It’s the wee hours of the morning on a weekday – maybe 3:00 or 4:00 a.m.--in early 2003. I can’t sleep, so I throw in the somnolence towel and decide to take down the wallpaper border in my oldest son’s bedroom. Years ago, he had chosen a Mariner logo-themed border, and I remember when I installed it that I knew the day would come when I would take it down and repaint the room a respectable neutral color. With college on the horizon, that day had come.
My sleeplessness resulted from a law practice decision I was faced with. I had recently started my own law firm as a sole practitioner after years of major law firm partnership. Just when I was launching my shaky little solo practice, I was courted by another firm to join them as a partner. It was the perfect match: our practices aligned, the firm’s reputation was impeccable, and the potential compensation far exceeded anything I was likely to achieve on my own.
It’s odd how insignificant physical activity provides the backdrop for weighty thinking. I soaked, peeled, and scraped the wallpaper border while simultaneously struggling with my law-practice dilemma as well as the bittersweet knowledge that my little boy had grown up. By the time I was done, and the border was removed, I had decided. I drove to my office and typed out a thoughtful and grateful letter to the law firm’s managing partner declining to engage in further discussions. I had crossed the boundary line of my law practice’s uncertain future and committed myself to it.
Today I’m more likely to grapple with momentous decisions, or even trivial ones for that matter, by lacing up a pair of running shoes and maybe grabbing an enthusiastic pup for company. I don’t consciously search for solutions to problems; pounding footsteps and rhythmic breathing simply quiet my mind and allow free-floating solutions and ideas to crop up. My heart may be getting a beneficial workout, but my emotional brain is receiving a therapeutic session.
All my kids still love the Seattle Mariners; removing the wallpaper perimeter didn’t change that. You can dismantle the baseball logos from the bedroom and release its young male inhabitants into college and the adult world, but you can’t take the baseball out of ardent fans.
Hope still springs eternal. Maybe next year! If so, perhaps I’ll paint the taupe-colored guest bedroom turquoise again.