Listening to Myself

Retirement’s a minefield. First you have to deal with that word . . .retirement and all that it implies. The root of the word is tire, and seen in this context, it doesn’t bring to mind the rubber that hits the road, but a permanent state dangerously close to exhaustion. The retiree, it seems to say, is worn out and has entered a permanent state of relative uselessness.

We all know that’s not true, but still there’s that niggling connotation. As a result, I avoid identifying myself as “retired” at all costs and tell people (if they ask what I do) how I spend my time—writing, volunteering, traveling, for instance.

For the past few (blogless) months, however, I’ve spent a lot of time pondering not what I do, but what I want to do—trying to listen to myself, so to speak. This phase of life comes with huge responsibilities, I’ve discovered, and the chief responsibility shifts from what you owe others to what you owe yourself. It’s a surprising dilemma—and one that, after years of raising families, holding down jobs, and juggling the knotty issues that accompany those endeavors, may take us by surprise.

It is, after all, easier to let yourself off the hook if you can tell yourself you can’t do x, y, or z, because you have to grade papers or chauffeur the kids to Little League or meet a client on Saturday morning. When you no longer have to meet those demands, there go your excuses!

The space this creates in your life is both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you have the time and freedom to take control of what you do, a curse because you have the time and freedom to take control of what you do. Yes, both!

The curse part? This is the deal:

If you’re a type-A, goal-driven sort, the temptation is to give up your freedom in pursuit of yet another accomplishment, though you might find more satisfaction in spending your time in other ways.

If you’re a type-B, laid-back number, you may be tempted to sit back with no particular plan and miss out on activities or adventures you’d enjoy if you took the initiative to get involved.

Old habits die hard.

So for the past few months, I’ve given myself the gift of time—time not to blog, time not to think about what I should be doing to market what I write, time not to push myself anywhere for any reason. Here are a few things I’ve discovered in my hiatus:

I like to pull weeds, water new plants, see the results. (Oh, how shocked my mother would be!) There’s something nurturing about working with the soil.

It’s satisfying to discover I can operate a drill, install curtain rods, hang wall shelves, straighten the plates on electrical plugs. (Who knew all you had to do is adjust two little set screws in order to square the plugs up with the rest of the world?)

I can happily sit down in the middle of the day and read a book and shut off that little voice that tells me I should be doing something. I am doing something.

The beat goes on.