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.

New Year’s Resolutions?

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Another New Year’s. I’ll bet most of us, through the years, have done every combination of resolution list that’s ever been proposed. In my high school and college years, I sat down and very seriously came up with the one thing that absolutely had to be accomplished during the ensuing year. It took at least a decade for me to abandon that method as a total waste of time. I can’t think of a single resolution that I actually achieved that way.

Then came at least another couple of decades of following different but somewhat similar plans every year: Don’t call it a resolution, make a list of the top ten things and be happy with crossing off 2 or 3, ten ways to stick to this year’s “goals,” rethinking what “achievement” means, etc., etc., etc.

So here we are – the cusp of 2018. What have I learned? Apparently nothing. I’ve put a different description to my contemplative end-of-year exercise and I choose goals that are a little more general in nature – like eat healthier (what, exactly, does that look like?), keep a cleaner house (like that’s going to happen), and make it to 2019 (I think that one’s achievable). I now say that I like to do a “mental reevaluation” of the year and where I’d like to focus in the next one but that sounds suspiciously like watered down resolutions, doesn’t it? Oh well. Who knows? If I keep at it, I may hit one on the nail this time. And what are those things that crop up every year? Publish a play, find a lucrative part-time outside source of income so I don’t have to worry about reverting back to my college living conditions when I retire (fun then – not so much now), publish a series of novels about my showgirl and casino marketing days (each one in a different Las Vegas decade), lose weight so I look as fabulous at 65 as any senior possibly can and check out another country or two as possible retirement sites. I’m not sure I can cram all that into one year so maybe I’ll just stretch it out for a few more.

Happy New Year to all you dedicated resolutioners!

The Pet Conundrum

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As far back in my childhood as I can remember, I’ve always had pets: a baby chicken at Easter one year when my dad would take it away from me because I was squeezing it too hard and then I’d cry when my older brother got to hold it (probably wasn’t the best idea regardless of our ages); a Dalmatian puppy picked up from a family in the “back woods” of Texas, a puppy that continually dug under the fence and ran free for days at a time, much to my chagrin; a couple of rabbits that, as you might suspect, gave us about a bazillion other little bunnies and the backyard resembled more poop pellets than green grass; an assortment of guinea pigs and parakeets; and over the past twenty years, pairs of cats so each would have a companion and playmate while I was at work.

Clearly I love animals. If I had property with a big yard, I’d probably have a small zoo on site. So here’s the problem. At what age must I decide I can’t get another animal? I’m torn in two directions. On the one hand, I read about what great companions animals are to seniors; on the other hand, I can’t bear to think of dying and leaving them for someone else to decide how they should live or even if it’s easier to place them individually even though they’ve only known each other for years.

Anyone who pays attention to their pets knows that animals bond with us, they understand far more than we give them credit for and they experience emotion. How selfish is it to want their unconditional love all the way to the end? Wouldn’t it be better to let someone else adopt them who can live a life span with them? But then, what if one of my cats dies and the other one is left behind to grieve? That’s happened to me before and it’s pitiful to watch an animal mourn when you can’t explain to him what’s happened and where his companion has gone. When I’m a little older, will I want to get a new companion for the one left behind? The problem with that scenario is that if I die and someone has to place them, they may decide to split them up.¬† And take them back to a shelter? Never.

My female, Pyewacket, adopted me so don’t try to tell me they don’t know where they are and yearn for someone to rescue them. I showed up at a local shelter, not realizing that hundreds of cats were allowed to roam around amongst several rooms. I was overwhelmed and didn’t know how I would decide which two were perfect for me. I sat down on the floor, set my purse behind me and waited to see who would come over. Pyewacket was the very first one to come check me out. She climbed up in my lap and proceeded to purr and knead but quickly got pushed out of the way by other curious kitties. After checking out several dozen, I started looking for the sweet little female who’d made the first overture but I couldn’t find her. I finally turned around to see her curled up inside my open purse. In the almost ten years I’ve had her, she’s never once done that again. So, try to tell me she didn’t want to come home with me!

I guess when I lose one of the two I have now, I’ll have to do some serious thinking about this dilemma or, rather than choose another young one, opt for an older cat. They are often the hardest to place and the ones who could really use some love and attention. And being an older animal myself, I get it.

