My Quiet Years

Riley, Ned, & the cabin

Twenty-four years ago I left Milwaukee, burned out from a 25-year stretch of working in the fitness field. Although I still had energy to burn, my soul felt used up and tired. I was working long hours and then, whenever I had the chance, escaping to the woods to rejuvenate or to a quiet campsite to decompress. I was ready for a change.

A few months after moving to Vernon County, I was living off-grid in a cabin where, if I stood in the middle and reached out with my trekking poles, I could touch the opposing walls. The only noises I’d hear were the neighbor’s cows mooing, the clickity-clack of horse hooves echoing from the road below, or the coyotes singing their luck from a late-night hunt.

I hadn’t a clue what I would do or how I would make a living. All I knew was that I no longer wanted to be the person in charge of maintaining the chemicals in a pool, or the person who did the hiring, training, or firing. I didn’t want to be responsible for the bottom-line profit or loss, or to deal with the politics of managing one club within multiple facilities. I was happier leading classes.

My life went from 100 miles an hour to 20. No longer did I get home late, eat a quick crappy meal, fall into bed, wake up early, and drive back to work, only to repeat the day before.

Instead, I’d wake to my dog Riley's nails tapping on the wood floor, back and forth, from the door to the base of the ladder leading up to the loft where I slept. I’d roll around a few times, trying to squeeze out more sleep, before slipping into my jeans and crawling backward, one foot at a time, down the steep steps to where Riley was eagerly waiting.

As I transitioned from full days filled with plenty of one-on-one contacts in a multi-facility fitness club to long days of quietly hiking with Riley, the question “What’s next?” scurried like an anxious squirrel through my head.

I had no plan when I came here, only a deep desire to live more intentionally, the way I’d imagined: closer to nature, in a landscape I found inspiring, in a less populated town, with a chance for more intimate connections, and space for an animal family.

As for employment, I’d tell people I wanted to punch in, punch out, go home, and not have to worry. In other words, I wasn’t looking for a job with a lot of responsibility. Working in a bookstore sounded appealing. At that time Viroqua had a bookstore, but Susan, the owner, was running it herself. So I found work in the local art supplies store, a resale shop, and a veterinary clinic, until I found myself once again doing something I loved: leading water aerobics classes at the town's only motel with a pool.

Before I knew it, I was right back into the field I’d left behind. My passion for helping people reap the benefits from a regular exercise routine along with being in the great outdoors had come full circle. In 2002 I started a fitness business that has, over the years, included in-person classes in various rural settings and, most recently, online classes seven days a week, with not only local participants but folks in Madison, Chicago, and even Tucson.

The difference is that I’m living in a place I’d only dreamed of, in what I now refer to as my quiet years. I had no idea, when I packed up and left my old life, what this new one had in store for me.

Sometimes all we need is a change of scenery, a place that surrounds us in beauty and is quiet enough that we can think, rest, rejuvenate, and then regrow.

With the new year approaching, I’m once again reflecting on “what’s next.” I feel deep satisfaction in lying in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, my face to the sun, on these last warm days of the year, thinking this may be it: more quiet years.