When You Lose Your Ham Radio Mojo

Maybe I have simply run out of projects before I have run out of curiosity.

There is a peculiar feeling that comes after you have spent months happily tumbling down one amateur-radio rabbit hole after another. You look around the desk, look at the radios, look at the list of things you wanted to do, and realize that—for the moment—you have done what you can.

Then you sit there wondering what the hell to do with yourself.

That is where I find myself this week. The radios are still here. The curiosity is still here. But the constant pull of the next setting to figure out, the next connection to make, or the next stubborn little problem to solve has gone quiet. And when I am used to that much activity, quiet can feel suspiciously like I have lost my ham-radio mojo.

An Odd Place to Stop

Lately, my station has given me plenty to explore: DMR, APRS, a little NXDN by way of a gateway, codeplugs, hotspots, logbooks, dashboards, APIs, and the website. One discovery has tended to lead straight into another. I would get something working and immediately start wondering what else it could do.

Last week I wrote about how the radio is now half the station. This week, apparently, I have reached the part where the operator needs to catch up with everything he has built.

There is already a next project. HERMES, my planned Raspberry Pi APRS station, is waiting in the wings. I have been working through the preparation, but buying the Pi itself needs to wait about two more weeks until the budget allows it. Curiosity has excellent timing. My wallet has its own schedule.

I can see where I want to go. I just cannot start that part yet. And I have reached the end of the tasks I could think of doing in the meantime.

Resting Between Climbs

Maybe the trouble is that I have become so accustomed to climbing that I do not quite know what to do when the trail levels out.

Getting a new piece of the station working feels like reaching a little summit. There is the effort, the confusion, the occasional muttering at the screen, and then that lovely moment when something finally behaves. A packet arrives. A connection works. The thing I was trying to understand begins to make sense.

I enjoy the view for about thirty seconds before spotting the next hill.

Right now, I have finished one stretch of the trail. The next climb is visible, but I have to wait before I can take it on. Perhaps I can sit down for a bit and appreciate how far I have come. There is quite a view from here, even if my actual view is from a seventeenth-floor Brooklyn apartment.

Maybe I have simply run out of projects before I have run out of curiosity. That feels much closer to what is happening.

A Little October Perspective

The change of season seems to fit this moment. The light is changing, evenings are arriving earlier, and autumn is settling in. The world has a rhythm that does not involve producing something new every single day.

Trees do not panic in October because they are not making new leaves. I could probably learn something from that.

I have always found meaning in those seasonal shifts. There is room for growth, and there is room for a quieter stretch when what has already grown can settle. I like the thought that my enthusiasm might have a rhythm of its own, too.

I do not know exactly when the next burst of excitement will arrive. For now, I am trying to let the pause be a pause without assigning it some terrible significance.

Letting the Radio Be a Radio

I can turn on a radio and listen. I can join a conversation if one catches my attention, or make an occasional call just to see who is there. An idea can go into a notecard and stay there until I feel like exploring it.

There does not have to be a new project attached to every evening at the desk. I can enjoy the station I already have without immediately finding something to change about it. That sounds perfectly reasonable when I write it down. Practicing it may take a little more effort.

After all, underneath the software, the cables, and the plans for HERMES, there is still the reason I wanted to be on the air: another person, another voice, another chance to say, “Hello, I am Eric.” I do not need to finish a build before I can do that.

Some nights will be quiet. Some nights I may have more interest in listening than talking. I am willing to see what happens when I give myself that room.

The Next Trailhead

I suspect it will take something small to get me leaning forward again. An unexpected QSO. A packet that makes me wonder how it got here. Somebody mentioning a possibility I had not considered. One more ridiculous rabbit hole waving at me at three in the morning.

HERMES will have its turn when I can afford the next step. Until then, I can leave the plans ready, keep a radio nearby, and let October do a little of the teaching.

For now, I am resting between climbs.

Sooner or later, something will catch my ear. I will find myself asking, “How does that work?” And up the mountain we go again.

73,
Eric - WB2EHG