Freedom or Boredom

1464810432178This whole retirement thing is a bit tricky. I, like many before me, have spent decades talking about all the fun things I’ll do when I retire, not least of which is not having to set an alarm and then function on someone else’s time for the majority of my day. And the older I get, the more I’ve felt like life is passing me by while I’m stuck inside following someone else’s rules.¬† I didn’t notice it so much when I was younger because in my 20s, 30s, 40s and even some of my 50s, it still felt like I had hundreds of hours left to do what I wanted – to rebel and head out on my own, to forge a different life in another part of the world and explore, explore, explore.

I managed a little of that. When I was dancing, I got to see South Africa, Egypt, Finland, Sweden, Japan, Hong Kong, England, Italy, France, and Thailand. In a brief search for a retirement place, I checked out Panama and Costa Rica. But the funny thing is, the closer I get to retirement, the scarier it looks and the less adventurous I get.

Why is that? There are any number of reasons. I get less adventurous because moving two cats to a foreign country is problematic and then what if I hate it; I’ve developed chronic issues as I get older that require care, which makes me worry about leaving the country; I’d be an older, single female living amongst strangers and hoping they’re nice to me rather than viewing me as the odd one out and an easy target; and the hassle of traveling isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be. Things that never bothered me before, now do: Did I pack everything, did I leave early enough to get to the airport, will I find an overhead bin to put my carry-on in, will I hold up everyone behind me (none of whom offers to help) while I try to stuff my bag in that overhead bin, will I find my way through the airport to my connection in time, will the taxi driver screw me around on my way to the hotel, will this be the one hotel in the city with a bedbug problem … and on and on.

As for retirement being scarier the closer I get, I have a short list of what ifs:

  1. What if I get bored with the things I think will entertain me? I have a long list of things I’ve always wanted to tackle but what if I go through the list in the first few months and then none of them appeal to me any more?
  2. What if I get so used to sleeping late and with nowhere I have to go, resort to sitting around staring at the television or the computer screen, putting on weight and becoming more and more sedentary (which would, of course, mean that my chronic back problem will only get worse and my joints more creaky)?
  3. What if I decide I can’t live on my Social Security and I need to find a part-time job? At my age, very few places are likely to want to hire me and then I have to wonder if I should’ve retired in the first place.
  4. What if I get lonely? There’s an older gentleman who comes into the Starbucks where I go to write who, as I’ve heard him tell people, comes in every single day (like I’ll soon be doing) and sits very quietly until he can insinuate himself into someone’s conversation, where he then proceeds to spend far too much time talking to them. Will I end up like that – desperate for human conversation?
  5. What if I die? I’ve heard countless stories about people who were looking forward to retiring and then died within a few months of doing so. One of my co-workers and her husband both retired so they could travel the country. They were excited about this new path in their lives. They bought an RV and planned out their route around the United States. He died roughly two months after retiring. I don’t know why that happens so often (or at least often enough to have caught my attention) but I sure as hell don’t want to be one of the statistics.

So I suppose the basic issue is whether or not the dream will be all it’s cracked up to be. Looking at your dreams and realizing that they might be just that and nothing more, can put a serious dent in the rest of your days. It makes you pause and go through the retirement check list one more time to assure yourself that you’ve thought of everything. Then you just have to say: You’ll be fine. Repeat after me: You’ll be fine.

 

Book Snob vs Book Lover

Vivid_Sparkup_img1_lg._V339163125_This picture actually reminds me of myself as a kid. I used to come home from the library with stacks of books and my mother would ask me why I checked out that many as there was no way I could finish them all before they were due back. But I always did. I loved to read. I still do. That said, my tastes have changed pretty dramatically.

I can remember a time when I rented a wonderful movie for my mother while I was home visiting – something very serious and dramatic with amazing performances, I’m sure – and she told me she preferred Hallmark movies. Say what? I commented that they weren’t real life. Her response was that she’d had decades of “real life” and only wanted to be entertained. At the time, I didn’t understand that at all but now I do.

I’ve always aspired to be an author. What stops me? Well, that’s an entirely different blog post so let’s stick with my affinity for words and the way they’re put together. I recall writing a story in grade school and purposefully leaving it in my desk for the teacher to find as a way of getting feedback without asking for it. She returned it to me the next day and noted in the margin how impressed she was with my story and especially with my use of the word “albeit.” Lord knows where I’d stumbled across that word but I was determined to use it and glad she noticed.

