Out To Pasture, Part 1

The first of what I hope will be an occasional series on retirement life

(Photo from Brockhaus and Efron Encyclopedic Dictionary, via Wikipedia)

What Retired Folks Talk About

A year or two ago, my high-school class held a 50th reunion gathering. Lots of my old friends and acquaintances were there, but none of my closest classmate friends chose to attend, so I largely circulated from group to group. At most tables, the icebreaker was discussion of grandchildren (I have four). But as I walked up to one group, an old friend said, “Oh, hi, Dan. We’re talking about skin cancer over here.”

1/3 Of A Century

I was a middle-school science teacher for 33 years. I loved every minute of my career (well, maybe not every minute, but the vast majority of them), but I could tell when it was time to leave. I think I got to be a very good teacher by the time I retired, and I definitely could have worked at least a few more years, but I could tell that my stamina wasn’t what it had been, and you need a lot of stamina to be a good middle-school teacher.

I was blessed with enough resources¹ that I didn’t have to continue, and I chose to go out at the top of my game rather than let myself dwindle on the job. It’s been nine years today, since I last worked (the linked video shows my last act as an official teacher, at the end of the yearly talent show; that’s me in red on the left).

I just heard a loud cheer go up from the elementary school down the street as the students there finished their year. So this seems like an appropriate time to reflect a bit on retired life.

I’m going to mention lots of positives and a few negative aspects of retirement, but before I do so, let me state that I fully realize how lucky I am. Most people around the world and throughout history have, by necessity, worked until they were too sick (or dead) to continue. To have the luxury of time, health, and means to be able to be voluntarily idle and to write one’s own Third Act is an incredible privilege, and I get that…

Knitting The Raveled Sleeve Of Care

One positive aspect of retirement is the ability to get enough sleep. A friend who retired before me told me that for the first month all I would do is sleep. He also told me, “After that, you will always be asking yourself, ‘How did I do that?’” (i.e., work for all those years and keep up that hectic pace). He was right on both counts.

Sleep, as Shakespeare said, “knits up the raveled sleeve of care.” A few months after you retire, you will probably look younger than you have for years, I predict, as a result of many full nights of restful sleep.

On the other hand, as those of us of a certain age know, it’s often difficult to stay asleep in the morning when you are a senior. I usually wake up with the birds, just as I did when I was forced to by my work schedule. Not to worry, though. Later in the day, I’m usually free these days to lie down and rest. As I like to say (in a variety of situations) now, “There’s a nap for that!”

Adrift

On the negative side, when I retired I felt lost in many ways. After all those years waking up in the morning knowing what I needed to do that day, I was adrift, with time on my hands.

I missed the affirmations that were a routine part of my daily work: colleagues asking about my weekend plans, a student’s cheerful greeting or smile after I helped him or her, a high-five from another student or colleague passing by in the hallway, a custodian’s compliment about the shirt I wore that day. It happens a hundred times a day at work, but isn’t guaranteed anymore when you stay home.

Once, the only thing anyone said to me for a large part of the day was, “Why did you put that there?” (My wife, another teacher, went on working for some years after I retired).

A friend, a retired CEO, commented that, in his work life, he was used to people listening when he spoke. His wife, on the other hand, sometimes turned and walked away while he was speaking, perhaps because she was busy with something else and didn’t deem his comments worthy of rapt attention. He commented to her about that, and she noted that, unlike his former employees, she wasn’t paid to listen to him. “That took some getting used to,” my friend commented, with feeling.

For me, it felt like I had been demoted from the starting lineup and had a new position as a utility infielder or pinch hitter, and I often had to scrap for even that role. My kids, busy with their own working lives and parenting, my neighbors and friends, my former colleagues, frequently didn’t have time for me, unless I could make an appointment. I often felt unneeded and diminished.

Feelings

But when you are retired, you have time to feel those feelings. You don’t have to put on your game face and suppress what you feel in the moment. You can actually feel sad or lonely or whatever.

Because of that, I found myself dealing with many issues that I had kept in the background for decades. Choices I made and the repercussions they had, actions I took years ago that I regret now, the suicide of a family member during my childhood…

I had some very helpful sessions with a therapist. With a lot of work, my wife and I defined and worked on some issues in our marriage. We made our already time-tested relationship even stronger

I’ve had a chance to travel, spend meaningful time with my grandkids and my sick, then dying, father. I got to give back to my community, and I also got to work on creative parts of my life that always got short shrift during my decades as a busy worker bee and parent. I also contended with some painful personal losses, as well as being primary caregiver for my wife as she recovered from some serious surgeries. More on those topics in further installments.

Thanks for reading, and if you’ve read this far, I would love to hear your thoughts, questions, and experiences!

1. Shout out to my union, the Ann Arbor Education Association/Michigan Education Association, for negotiating livable pensions for teachers (in conjunction with Social Security). Credit where credit is due, so props also to former GOP Governor Rick Snyder, who forced the legislature to stop its practice of “borrowing” from our pension fund, with no realistic plan to pay it back, and forced school districts to contribute enough to make the funds whole again.