for us to face the house without them. After 17 years, I did not have a cat pattering through the rooms, leaping lightly on bed, or snuggling next to me at night.  However, I thought that Jesse and I should wait to adopt new kitties until January.  It seemed as though we needed to wait and give Kitana her due.  Both of the girls were gone, and we couldn't just replace them by adopting more.

People told us that the right cats would "find us."  I had no problem believing and expecting this to happen. Cats are spirit-filled, after all. I do believe many of the myths surrounding them, even the idea that they have (or even steal!) souls. A friend told me several years ago that one morning, his cat was watching an empty space in his apartment with great attention.  Suddenly, my friend had a thought: "If you are a ghost in this room, move around for us," he said. The cat's eyes then trailed the along the walls and around the space, as though she was watching someone or something move around the room.  My friend said it was one of the most frightening and peaceful experiences of his life. Cats have an awareness -- a sight into the spirit world. The ancients recognized this, so why shouldn't we?

It is fair to say that we lasted all of two weeks tops before we found cats, or they found us.

As supporters of stray rescue in St. Louis, we wanted to adopt from Tenth Life.  We filled out our application and received approval.  We knew we wanted two kittens from the same litter, and we soon found Sparrow and Kinglet on the web site.  I could tell they would be a perfect fit for us.  We had to delay meeting them, however, because Jesse had a week-long travel trip. We set up a Friday evening appointment to visit them at their foster home as soon as Jesse returned.  Little did we know that the feline universe had additional plans.

When Jesse's boss and co-worker dropped him off at our home after their trip, Jesse was greeted by a grey and white tabby kitten.  It was just sitting on the sidewalk outside our house, looking at Jesse as though it had just been waiting for him to get home.  The kitten ran right up to Jesse and then turned toward the house, clearly ready to come right in.  Jesse texted me, "I found a kitten." He followed up with this photo:

Ashes, the stray who found Jesse

I knew he was ours. Moreover, I knew he was Jesse's.

Granted, we did a fair amount -- half-heartedly -- to find his previous home, but the vet revealed that he'd been on his own enough to have fleas and mites.  He also wasn't neutered or chipped.  Once we offered him food, he ate with gusto. We did what we could, but we already loved this kitten, so (truth be told) we did the "ethical minimum" to locate any owners.

But what about the two others? How many cats could we have? Would they all get along?

On the very day we found this new kitten, we went to visit our new wards. Kinglet and Sparrow were perfect kittens, and just a few weeks younger than the kitten we'd found. Of course we would care for them all.  I always told people that two cats were as easy as one, so three were certainly as easy as two, right?  The next day, we brought Sparrow and Kinglet (now Ripley) home to meet the recently named Ashes.

After a day or two of hissing and unease, the two siblings eventually began to tolerate Ashes, then play-fight with him, and finally, everyone was snuggling with everyone.  If Ashes was meant for us, he was clearly meant for Sparrow and Ripley, too.

Sparrow

Ripley

Kitty triptych: Ashes, Sparrow, Ripley

Sparrow uses Ashes as a pillow

As we simultaneously grieved Kitana and adopted Ashes, Ripley, and Sparrow last fall, we realized that Kitana isn't really gone, nor is Mileena.  Their spirits are very much alive in the three kittens who found us.  In fact, we like to imagine that the souls of our previous kitties are bound up in the souls of these three.  We mark the habits that the cats share: Sparrow refuses to be held, just like Mileena. Ripley loves hair ties and milk bottle rings like Kitana. Ashes enjoys being held on his back in the same way that Jesse held Kitana.

The spirits of animals are deep and full of knowledge.  I'm so thankful that all of these cats knew when and where to find me on the journey.

2016, or The Next Big Thing

It is a new year -- almost two weeks in -- and I already know to expect a very different adventure. And I'm finally ready for it.

I will be leaving my current job at the end of May.

