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It's been a year now since I retired, and I thought this would be a good time to consider what it's meant to me. For any who've just recently joined in, I was owned by the state for the previous 30 years, more or less, working mostly as a community college English teacher and administrator--the kind of job that was very an interesting and rewarding thing to be doing, but a wonderful relief to quit.
I had worried in one way that my sense of who I am might mostly come from my work and that when I no longer worked I might find myself feeling unsure of where I fit in the world. That turned out not to be the case. When I first started work, I recall its being a huge identity shift (thinking about my first year of teaching high school at 21) because I went overnight from being a kid to being an adult--from rebel to enforcer, in a way. And when I went back to work later in my 30's, that was an identity shift too, from mom to teacher. Required new clothes (which as Thoreau points out can be a bad sign). Actually maybe that's a clue--at retirement, I didn't so much take on a new outer self as just sort of stop using one that was never quite really me to begin with. I'm just being my Saturday self all the time now, and mostly wearing my Saturday clothes (when I'm not in PJ's till noon and yoga clothes after that--but that was my Saturday outfit!) Clearing out the closet but not so much bringing in new stuff, unless I really want to. But maybe too--after all these years!--my sense of who I am no longer comes entirely from things like what I do and what my job is. Or actually maybe I'm getting to where who I am is not all that important. Maybe.
So then another worry was that when I cut out all the mental, physical, and social activity associated with work, I'd be left with great hollow spaces in my life. Well, no--it was kind of more like digging a hole by the ocean's edge. For everything that I took out of my life, lots more was just waiting to rush in and fill it up. Much more regular writing, more seriously studying Spanish, working harder on meditation and yoga, travelling more, spending time with Lydia, etc. Now Lydia (the baby from China) is leaving, but there'll be something to take her place, too. I don't foresee a problem of nothing to do. In fact, there's stuff I'd planned to do, like getting back to gardening, knitting, and sewing, that I just don't have time for. And my travel plans go on forever.
Last worry was money. I didn't work as long as I could have, didn't get the highest benefits, the extra double-dipping I could have done. I won't know if I regret this really until I'm about 90. But for right now, since I did start getting Social Security soon after retirement, I'm making about what I made before I stopped work, and that's plenty to live on and have a little left for saving or travel (or repairing the old house...). For now, I'm healthy, no big debts, no one else to take care of financially. I'm extremely lucky, here. Good genes and good guidance from Bill--I'd never want to use his money, but I'm glad he doesn't need mine, and I'm really fortunate that he knows so much about money. And what would I pay for such good years of freedom healthy and energetic?
I know people who haven't had such a good experience as I have, and perhaps in the future things won't be quite so good for me either. But I feel fine about having made the choice to do this now. I'm more than lucky to have a good marriage, happy and healthy kids, wonderful old friends and new ones (especially you, flist!) and to in a privileged class in a privileged place where bombs aren't falling on my head.
The one thing I'm beginning to think about more and more is the need to contribute something to the world. It's so nice to live self-indulgently, but I think I really need to get serious about finding some ways to do some worthwhile volunteer work.
I know how many people--how many of you--struggle although you work long hours every day, and reading about your lives reminds me daily that life's not fair--why should things be so easy for me, so tough for you? The wheel turns, and I've been in some bad circumstances, and I know how unfair it is to see someone else having things so much easier. I wish the world were different.
I had worried in one way that my sense of who I am might mostly come from my work and that when I no longer worked I might find myself feeling unsure of where I fit in the world. That turned out not to be the case. When I first started work, I recall its being a huge identity shift (thinking about my first year of teaching high school at 21) because I went overnight from being a kid to being an adult--from rebel to enforcer, in a way. And when I went back to work later in my 30's, that was an identity shift too, from mom to teacher. Required new clothes (which as Thoreau points out can be a bad sign). Actually maybe that's a clue--at retirement, I didn't so much take on a new outer self as just sort of stop using one that was never quite really me to begin with. I'm just being my Saturday self all the time now, and mostly wearing my Saturday clothes (when I'm not in PJ's till noon and yoga clothes after that--but that was my Saturday outfit!) Clearing out the closet but not so much bringing in new stuff, unless I really want to. But maybe too--after all these years!--my sense of who I am no longer comes entirely from things like what I do and what my job is. Or actually maybe I'm getting to where who I am is not all that important. Maybe.
So then another worry was that when I cut out all the mental, physical, and social activity associated with work, I'd be left with great hollow spaces in my life. Well, no--it was kind of more like digging a hole by the ocean's edge. For everything that I took out of my life, lots more was just waiting to rush in and fill it up. Much more regular writing, more seriously studying Spanish, working harder on meditation and yoga, travelling more, spending time with Lydia, etc. Now Lydia (the baby from China) is leaving, but there'll be something to take her place, too. I don't foresee a problem of nothing to do. In fact, there's stuff I'd planned to do, like getting back to gardening, knitting, and sewing, that I just don't have time for. And my travel plans go on forever.
Last worry was money. I didn't work as long as I could have, didn't get the highest benefits, the extra double-dipping I could have done. I won't know if I regret this really until I'm about 90. But for right now, since I did start getting Social Security soon after retirement, I'm making about what I made before I stopped work, and that's plenty to live on and have a little left for saving or travel (or repairing the old house...). For now, I'm healthy, no big debts, no one else to take care of financially. I'm extremely lucky, here. Good genes and good guidance from Bill--I'd never want to use his money, but I'm glad he doesn't need mine, and I'm really fortunate that he knows so much about money. And what would I pay for such good years of freedom healthy and energetic?
I know people who haven't had such a good experience as I have, and perhaps in the future things won't be quite so good for me either. But I feel fine about having made the choice to do this now. I'm more than lucky to have a good marriage, happy and healthy kids, wonderful old friends and new ones (especially you, flist!) and to in a privileged class in a privileged place where bombs aren't falling on my head.
The one thing I'm beginning to think about more and more is the need to contribute something to the world. It's so nice to live self-indulgently, but I think I really need to get serious about finding some ways to do some worthwhile volunteer work.
I know how many people--how many of you--struggle although you work long hours every day, and reading about your lives reminds me daily that life's not fair--why should things be so easy for me, so tough for you? The wheel turns, and I've been in some bad circumstances, and I know how unfair it is to see someone else having things so much easier. I wish the world were different.
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