A Journey To My Dream Destination
Sometimes moral clarity is wrapped in unexpected packaging (a tale of two photographs, quitting my job - and a meditation on intuition)
On January 28th, I – along with thousands of my federal colleagues – received the now-infamous “Fork in the Road” email, an invitation to quit our jobs or take part in a “renewed focus on serving the American people”. OPM’s FAQs, still available online as of this writing, glibly invited us to use the offered seven months of paid administrative leave however we liked: “You are most welcome to stay at home and relax or to travel to your dream destination. Whatever you would like.”
Like many, I opened this missive with a mixture of disbelief, dread, and then a growing sense of rebellion – no way was I leaving an almost two-decade career or abandoning my public service mission that easily.
In the weeks that followed, my bulletin board filled with political cartoons and inspiring quotations, most prominently a “Hold the Line” sketch featuring a tantrum-throwing chief executive facing off against a row of resolute federal workers.
By March, I had been reassigned from remote work to a temporary spot in a local NRCS field office twenty minutes from my house. I was grateful that at least my new colleagues were supportive, and that my commute was short.
Amid rumblings of office consolidations, closures, and re-locations, the work I had come to love was also changing. A new political appointee – let’s call him Chester – was put in charge of re-aligning certain conservation programs with the current administration’s priorities, and our office was enlisted to help analyze spending, assess compliance, and re-write statements of work. Something deep in my intuition told me that the situation would not be sustainable for me for very long.
By late March, three things happened in quick succession that threw sharp and direct daylight on choices in front of me.
The first was that my dad came home from a visit to his sister with a thumb drive full of photos I’d never seen before, including several of my grandfather.
Grandpa Sam, born to a Jewish family in Eastern Europe in 1907, emigrated to the United States, attended medical school in Germany, and was married to my grandmother by 1938 – the same year that Kristallnacht announced, in one violent night, that the pogroms my grandfather’s family had fled during the early years of the 20th century were not yet over.
In 1940, remarkably, Grandpa returned to Europe as an enlisted American officer, serving as a battlefield surgeon throughout the war. The photo below was taken in Europe, near a concentration camp, sometime in 1944.
Back in the present day, the second thing happened: another invitation to resign arrived, giving USDA employees until April 8th to decide whether to stay the course or choose a different path. By this time, things were feeling even worse. Our staff had begun to meet frequently with “Chester”, who in his efforts to bring us into the fold compared our work ethic and skills favorably against those of our colleagues elsewhere in the Department. More than once, I found myself in a meeting saying out loud: “I just have to put a hand up and take exception to your characterization of my peers.” It began to feel like, whatever my performance record, it was only a matter of time before I said something that got me fired. I had already made my decision, in my gut if not in writing, by the time the third thing happened.
The third thing: a colleague found and distributed an interesting photo. In the photo (below, edited for anonymity because this post is not about them - and because they haven’t told me their side of the story), three young American men stand together in the woods, cosplaying German soldiers during World War II. Their uniforms fit well and comfortably. In the middle, a relaxed and smiling Chester in an SS uniform drapes both arms around his friends.
Suddenly, crisply, in two photos – so similar and so different – an inflection point.
On one side of the curve: biding my time; trying to do my job; prioritizing what security remained; playing nicely in the sandbox with someone who, best case scenario, drew the “bad guy” straw in the woods one day and then was taken by surprise as someone snapped a photo. Or worst case: someone showing everyone exactly who he was, who he admired, with whom in history he empathized.
On the other: drawing inspiration from the courage of my grandfather, who in one of history’s darkest moments chose danger, uncertainty, and crystal-clear purpose over personal comfort.
My official last day of federal service was yesterday, September 30th, after five months of administrative leave that began April 22nd. I haven’t been called to any actual battlefields, thank God. But I have, in the most unexpected of ways, begun a journey to what I suppose you could call my dream destination. In my garden, seeds that I scattered in early spring and then neglected are beginning to sprout, late-season greens and nasturtium blossoms. And I, too, have been feeling the stirrings of things that have long lay dormant – the urge to create, the drive to chart my own path, the foundation of a larger, richer partnership with my husband as we build our peaceful little farmstead, the need to dig down, to root deeply into the soil of this place, to intertwine those roots with the community around me.
Sometimes, the universe taps you gently on the shoulder and passes you a note. It’s worth developing your intuition for these moments – it helps make life’s choices and transitions clearer and easier, alerting you to the need for change before things get really exciting.
Sometimes, the universe takes you by the shoulders and gives you a good shake, asks are you awake right now? Are you paying attention? Are you listening?
What comes next is only now, and slowly, coming into focus.
Still so much to do, and be, and learn, but:
I am here. I am paying attention. I am listening.
Below: audio version of this post + a 7-minute guided meditation for intuition
Post audio:
Meditation:
What a powerful story! I love how you weave history, personal lineage, and present. Keep listening!