Category Archives: Adjusting

Making It Up as I Go Along

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In my everyday life, I’m a planner. I schedule visits with friends, household chores, exercise, and so forth. I mark my calendar and make detailed lists. But when it comes to big decisions, I’ve often acted on a gut feeling and made consequential choices without really knowing what I was doing or how they would turn out. I’ve winged it.

For example, I moved cross-country for college teaching jobs when I was in my 20s. I knew very little about the English departments I’d be part of or the small towns I was moving to. In the first college town I discovered the lack of privacy. Students hounded me about grades at the bar when I was blurry after half a pitcher of happy hour beer. Or they’d chat me up in the drugstore as I reached for a box of tampons. The next college had three different presidents by December, and we worried our paychecks would bounce. Nonetheless, I grew into a competent teacher and made lifelong friends.

When the second college’s financial troubles led to layoffs, I moved back to my hometown to be closer to family. I didn’t have a job but hoped I’d figure it out despite the recession. For nine months, I burnt through my teacher’s pension before I got a job writing training materials—which launched my next career as a marketing communications writer. Once I was employed, my fiancé joined me and we were married in the loving circle of family.

A few years later, I moved away again after my husband got a job in Minnesota because our prospects were limited in Ohio. We started over in an unfamiliar city—with new jobs and a new house but no roadmap for how to be settled and happy there. 35 years later our roots are deep. Our expanding family and circle of friends are here. We happily consider ourselves Minnesotans. Wind chill and all. 

Although I liked the fulltime job I first took in Minnesota, I wanted to have more time with our young sons. I launched a freelance communications business with only one client and nothing but promises of work from others. I knew little about the ups and downs of managing clients and erratic cash flow. 

Fortunately, my husband is excellent with finances. I discovered I had a knack for keeping clients happy and writing about their products and services. I kept my business going for 18 years, but after our youngest son left for college, I wanted to have coworkers again. My collie/office mate was sweet but didn’t have much to say. I took a hospital communications job and enjoyed being part of a large team.

Several years later, there was a reorganization and the joy went out of the job for me. At 61, I didn’t see other part-time career opportunities, so I decided to retire. Although I knew retirement would be major transition, my vision for it was vague. Since then, I’ve built a satisfying life which includes writing, reading, tutoring, gardening, traveling, and plenty of time with family and friends. Occasionally, a headhunter approaches me about work, but I’m not tempted. Retirement life is great!

At each of those turning points, I wasn’t sure how the change would play out. I didn’t have a blueprint to ensure my new life would be OK. I trusted myself to make up my new life as I went along. I’ve made my share of mistakes and endured some tough times, but so far, things have worked out.

These days, I occasionally worry that I haven’t prepared enough for the coming years. We have organized our retirement finances, and we’re actively enjoying life while our health is good. Otherwise, I approach aging in a short-sighted way—with no real plan, just wishes. As if I’m not aging. As if I won’t have to deal with assisted living. As if my own health won’t deteriorate and friends and family won’t get ill or die. I’ve been living life as if I’m not growing older, except obviously I am. 

Sometimes I wish I could prepare for the emotional and physical hardships in my future. Like if I had a plan, I could avoid them. But I know worrying about what hasn’t happened only robs today of joy. I remind myself I’ll figure it out as I go along—just like I always have.

Season of Change

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Since ancient times, people have observed days growing shorter and dreaded winter’s coming darkness, which culminates at winter solstice. These days, many of us barely notice this natural shift, but instinctively we light candles, fill our homes with tiny twinkling lights, and gaze at crackling fires—all in an effort to push back the darkness. Beyond being the shortest day of the year, winter solstice can be thought of as a time of change, when one era or year draws to a close and a new one dawns.

Some personal events parallel this natural cycle of transformation. My family is expanding—a welcome change—and our tradition of hosting several days of long elaborate holiday meals will evolve. Next year, there will be a little person in a highchair who won’t be able to sit still and wait while we linger over a second glass of wine. We’ll let go of our current traditions and invent new ones that are more kid-focused. That’s as it should be.

I’m also aware of another coming transformation. One of the writers’ groups I’ve been part of for 15+ years will change when a core member moves to Michigan. Because we write memoir and personal essays, we have shared our secrets and personal truths—first in stories with the group, later in writing launched into the big world. Consequently, we have developed an extra measure of trust and acceptance other friendships might not achieve. We support each other when our lives are troubled and when our writing stalls. We celebrate our personal triumphs and our publishing successes. The idea for the WordSisters blog came from this group—you’ve read our writing over the years. 

Of course, we’ll continue to meet via Zoom. We’ll still share our stories and writing, provide encouragement, and offer personal and writerly advice. We’ve pledged to stay part of each other’s lives, but we all understand our current way of meeting is ending. 

I’m at the cusp where I can see the past and the future—acknowledge what’s changing and welcome what’s coming next. My family and my writers’ group will move into a new era. In the natural world, the days will begin to grow longer and brighter minute by minute, and spring will arrive as it always does.

Liminal Space

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Wednesday and Thursday in Minneapolis were a liminal space. Tuesday was in the low 90s and sunny. I welcomed my book group into our air-conditioned house instead of the baking patio, and I served lemonade pie, a frozen confection which suited summer’s last gasp.

During the night cool air crept in. No storm signaled it, but Wednesday dawned in the low 60s. The overcast day felt like a pause. A chance for our bodies to sit with the transition. Acknowledge and accept it. We were no longer part of the humid blanket of summer but not yet into the cool sunny days of fall.

