Before the hurricane

I recently left Boston, and my 9-5 office job. I packed my entire life into a 10×16 storage POD that I then surrendered to strangers. I brought the important dregs of that life (birth certificates, favorite mugs, my headlamp, etc) along with my dog and myself, down to Virginia Beach, a place I have only ever inhabited while on vacation.  I also shed my life’s work as a manager and leader of teams; now I’m part of a team to be led.

In short, except for me, my clothes, my pooch, and a few accessories, I left it all behind.

This leaving came after months, and probably years if I’m honest, of managing change. Organizational change (or lack thereof), and all the inherent anxieties of it. That’s been my life as an arts administrator and leader; trying to convince my staff, our audiences, and the organization at large, that change is ok, that we will get through it, that it’s ok to feel unsettled, etc.

Some of my finest moments as a manager and leader came in times of great change and fear. When I had to hold steady while everyone else around me was freaking out. I was good at this, particularly when it involved snowstorms or people being crazy on social media.

This makes what’s happening to me now even more unsettling. I find myself in a space I’m not familiar with.

See, a hurricane is coming. If you’re not on the east coast, this may not matter to you, but for those of us in its path, it’s a big deal. A “the-whole-Carolina-coast-is-already-being-evacuated” big deal. The kind of big deal that has gas stations running out of unleaded.

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Hurricanes bring big waves, huge wind and a ton of water. I currently live less than two football fields from the Atlantic coast. So yeah, this time, the hurricane is real.

And guess what? I’m a total mess about it. To be fair, the actual weather doesn’t scare me. That I could handle. What I can’t handle apparently, is leaving. See I have to go to a conference later this week. And that means leaving my dog behind.

People, I’m telling you, worry about this wrecked me today. I woke up anxious and I’m going to bed anxious. I never showered today. I just basically forced Sadie to come up onto the bed so I could snuggle her. There were several moments where I sat on the toilet and said to myself over and over “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go” like a 5-year-old having a tantrum. So many kind people checked on me, asked if we were making plans, and each time I cried. This is not normal for me.

As I try to step back and assess just what the heck happened to calm and cool Jodi, I can only plead exhaustion.Exhaustion from months and years of convincing people that everything will be ok. Exhaustion from two weeks of moving, welcoming and entertaining friends and family (PS: lest any of them be offended I absolutely LOVED seeing them and having them be a part of this new adventure), learning a new job with no new office to go to, living in a strange house, and trying to make a lifestyle that used to be vacation feel like normal. Oh, and planning for a trip that will require me to be at my extroverted best when all I really want to do is sleep, hike, and maybe watch some tv with my dog for about two weeks straight.

I guess the hurricane was the final straw.

I’m writing this because I want my readers to know that it’s not always pretty pictures, life lessons learned and positivity around here. I am freaking out like everyone else right now and it kind of sucks. Feel free to tell me I’m being silly and that everything will be ok.

I intend to snap out of it. I do. But if I see Jim Cantore outside, all bets are off.

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