Since Liam is now of an age where *I* can give him a bedtime bottle, Rachel and I recently started leveling out our putting-children-to-bed responsibilities. She once again gets to have the fun of putting 3-year old Norah to bed every other night instead of having the constant duty of ushering Liam into his crib like she has since he was born five months ago. I really enjoy both processes (one quieter and much, much, much... muuuuuch shorter than the other), including Norah's ever-evolving and always elaborate Bedtime Postponement Routines. On my first night back on Norah duty a couple of nights ago, Norah splurged and went for an A. A. Milne chapter, time not being of the essence in our minds right then.
This particular chapter, "...in which Pooh invents a new game", was also released in a small story book version, aptly titled, "Pooh Invents a New Game," which was the title she handed to me in place of the collected works, which was in her bed instead of on the bookshelf that evening. Anyway, the first page of this tiny book struck a chord with me and I paused to read it again, much to Norah's dismay:
By the time it came to the edge of the Forest the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and, being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, "There is no hurry. We shall get there some day." But all the little streams higher up in the Forest went this way and that, quickly, eagerly, having so much to find out before it was too late.
That's a pretty good summary of what's happening in my career as of late, right down to the flitting between technologies and career paths, certification paths and post-graduate degree programs, moving a few years ago from a series of very large companies to an exceedingly small one (which actually didn't work out so well). To read my resume is to see this resistance to knowing where I'm going -- a river still trying to be a series of streams. It is my hope that I can provide the same constance to myself and my family that my daughter understands now only from metaphor. Someday, I hope, she will forgive an old man for reading the first page twice. This was definitely not in the cards that night. But most of all, I now pretty much know where I'm going, which is a very good start. Thanks for putting a point on it, Mr. Milne.
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