So often we forget that we’re more than walking brains. We tend to ignore our animal nature. But some deep instinct responds to the season’s change–the later sunrises and earlier sunsets. The coming cold and darkness of winter. Beyond the sudden urge for apples instead of peaches and soups instead of salads is the emotional shift many of us feel. An awareness that feels metaphorical as well as physical.

Some are sad that summer’s over and won’t return for nine months. Others are relieved and energized by the sense of a new beginning–it’s a new season and time for new habits, new possibilities. This year, have seemed unsettled by the season’s abrupt change. I’ve sensed an undercurrent of unnamed emotions.

Today is sunny and in the mid-70s. Those underlying instincts are forgotten. Dissipated like the heavy cloud cover that pinned us in place on Wednesday and Thursday. Many have returned to being busy walking brains. But our bodies remember.

What’s Your Approach?

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Earlier this month, I celebrated the 8th anniversary of my retirement at 61. Occasionally, I have floundered, but I’m happy with the shape it’s taken. Many of my friends are retired or nearing it, and I’ve observed a range of philosophies:

Nonretirement – For several writers and artists I know, retirement looks like slowing down, not quitting. They have fewer paid jobs but they’re still working. Or they have a big project underway which might be published or shown later. 

No schedule, no plans – Some people prefer the freedom to choose their activities day by day. For years they were yoked to a commute and an office. They feel they’ve paid their dues and earned the right to do whatever appeals to them on any given day. They hate the idea being locked into a schedule and resist planning too far ahead. I’ve noticed more men choosing this style.

A bit of structure – These retirees prefer several days of planned activities but want lots of free time, too. Their schedule might include workouts or sports, socializing with friends, and weekly volunteer gigs. They also value unscheduled time and are careful not to pile too many events into one day. This approach often appeals to women. I belong to this camp.

Always busy – This group is eager to do everything. All the time. For as long as possible. While the first three groups like to travel, these retirees travel even more. They’re adventuresome and willing to try whatever looks fun, which could be a class, a biking/hiking/kayaking group, a tour or whatever. They’re an enthusiastic bunch and want to be sure they do it all before time runs out.

Aimless – Some people struggle with retirement because they miss the structure work provided (even though they resented the job at times). They don’t know what to do with themselves. With so much free time, their days can feel empty. They have trouble getting projects accomplished because there’s always tomorrow.

Not loving it – Some retirees really don’t like retirement. Often, they are accomplished people who were well-respected in their field. Work provided focus and was integral to their identity. Retirement feels like a loss. The activities they try are pleasant but feel like make-work—time-fillers. They want their pursuits to be meaningful and have purpose, but they haven’t found fulfilling interests yet.

Combo – A person new to retirement may sample several approaches before finding a satisfying mix. Shifting away from paid work can be as confusing and life-changing as starting a career. Many times, people aren’t sure what they want or what will feel like time well-spent.

So much of a person’s approach to retirement depends on their temperament. What do they value most—freedom, balance, drive, accomplishment? Are they self-motivated or do they need outside structure in their days? 

What has worked for you? Or how do you envision your future retirement?

Unmasking

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In May, I stopped wearing my KN95 mask. The last time I’d worn masks in earnest was in April at the airport, in museums, and on public transportation in Amsterdam. I was definitely a minority, but I didn’t mind. My goal was to avoid COVID while we vacationed in Europe. For three years I wore or carried a mask with me. Now discontinuing masks feels odd. COVID was a harsh teacher and the early days of the pandemic are still vivid.

Like everyone else, I’d heard healthcare and other frontline workers didn’t have enough PPE. Even cloth masks would help. The whole mask-making enterprise felt ludicrous and desperate. I struggled to understand: the government had no coherent plan for a pandemic? We were on our own for protection? The world seemed out of control. Anything could happen.

A Facebook friend, who’s a physician and quilter, posted a mask pattern and later I found another design online. I had lots of quilt fabric remnants and was willing to sew masks if it would help.

When Abbott Northwestern Hospital put out a call for homemade masks, I sewed floral fabrics women might like and abstract patterns men wouldn’t mind. I flannel-lined a few for softness before I realized they would be hot.

On a dark wintery day, the streets and hospital parking lot were eerie and empty when I delivered the masks. I texted the contact and rolled down the passenger window as instructed. A hospital employee took the bagful and thanked me profusely.

My sister (a respiratory therapist in a respiratory pandemic) asked for some. My homemade masks were a talisman that made her feel loved. At first, she wore a cloth mask over her one and only N95. She was expected to store the N95 in a brown paper bag so she could re-use it. Later she gave the extra cloth masks to her Ohio hospital’s Housekeeping staff, who didn’t have any protection.

I sent some to my son and future daughter-in-law, a medical resident who treated COVID patients in a Bay area ICU. She had an N95, but she could wear cloth masks away from work.

My sister suggested I give some to younger relatives who worked at a psychiatric hospital in Illinois. Although the local hospital and my sister had appreciated the homemade masks, I felt self-conscious about sending them. I worried the masks would be cringeworthy (Crazy Aunt Ellen made us these useless masks and she expects us to wear them?) but my relatives were gracious—they understood the sentiment.

Masking began with a jolt of fear, but unmasking happened gradually. I’d grown accustomed to eating out. My interactions in stores, clinics, and the pottery studio were even more distanced. The CDC’s decision to call off the emergency didn’t really figure into my thoughts. I’d concluded my risk was manageable although COVID is still out there. One day I’ll get it, but I probably won’t be seriously ill and die. Long COVID concerns me, but three years after the pandemic began, that fear no longer haunts my days. 

A KN95 mask is in my purse, but I think I’ll be OK without it.