(The above image is AI generated).
A week ago Sunday I went to brunch with a friend I hadn’t seen in half a year. She asked me, “so, how’s retirement going?”
I was surprised to be flummoxed by her question. It took me a second to respond, and all I said was, “busy.”
I should have said stressful, exhausting, mundane, and disappointing.
There are so many myths about retirement: you’re supposed to fling off the shackles of the 9 to 5 and pursue all the delayed gratification you can cram into whatever time you have left on this earth. Cruises! European tours! Adventure travel to Alaska, Spain, or Australia! Finally pursuing that acting and singing career you set aside to go to law school and work long hours in a series of soul-sucking “careers” just to assuage your parents’ anxiety that you’d never make it in showbiz and you’d live in squalid poverty!
Well, squalid poverty is still a distinct possibility, and fabulous cruises, rail journeys, adventures to as-yet-unvisited places, not to mention headshots and auditions, are off the table. I’m spending most of my time in my nascent retirement (all 8 or so months of it) cleaning, grocery shopping, record keeping, paying bills, preparing meals, and spending money I can’t really afford to spend fixing 25-year old broken stuff which replaced other older broken stuff in my 77-year old house.
I decided to retire the nanosecond I became eligible for Medicare so I could focus on helping Angelic Daughter develop stronger independent living skills. We’re making progress, except in one important area: the motivation to actually live independently. The plan still seems to be to live with me in this house forever, and for me to find her a new, impossible to find, neurotypical companion to spend most of her time doing fun stuff and going fun places with, to then come home to good old Mom’s house, with Mom in it.
I don’t mean to whine, especially in light of ongoing climate tragedies and the festival of federal government incompetence, pouting get-evenism, and evil tech oligarchilords coming our way on Monday. I’m trying hard to keep my mind off the doom train by keeping myself busy beyond the four walls of my home. I volunteered to help supplement the chorus for an upcoming performance of Beethoven’s 9th; I’ve posted five “events” for my MeetUp group, from getting together for coffee to a “Palentine’s” dinner to a line dancing class.
But honestly, all that getting-out-there-because-social-connections-are-vital-to-your-well-being just makes me feel overscheduled and overwhelmed. Where’s my poolside umbrella drink? Where’s my third-act unexpected but thrilling May-December romance? Where’s my falling asleep in a comfy chair while reading a really good book?
OK, you’re right, I’m writing this right now, aren’t I? And I could exert a little more discipline to watch less TV, get more sleep, and make a manageable schedule. I’m dry Januarying, and hope to extend that soberishness along with healthy eating and an achievable workout schedule until I finally, finally reach a goal weight I’ve been pursuing for, oh, I don’t know, 35 years?
I promise you I’m working on that patience, presence, and peace theme for this year. When Angelic Daughter gets overwhelmed with anxiety, which can happen several times a day and deep in the middle of the night, I’m determined not to intervene just to buy myself some peace and quiet, but to let her work it out with the cognitive behavioral strategies she’s been given. If it doesn’t get better, I’ll calmly coax her into the car for a drive-about, listening to music, like she used to do with her Dad, until she feels better.
I’ve noticed myself making an effort to talk less, and listen more, and to resist the temptation to always be “on,” ever the entertainer. I’m trying to let others shine (cue my inner Miss Piggy, smirking that there really isn’t any ordinary person who could truly outshine moi). Every night I say prayers of gratitude and for help and peace for those who need it most.
And if the remaining time allotted to me on this earth is going to be filled with housework and thwarted dreams, well, dammit, I’m going to find a way to make lemonade out of them lemons.
Off to brew up another cuppa tea (which is actually a pretty good substitute for non-soberish libations) I remain,
your frustrated, irritable, but trying to be present, calm, and grateful,
Ridiculouswoman
Once again, the American Dream has been unattainable for most of us for a very long time.The fantasy retirement has only been realized by the few not the many. I don’t know if it falls into the ‘hell in a hand basket’ category or not, but doing what we can in our small circle to live life lovingly and fully for our own selves and for others seems the best way forward.