I’ve been thinking about taking risks quite a bit lately as I leave one profession for the possibility of another. (I’m not sure that I really want another profession, but that is another story.)  I tend to be a relatively cautious person by nature, as I instinctively see the world through a systems lens despite my proclivity for a life of the mind, a life in the imagination.  I often urge my students to take intellectual risks, and I love to do the same myself – searching for patterns and connections that have hitherto escaped me, keeping an open mind and constantly reading and feeding my insatiable hunger for smart takes on the world around and inside me.
 
But, now, the risk is making a life out of taking intellectual risks — where there is no structure or necessity to do so.
 
I contemplate the shape of my day without a “job” to go to, an alarm clock to groggily slap, a wardrobe choice to consider each morning. Finding the balance between routine and spontaneity will be the greatest challenge, the biggest risk of all.  Will the days melt away as I follow my Twitter feed or bake scones? Will the projects molder as 8am becomes 11am becomes 4pm?
 
Recently, weekends have often seemed very short as my desire to do things has succumbed to my desire to just be . . . in indolence, or stillness, or rest or contemplation. Recovery time from the work week seems to be growing longer.
 
I think I will make a schedule. I will go to the office – and get dressed to do so.  No lounging in the bathrobe until noon each day.  Makeup, outfits – even if centered around my favorite pair of jeans, a target for productivity.  Shall it be my office or Starbucks? Or the lovely corner of the public library?  Or some of each?  Time will tell.