An End and A Beginning

There must be a reason that pregnancy is nine months long (or ten, depending on how you count).  Nine months to gestate a new life, to process and come to terms with the change that's happening, the identity shift, the upheaval.

Nine months ago (or ten, depending on how you count) a seed was planted in my head by a dear friend.  This friend is intuitive and empathic, and she called out gifts that she saw in me that I wasn't currently using.  It was actually kind of an offhand comment - little did my friend know that she set off such a firestorm in my heart.  But in that moment, my entire life flashed before my eyes - various people who have spoken of these latent gifts to me when I was focused elsewhere and pretty much ignoring them.

That comment sent me down a rabbit hole of self-doubt and then, ultimately, self-discovery.  Who am I, really?  What am I in this world to do?  What if I'm not meant to be an engineer forever?  What if I have done what I came to do in the realm of engineering?  What if I have other latent gifts and passions, ones that can change the world in other ways than the advancement of scientific knowledge?  If I won't be an engineer, then what will I be?

I struggled.  I wrestled.  I mind-mapped.  I meditated.  I journaled.  I prayed.  I rambled on about it to friends.  I rambled on about it to mentors.  I started websites.  I joined masterminds.  I went through programs.  I engaged coaches and healers.  I embarked on a journey of intensive self-care.  I got sick.  I got better.  I connected with God in a way that I haven't since I was a kid.  I cried.  I manifested.  I set new goals.  I envisioned the future life that I wanted.  I rearranged things in my life and work multiple times in an attempt to make things better.  I cried some more.  (When you read this paragraph, you need to picture a video montage of me doing all these things with Erin Shore by The Corrs playing in the background.)

And then, without warning, in the middle of this serious internal overhaul of myself, an opportunity presented itself.  I was in transition between two jobs within the company, and it became apparent that instead of putting my head down and pushing through to the new role, the time was now.  The opportunity that I had been looking for for transformation was here, though perhaps earlier than I had anticipated.  Again, lots of tears, lots of struggle, lots of prayer and searching.

And so tomorrow, May 15, 2014, will be my last day of employment as an engineer with Lockheed Martin.  I will be three weeks shy of my 10 year anniversary with the company.  It's been an amazing ride.  I did modeling, simulation, and performance analysis for earth-observing radar satellite systems.  I helped design NASA's next manned space vehicle.  I spent a year in Houston working with astronauts on human interfaces for that vehicle.  I flew a spacecraft past a comet and I sent one on its way to Jupiter.  (More video montage!)  As this chapter of my life closes, I am so incredibly grateful for the opportunities that I've had, the massive amounts of knowledge I've gained, and the wonderful people I have met and worked with.  Since the fear and sadness of making this transition started to pass, I have felt nothing but love and joy and thankfulness for this era of my life.

And so it's the end.

But then, it's also the beginning of something new.  The next phase.  Amy 2.0.  Here are some things that are coming up next for me:

• Joy-filled stay-at-home-mom-hood with my amazing and hilarious kids.
• Home organization, omg.
• Travel.  Hopefully lots of it. 
• Homeschooling
• Continuing to explore entrepreneurship with the following ventures:
• Travel consulting through Pine Hill Travel (web/facebook)
• Blogging about family travel at Stroller Packing (web/facebook)
• Transformational life coaching at Life Architecting (web/facebook)
• Writing about:
• Holistic self-care
• Goal setting and acheivement
• Scientific principles applied to psychology, spirituality, and generally living life
• Spirituality in general
• Travel
• Homeschooling, particularly math, science, and using travel to learn about the world
• Learning about:
• Ayurveda and Yoga
• Latin and Spanish languages
• Taking up the violin (yep, it's on my bucket list)

The world is my oyster.  I'm filled with delicious possibilities and passions new and old.  

It's scary and exciting and sad and joyful and just plain thrilling all at once.

It has taken nine or ten months to gestate and birth this new life into the world, but it's my own new life.  And I'm still a work in progress - still learning, still growing, still reserving the right to change my mind about all of it.  May I never be stagnant. 

To end, a quote from Thoreau, who has always been my favorite since Mr. Johnson's 10th grade American Literature Class: "I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. . . . In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness."  So here I go.  May it be true for me, and for all of us.

(No, I'm not pregnant again.  That was an analogy.  Stop spreading rumors, silly goose.)

A decade in review

Ten years ago, I was Unifried.

Nine years ago, I was planning a trip to Italy with one of my bestest friends.  And I was trying to maintain a grip on reality in a place where that was becoming increasingly more difficult.  I still bear the scars.

Eight years ago, I was playing a princess in a comedy that affected me quite seriously at the time.  I was weeping over Lord of the Rings and feeling like I was nearing the end of my own quest.  I was in love, even though it was only for a short time - it was what I needed.

Seven years ago, I was recovering - indulging in well-earned laziness.  I was unhappy with where I was at at the time (Los Angeles), but full of bright hope for the future (in Colorado).  And hope is a powerful thing.

Six years ago, I was incredibly, cripplingly lonely.  I made the decision to change my life.  I hired a personal trainer and cancelled anything to do with television.  I took charge of my own happiness.  I decided not to be a passenger in life any longer.

Five years ago, to the day, I stood on top of my first fourteener with a dear friend, who truly believed that I would have no trouble doing it.  I began training for triathlons.

Four years ago, I had met the love of my life, my partner, my teammate, my soulmate... and we had mentioned marriage for the first time.  He dressed me up and took me out for dinner.  Then we went hiking in the snow in New Hampshire.

Three years ago, I was two weeks away from being engaged.  And I was slowly realizing that Houston was not the place I wanted to live and that "astronaut" was not something I wanted to be, yet.

Two years ago, I was planning a wedding and compiling travel archives from some crazy international adventures (that last part is ongoing).

Last year, I was trying to figure out what kind of house I wanted to buy.  And pretty unhappy with the state of my job.

Today, I am 26 weeks (and 3 days) pregnant with my son.  My husband and I just spent all evening exchanging stories about our days at work and now we're sitting on the couch having computer time, but my foot is still touching his leg.  There's a fire in the wood stove of our lovely mountain home.  I'm exhausted from my exciting job - doing something I like in a field I have always wanted to work in.  And I went to yoga tonight, so my body feels all loose and limber and worked out.

I have done so much.  But more than that, I have come so, so far.  Farewell, twenties -- I think I sucked all the marrow out of life that I could have.  Tomorrow I'll be thirty, and somehow, even though I'm in the midst of so much, it seems like a new beginning.

There's nothing like stepping across a threshold and realizing that you are thoroughly ready to do so.