Well over a year ago, I made the decision to draw up a timeline for leaving my job as a professor and faculty member at a small Christian liberal arts college.  Like Legion, my reasons were many, but they were actually a mix of demons and angels -- not solely bad, not solely good.  At the end of 2014, I put myself on a 3-5 year plan for exiting my position. I knew I was ready to leave academia, but I didn't want to drop everything at once. However, after some serious policy and cultural disputes began to raise their heads at the institution, I knew I had to leave sooner.  Now I am about to begin my last semester at the college.  It is so exciting to feel this new freedom coming.  While I'm not exactly counting days -- well, okay, some days I am -- I am ready for the next big thing.

Why am I leaving now? Several of my personal reasons involve faith and policy at the institution itself.  For one, my current and ongoing questions regarding personal faith and spirituality no longer mesh with the theological expectations of this institution. Also, my anxiety and objections continue to grow regarding the policies that the college may put in place as a result of its faith-based status.

Other reasons for leaving have been clinging to me for years and have no connection to this particular college at all. Even when I was completing my Ph.D., I held many fears about my work in research.  I may be a talented and passionate teacher, but I'm not a talented and passionate scholar, a key part of remaining in academia. During the past eight years, I have dedicated time to every other task for my job except publishing and scholarship. Now I realize that this blank space in my CV has, in actuality, been no great loss to me.  I was probably ignoring it, hoping it would just go away and not nag me anymore. I do not wish to pursue academic publishing -- maybe I never really did. (There. I said it.) I love analyzing literature and film with great gusto, but the idea of writing something that maybe eight people will read on a good day no longer fuels my fire. Of course, since I do not want to pursue academic writing, I also know that I cannot pursue another full-time faculty position.

There are other reasons why it is time to make a change. It is an understatement to say that the past seven years or so have stood witness to chaotic upheaval in my life.  In 2008, when my first husband Christopher suddenly died of cardiac arrest, I blindly started my new job as a newly-minted English Ph.D. with no real clue of who I was or what it meant to grieve, live alone, or be in a new place. On a daily basis, the only thing I clung to was the fact that I WAS AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR.  The only things I knew how to do were write syllabi, teach a 50-minute class, be responsible, act like I had it all together, and grin and bear it before I crumbled to pieces every night. I could see a day in front of me, then a week, then (maybe) a month.  I could count days until a semester ended, and then I could work on creating myself again. But there was never enough time to get acquainted with myself. I was probably leaving this job the day I began it. Even though I was living in a community that embraced me, they didn't know me.  How could they?  I didn't know myself. It was hard.

Now, seven years later.... after remarrying, moving to St. Louis, encountering new neighbors and a new community, living in a new home and about to purchase another....the time to leap is now.  So where to?  I want to be good at a few things and not mediocre at many.  I'm ready to be more than an English professor...perhaps not even an English professor at all. I can no longer be defined by that one role -- it no longer fits who I've become. I'm read to obey the voices inside that have been screaming at me for nearly four years, "You need to go!"  I was too frightened for too long, but now, I'm ready to heed Lissa Rankin's words:  "When the pain of staying put exceeds the fear of the unknown, you leap."  So I'm leaping. 

It's fair to say that we've already been leaping.  My husband Jesse and I have been running a "dry run" AirBnb that we call Urban Roost -- we've been renting an apartment from our good friends next door.  This has been a successful venture for us, perhaps not in monetary terms but certainly in popularity and bookings.  It has given us just that bit of confidence to move forward.  We are now planning to expand Urban Roost into our upstairs unit and (we hope!) into a 4-family building in St. Louis.  We expect that this process will take the next several months to a year, and it will require property management, time investment, and organization.  Eventually, we hope to transform our AirBnb into our own business property, Urban Roost.  This transition will require that at least one of us work part time (if not full time) on the business booking and management. 

I'm sure many think this is a crazy plan.  Maybe you do. Or maybe that's my own voice as well, the one worried about making less money or learning new skills or being too old to begin again. However, I think it no more crazy than (heaven forbid!) pursuing a Ph.D. in English. I took that risk, I met those challenges, and I fulfilled my goals. Why not do it again, in another form? 

Naturally, I am still a teacher, and I will pursue part-time or full-time work in that area, at institutions where I will prove a better fit. But the next big thing is here -- finally! -- and it is in my interest to leap towards it.  Thanks for greeting me on the journey.