 

Abrupt Halt to Spending

There are many things to look forward to when contemplating retirement. Curbing my spending habits to adjust to a significantly lower bank account is not one of them. I’ve had two bankruptcies in my lifetime and know full well how painful it is to give up spending habits – Starbucks was my hardest indulgence to do away with. I remember the agent at the debt restructuring firm I approached saying he’d never seen anyone spend that much on Starbucks. At the time, I would stop every morning on my way to work and often would make a second trip after lunch. And yes, that adds up.

So here I am, on the cusp of retirement, looking forward to having free time all the time with no higher-up around to rein me in and, at the same time, dreading the adjustments that will come – primarily the money thing. What will I have to do to live comfortably without forgoing heat or having to ask for Meals on Wheels to get by? Scary.

Save-Up-Money-Without-Giving-Up-Too-Much

I made a list but I haven’t had the courage to put them in order yet from least offensive to part with to “I’ll never give that up” … and then having to do so. Here’s my list so far: Starbucks (yes, still a part of my life – just not every day), magazine subscriptions, fast food (well, truthfully, that one isn’t all bad), expensive things like meat (time to become a vegetarian?), using less electricity, trade my car down to something second-hand that I don’t have to make payments on, learn to cut my own hair, see if I can walk to more places rather than drive, cable television, dinners with the family once a month, buy generic brands at the store, and/or look for part-time work (sort of defeats the purpose of retirement but may be necessary). Who knows? Maybe I can even figure out a way to cut back enough in other areas that my Starbucks treats don’t have to suffer.

Panama – Part III

Boquete

Keep in mind that this little Panamanian adventure was taken when I was 63 years old, traveling alone and in search of a retirement location that would be more affordable when living off nothing but social security. The goal was to cash out my 401K, use it to purchase a small cottage with a backyard suited for establishing a lush garden to revel in on a daily basis and yet still be close to decent medical care.

So I drove from David, Panama to Boquete, where the instructions were to turn left just past the bank¬† and before the town square as I was descending into the valley. Now really, how could that go wrong? However, as you can see from the photo above, you can’t miss the fact that you’re traveling down into a valley. And here was the town square:

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I quickly found my host’s house and settled into the one-room casita in the backyard – right next to a babbling brook that attracted all sorts of birds throughout my stay. It was an idyllic setting: perfect temperatures in the day – t-shirts, sweat pants and sneakers – but cold enough at night to sleep with the window open and a blanket pulled up under my chin. The morning bird calls would wake me and I’d make a cup of coffee and sit outside the front door and watch the resident creatures come to life and dip in and out of the backyard.

Cottage

The first thing I noticed was that the town seemed to be more expats than locals and that most of them made little or no effort to talk to the locals (at least that I could see). I didn’t like that. My stay overlapped a three-day celebration on the founding on Boquete and there were “parades” daily. I use that term loosely because the first one was a constant stream of men on horseback, interspersed by pickup trucks with women freely pouring booze into plastic cups for anyone who walked up to them as they passed by. I watched one horse, made to lift his knees and prance down the street, foaming at the mouth and no none seemed to mind a bit. These same horses paraded around in a giant square for the better part of 5 hours. I sort of wished we’d made the rider prance around like that for hours with no water and see how much he liked it. And then there was the public drunkenness. When I returned to my casita, the owner asked about my day and when I told her the public drunkenness concerned me, she responded, “Well, there is that.” Hmmm. How safe would a lone foreigner be in the city with drunken men routinely tottering around the streets?

I took a tour of a coffee plantation, enjoyed that and booked a tour that only had three of us and a guide, walking uphill in the forest in a light drizzle for the better part of two hours. They may have seen this tour as “an easy uphill walk” but as a senior, there were times when I thought that if we didn’t stop for breath, I wouldn’t have any left.

I used my time in Boquete to walk some of the back streets to see what the houses looked like and how the locals lived. The houses were dilapidated but the locals were friendly. I also asked my host lots of questions. I thought maybe I could make herbal and essential oil products from my company, Scentsibility, and sell them but her response was, “Who’s going to buy them?” When I said “hopefully the locals,” she responded, “They grow herbs in their backyards and wouldn’t have the money to buy products.” She suggested I check out the weekly open market to check out the competition and so I did.

boquete-tuesday-market

I was mostly struck by the fact that this was the height of entertainment for the locals. There were no department stores, no big grocery stores, no library that I could see, and television programs in Spanish. I started to realize that although this would be wonderful for about a month, then what? I found the local doctor’s office and decided I’d need to head to David or even back to Panama City for health care and that would certainly not be convenient.

