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Illustration by Nijah Smith
Retirement, oh the word grates on me. It in no way seems to match my current headspace, or physical for that matter. It’s simply not what I’m experiencing. Sure, there are lines on the face, a few wearing body bits and greying hair, but I don’t feel tired. Nor do I desire to withdraw from life’s activities. If anything, “inspirement” would be a more apt word to capture this stage of life, this transition that I’ve hit, when I’ve permanently closed the door on my career and moved on. Moved forward, or so I hope.
When we make huge shifts in our life patterns, these are rarely quiet times, at least not mentally and emotionally. Even if exhaustion has driven us there, the ground is shifting too much under our feet. Anticipation, perhaps fear, is a big stimulant to the old nervous system. With the change, would I be held aloft or plummet into the abyss? Yet convention sticks this curious label on those of us in this particular moon phase. We are backing off, letting go, shutting down – “was” becoming a big part of our lexicon. Words like legacy appear.
Most of those around me who have retired aren’t shuffling around until noon in their dressing gown and fluffy slippers, coffee cup in hand and sugar doughnut ring around the lips. Okay, espresso is often part of the equation, but that’s because the agenda is packed, and a morning lift-off might be necessary to tackle all the day’s events. Time, that precious and irreplaceable commodity, certainly isn’t being squandered. At the very least, it’s valued, utterly, and more often than not, filled to capacity. If you’re so fortunate, that is.
Obviously, so much of it is wrapped up in what led to the decision in the first place. Was it a choice, or did health or circumstance drive the outcome. Were you pushed out or did you slide, maybe even jump, free of your own accord? It’s the difference of being knocked off the cliff versus leaping with arms flung wide and an ear-to-ear grin. The ramifications are massive on how it all feels, where your head and heart are.
I was a lucky one. It was on my terms and timetable, and with complete support of co-workers and family. Getting off the bullet train, however, is a one-way ticket in most respects. It is thrilling and terrifying. Kind of like after high school graduation, except of course there’s a ton more mileage on the odometer. Take the road less travelled, but it better not be an overly long one if the destination is important.
Recently I bought a punchy new mountain bike with all the bells and whistles, rationalizing that in a decade I might not have the chutzpah to ride the same terrain. Splurge now, sign up now, go there now, before I’m past tense. A decade ago, these thoughts didn’t enter my mind, but niggling telltale signs confirm the irrefutable. When did I hit this stage of considering how many more years would I be able to do something or have time for some experience before the moment might slip through my fingers, before my body said nothing doing? When did life feel finite? When did I start reading the obits?
But with the dispelling of the myth of eternal youth, there comes a certain pleasure, even a relief, that these back half years are filled with treasures. We just must see them for what they are and appreciate them. To treat life like savouring a crème brûlée, letting each spoonful linger a moment, rolling it around our mouth making sure to draw out every flavour, to revel in the seemingly simple but truly extraordinary. Embracing the gifts of people, places, things, but especially the people.
The conundrum is what to do with this newly found time. Keep it or give it. I seem to constantly bounce between wanting to taste every apple on the tree of life while I still can, yet at the same time needing to reach out, to do something worthwhile for the greater good, a sort of recompense for all my great fortune. Perhaps it's a desire to feel that when I leave this planet, it will be the tiniest bit better for my having been here. I will have mattered.
We don’t get to entirely pick the how and when things wind down, but we do get to choose our approach to it. Life can wash over us, a wave on the beach, a passive experience where we let the world unfold itself to us, accepting come what may. Alternatively, we can try to play a more active role in modifying the voyage, seeking to gain a wee sense of control in the flight path. Neither method is wrong, and the end destination may not change, but as we all eventually figure out over a lifetime, it isn’t so much about actually getting there, wherever there is, but what we did on the journey.
Nancy Burden lives in Edmonton and Canmore, Alta.