The Compartmentalization Conundrum, pt. 2: Independent Thought

This is my Dad.  He is amazing.  He owned and operated a well-respected Machinery and Supply company for decades and then retired.

It's okay to have a job and a hobby.

It's still okay if your hobby is the Yacht Club and racing sailboats and you rise through the ranks of people who don't want to do as much hard work at their hobby and end up Harbor Master because you're are such a hard worker by nature.

It's even still okay to be the Machinery and Supply guy and the Harbormaster at the same time, but, it seems that when you then decide to also spend a year working on designing, building and traveling with your amazing midi-played computerized Calliope, your other-world-of-yachting-and-business friends do that scrunched up face thing I spoke about in my last post.

My Dad was a bit dismayed that the organ folk were so very organ-y and couldn't really be friends with someone who wasn't quite as obsessively devoted to organs as they.  He was equally dismayed that his other friends were mystified at what seemed an abrupt change of focus/personality.

I watched all of this from the sidelines, of course.  I adore my father like you wouldn't believe, and I know he's always moving on to new things.  Very complicated new things that require him to learn whole encyclopedias of information and apply it mechanically in innovative and amazing ways.

Once upon a time, he built two four foot-long (sewed the sails, machined all parts and designed all electronics, did all fiberglass work) replica America's Cup sailboats that operate by hand-held remote devices.  They actually tack.  They're made of fiberglass.  He made them while he was restoring his 1971 Corvette because he had gotten good at fiberglass and I guess it just occurred to him that a pair of sailboats you could drop in the water on a dead day at the reservoir while you're sort of racing your heavy boat that is going nowhere fast anyway might be a hoot.  It was a hoot.  Now they are gathering dust on the wall of his shop.  He moved on.

So, here's my suggestion for those who know someone like us:  get used to the idea we are good at many many things.  We work HARD to make each one work the best way possible.  When we are done, we are done.  Those things we were working on are now a little bit boring because the mystery is gone.  We can smile and still talk about them and enjoy your new-found enthusiasm for them, and we can even haul them out and take them places and still use them and be part of that world, but we have fundamentally moved forward.

It's more of an "both/and" thing, really.  It's not "either/or".   And guess what?  We don't expect you to change, too.  What I'd like more than anything else is if you'd continue being my friend in the way that makes sense to you and not get weirded out by my new friends and new activities.  You are STILL very important to me and you are STILL you and I am STILL me.  

Project by project, I learned from my father to work hard, be thorough, and pay particular attention to the details.  It seems appreciated everywhere you go and by everyone you meet.  I regret the confusion caused by moving on, and I hope we can all still be friends?