I talked about buying a small house and my host discouraged it. She (as well as all the expats I talked to) said I should definitely rent for six months to a year before settling there. That would mean I’d be depleting my funds for a purchase. She added further fuel to my thoughts by asking me who would buy my little cottage if I decided after a year or so to leave? The locals couldn’t afford it and the expats tended to band together in gated communities on the outskirts of town so they wouldn’t buy it.

Although I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Boquete, I realized that I probably would not want to settle there. So I flew back to Panama City for my last night’s stay in the country and was picked up by my trusty driver, Sinar (see Part I).

So it appears I’m back to square one – where to go and how to live on social security.

David, Panama

Panama – Part II. I flew from Panama City to David and rented a car. The plan was that I could then go where I wanted, when I wanted and not have to get off and on a bus when a tour guide told me to. Also, I might see more of the authentic Panama. Well, good plan anyway. And, of course, I had a Panamanian woman sitting next to me on the plane who wanted to practice her English (thank God) and told me I definitely didn’t want to retire in David – too hot and humid, she said. Boy was she right. I could tell that from the moment I stepped off the plane. Mind you, I’m from Nevada so I’m accustomed to 115 degree heat but humidity? Nope, can’t handle that along with heat. One or the other, thank you – not both.

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I picked up my rental car and since I had installed Waze on my phone, the directions to the Gran Nacional Hotel were very good. I was not, however, overwhelmed by the look of the city. Low, squat buildings and scaffolding and cranes surrounding every view. I didn’t know if that was a sign of prosperity and the city was growing or a sign of decay and everything needed propping up. I kept seeing lovely pictures online of manicured parks with modern sculptures and fountains. Damned if I saw any of that anywhere near the Gran Nacional.

gran-hotel-nacional

I arrived at the hotel, lowered the air conditioning in my room to a comfortable non-sweating-sitting-still temperature and strolled back downstairs to the front desk. I told the girl on duty there that I was interested in a tour of the city. She asked me what I wanted to see. I told her I wanted to get a feel for the city as a possible retirement location and to see the sights. Her response? “Oh there’s nothing much to see here.” Terrific. I had arranged my flight to arrive early so I would have a full day to explore the city. It was suffocatingly hot outside and, driving in, I hadn’t seen anything within walking distance that warranted a second look so I decided I’d get directions to my next stop, Boquete, and make sure I could find the main road the next morning. Surely that would also afford me the opportunity to see some of the city.

I found a young woman in a travel agency on the main floor who spoke English. “Easy” she told me and drew me a map, explaining that I would drive about 12 blocks and turn right onto the road and then just drive straight. “What’s the name of this main street?” I asked. She didn’t know and wasn’t even sure it had a name. Wasn’t this looking promising?

I decided to give it a go and see what happened. The problem was that the directions to my rented casita in Boquete were that I would turn left just past the main bank near the main park once I started downhill into the valley where the city is located. Now how could I possibly miss that? Here’s the problem. Waze wants a better description of the destination when calculating the trip. For some odd reason, it likes street names and house numbers. I tried several ways of finding directions from 1 Calle Central Avenue in David to either a bank in Boquete or a central park in Boquete. Waze gave me two separate sets of directions going in totally different directions.

I drove 12 blocks (many with no name at all that I could find) and ended up at a T intersection. Well, this must be it, I reckoned. I turned right and as I drove out of town and began to climb to a higher altitude, I hoped I was headed in the right direction. I passed very few signposts and of the ones I saw, none mentioned Boquete. After an hour of driving and having reached a point where there was nothing but land and an occasional cow grazing in a field, I decided I must not have found the road and turned around.

About halfway back, I noticed what looked like a huge cloud of yellowish smoke across the road ahead and began to smell smoke in the car. Should I stop? Was this a wildfire? The car in front of me had Panama plates and they weren’t hesitating so I decided to follow their lead. Someone had set a brush fire and it was right by the side of the road. Remember my Panama City driver, Sinar? When I finally got back to Panama City at the end of my visit, I told him about the fire and pulled up the photo I took from the car while approaching the cloud of smoke. He was laughing until he saw the picture and then he became very serious and said, “Oh no, no.” Too late. I had plowed through like the idiots in front of me and was lucky the fire hadn’t decided to jump the road and take me with it in the process.

