Adventures in Retirement

All of us approach retirement differently. Some move to the sun belt to hang around with other retirees. Some become professional grandparents, filling the time with babysitting and taking pictures of their grandchildren. Some replace the children and grandchildren they no longer have, or never had, with puppies and kitties. Some never get used to retirement, and spend the rest of their lives shuffling from one room to the next, from the back yard to the front, trying to avoid thinking by keeping occupied. Some never retire at all, saying they need the money, or that they like their job.

My own decision to retire was quite impromptu. Financially I was quite unprepared, and for years I had visualized my future self slumped over a keyboard, dead. When I lost my job, though, I walked out of the building leaving my tools and possessions behind. I vowed never to go back, regardless of the consequences. I was ready to eat dog food and wear garbage bags, if I had to. So far that has not been necessary.

I always liked my work very well. I was good at it, and I took pride in it. No one ever hated their job more than I did, as thoroughly as I did, longer than I did, though. I liked my work, but hated my job. To say that the 'corporate culture' was not for me would be a considerable understatement. My own retirement began with the resolution to rid myself of all vestiges of corporate servitude.

If you never try to do this, you will never know how deeply the process of working for a living has become ingrained in your actions, your habits and your thought patterns. For years I had thought that all I had to do was to remember what it was I liked to do before I began working, the things I had put aside, and do them. It isn't that easy.

First I started looking for work. I applied for jobs. Finally I received job offers. Only when I turned them down did I realize I didn't want a new master. I had to force myself to stop looking for jobs. I finally stopped getting haircuts too. I realized that $20 a month was better spent on groceries. I realized I no longer had to "look the part." Clean is good enough.

One of the biggest ways working for a living influences our behavior is, it teaches us to function on the reward system. We feel we must compensate ourselves. First, there is the big evening meal. I worked hard all day (at a job that sucked), didn't I? Do I not deserve a hearty meal? I've gotten away from that. Now, I tend to eat more as Adelle Davis recommended, with the biggest meal of the day being breakfast. My taste for starches, and for meat, is being replaced with a taste for fresh vegetables. I have made no effort to discipline myself. These changes have come to me naturally.

In the same way, my need to anesthetize myself has greatly diminished. I have switched from whiskey to wine, and I am satisfied with a quarter of what I used to consume. I have not restrained myself in any way. The need just isn't there anymore.

And then there is the percieved need to buy things -- cars, for example. I have had many new cars in my life. Some were great fun. All have gone to the crusher. Now, the thrill is gone. My present car is 12 years old. It starts and runs fine. There are no puddles underneath it. This is all I want. I don't own an iPhone, or an iPod. I don't own a big-screen TV, and have no plans to buy one. I could have any of these things if I wanted them. I don't want them. I no longer feel the need to compensate myself for going to work.

There is one last habit I have yet to discard, and it's a tough one. I still get up in the morning, sit down behind the computer, and stay there most of the day -- just as I have done for the past 20 years. Some of the time I spend at the keyboard has great value to me. I write, and I correspond, and I enjoy these things. I am also a volunteer ESL tutor, which is very gratifying. Most of the time, though, I am like a dead person watching television. It is very much like sitting in the office.

This will be the last brick in the wall. I'm working on it. Occasionally, something or someone reminds me that I need to unplug, and I appreciate this. It would be easy to continue sleepwalking, and end up slumped over a keyboard dead, after all.