I spent years reading literary novels and taking note of impressive sentence structure or evocative descriptions. I aspired to be those authors and the things I wrote were deplorable and contrived. I’ve probably started several novels over the years and eventually tossed them all in the trash. Fortunately, there was no computer tracking in those days so there’s no record of them.

I stubbornly ordered book after book of literary writing and turned my nose up at things like romance novels. And then one day I found myself throwing out a book that I had labored to finish. It might have wonderful reviews and a plethora of awards, but I found I couldn’t finish it. I read at night when I get into bed and I’d pick it up each night and spend precious time trying to figure out what I’d read the night before. Clearly, it wasn’t holding my fancy.

It took me another few years to slowly, ever so slowly, start buying books that sounded like they might have a plot that would hold my interest so I’d at least remember what was going on at the point I left off the night before. Could it be that I’m older and have less of an attention span? Yes. Could it be that I’ve become my mother and after decades of “real life,” I just want entertainment? Absolutely.

Please note: I still have no interest in romance novels but that may be more a product of being too damn old for romance than a dislike of the genre. Nowadays, I love mysteries and fiction that takes place in different time periods and/or other countries.

It’s interesting to see how my tastes have changed over the years and to wonder how much good entertainment I missed when I was younger.

 

 

 

Does Work Define Us?

Rock climber clinging to a cliff.

Work may not define us to our friends, but to work supervisors our work persona plays a pretty major role and so many of us spend decades toeing the line. I know we’d all like to think we don’t stereotype people and we work hard not to do so, but subconsciously, many of those ideas still lurk and they color our interactions with those around us.

Back in my dancing days, I worked in a fairly liberal atmosphere, one in which people were encouraged to be artistic and individual. That included the way we dressed, the things we’d do and say in public and even our hobbies. We didn’t care what anyone else thought, either.

But then I retired from dancing and spent several decades in the “normal” world and the old rules no longer applied. I found that I was expected to dress a certain way, talk a certain way and behave a certain way. I also felt like I put on a mask every morning and only partially removed it when I got home.

You can remove the mask in private and be whoever you are at heart – and that doesn’t even have to be too outlandish, mind you – but if you’re in public, even outside of work, you run the risk of someone, anyone, knowing one of your co-workers and reporting back on how “different” you were than what they thought. If that gets back to supervisors, you can bet that somewhere in the back of their minds they wonder if any of those traits will eventually carry over into work and it may influence the assignments you get, the people who interact with you, and the possibility of advancement.

So let’s take an example. Let’s say I get up every morning, put on the appropriate amount of makeup with a shade of lipstick that doesn’t scream “hooker,” accessorize sparingly, make sure I’m wearing the right length dress or skirt (nothing too short or tight), spray my hair to within an inch of its life so it stays “just so” and make sure I don’t offer contradictory opinions (always look like a team player), walk like a newly starched shirt, and sit “like a lady” – not exactly sure what that means but certainly know what it’s not, and it’s not my favorite cross-legged on the floor position.

But then someone sees me at a concert in ripped jeans, low-cut shirt, purple hair, a nose ring and a beer in my hands. Don’t think for a second that that’s not going to make the rounds at work. It may not even be malicious. It’s just a different “you” from what people are accustomed to seeing. So what happens next time someone says, “Let’s put Lisa in charge of the new project with Mr. Smith.” Without even thinking, that supervisor may say, “You know, I think maybe we need someone a little more conservative to work with Mr. Smith.”

Now clearly that’s not me (maybe only because I don’t drink), but perceptions can color your career, so you find yourself conforming as much as you can for as long as you can. That’s why I say that work defines us. We spend so much of our time in a work environment that we spend years acting as one person when our heart is another.

What would I change? At this point nothing because I’m too old, but if I had the balls, I’d live every day at work in my sweats and sneakers, I’d speak up every time I had something to say or wanted to point out the things that upper management does that piss off the “little people” like me (and that might be fairly often and really obnoxious) and I might even dance down the hallway from time to time. Good thing I’m close to retirement because my job would be over, I’d be out the door and I probably wouldn’t be able to find a new one.

The bottom line? Yes, my job defines me.

But not for long.