The next morning, I was trying to get the wait staff in the little dining room to determine which set of directions on my phone would get me to Boquete when two gentlemen, who spoke English and overheard the conversation, said, “We’re going to Boquete if you’d like to follow us.” Why, yes, I would, thank you very much.

My right turn, as it turns out, was not 12 blocks up but the next block up from the hotel at the first stop sign. From there, it really did go straight to Boquete and the entire drive took a half hour. It was lush and green and I got to see how locals lived and the care they took with their tiny but colorful flower gardens. I was encouraged. But then, I hadn’t met the expats in Boquete yet. That’s Part III of my Panama adventure, coming up next post.

Fixer Upper?

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Knowing I would have very limited funds once I retire, I dreamed up all kinds of scenarios in which I could plunk down my 401K and walk away rent-free. Then I would be able to live off my social security and not feel like I had to go back to a living style that was acceptable back in my college days when everything in life was a big adventure. Since I know I won’t have enough money to buy my dream home outright, I came up with the idea of purchasing a cottage in a foreign country at a ridiculously low price so I would have enough left over to develop a backyard hideaway garden.

I turned my attention to a show that would help me do that in a foreign country where the cost of living would stretch my retirement dollars far farther than I can do here at home. That was the basis for that first trip to Costa Rica and the one the following spring to Panama. Not having any idea of safe areas to check out or how to find a reputable realtor and being a fan of all the shows that appear to help you find a home, I sent an email to see if I qualified to get on it. Stupidly, I thought they actually found a reputable realtor for me and then I’d just have to make a decision based on the choices that were presented to me. What was I thinking? The response I got said, “I just wanted to get an update on your moving situation. Do you still have interest in being on the show? I ask because we are currently looking to cast people who are very close to closing on/renting a home or are already living in one.” He went on to say, “Furthermore, you would receive monetary compensation for appearing on the show ($1,500).” Say what? So the real incentive would’ve been $1,500 and the opportunity to see myself on television? I crossed that one off my list.

Then I turned my attention to domestic fixer upper shows, figuring maybe I could afford a cheap Craftsman that could be renovated within my budget to look like a new home and I’d still have some left over to plant that garden. I found tons of great bargains but then the problem was that I didn’t know what sort of neighborhood they were located in. Solution? I decided to take three days of PTO from work, fly to the city and have a realtor show me decent fixer upper areas. What could go wrong with that plan? Well, I’ll tell you. I found a realtor online and sent an email. She answered me by telling me what the average fixer upper in the city sold for which, of course, was contradictory to what I was finding online. I replied that I had found lots of affordable properties online and she didn’t bother to answer me again. I guess she wouldn’t have gotten as much as she was accustomed to by helping me out so I wasn’t worth her time.

Ok, I thought. I’ll rent a car, take a list of the neighborhoods with me and just start asking around in the hotel and restaurants. The only other issue is that I wasn’t really sure I wanted to live the city I was contemplating. As it turned out, one of my cats got violently ill the day before I was due to fly out and I ended up cancelling the trip to care for her. I’m one of those people who doesn’t believe in coincidences and decided that city wasn’t meant for me.

I have a co-worker who tells me I’m over thinking things and I just need to decide on a place and go. I might have done that in my twenties, figuring everything would turn out alright, but I’ve lived just long enough to know that the devil’s in the details and things don’t always work out well. And, if I can make them turn out better by doing some research and planning ahead of time, why wouldn’t I? I think it’s important for me to look at what the weather’s like most of the time wherever I go (I’ve lived in Vegas long enough to hate too much cold weather). Is the property in a safe area? Am I close to good medical care? Do I know anyone there? Is it a green part of the U.S where I can develop that dream garden? What’s the cost of living in that state? Can I afford to live off my social security? And, maybe a stupid concern but, what sorts of insects and bugs are there? How much rain will there be?

So the bottom line is that I’m still toying with ideas on how to accomplish my goals on very little money and getting nowhere fast.