As very young children we were probably all taught to color within the lines.  According to my granddaughter, who’s about to graduate with a degree in education, coloring inside the lines is taught so that children develop their fine motor skills and learn to focus.  The kid coloring outside the lines may be creative or just plain obstinate about following the rules.  To ensure that creativity is also developed and the obstinate child gets to express their emotions in a healthy way, free hand drawing is also incorporated.

How many of us, though, never deviated from coloring inside the lines, living our lives solely within the lines of society’s rules?  Living outside the lines is generally frowned upon, judged, criticized, thought to be weird or all of the above.  I can’t image Jackson Pollack ever coloring inside the lines.  Then, there’s Picasso who, although he colored inside the lines, gave new meaning to the shapes of the lines deviating from our normal expectation of what people and animals look like.  And, let us not forget Georgia O’Keefe whose bold renditions of nature and blurring of the lines stunned the world.  Ahhhh artists.  But, most of us live our lives following the rules.  Of course, in order for society to function we have to follow certain rules.  Otherwise, life would be a chaotic mess and it’s messy enough as it is. 

Retirement, however, affords a second chance at flexing our creative muscle, doing something unexpected, advocating for a cause or just being our authentic selves.  After all, hopefully we developed those fine motor skills and the ability to focus a long, long time ago, played life by the rules and now we can stretch the boundaries.  As I’ve aged caring about what anyone thinks of what I’m doing or saying or wearing has disappeared from my thinking.  I gave up worrying about making mistakes years ago and learned to embrace them as life lessons.  One life lesson was learning that the people who often criticize or judge are sometimes the ones afraid to even try.  Fearful of leaving that all too cozy comfort zone, they shy away from living outside the lines.

One of my favorite sayings is by former First Lady and activist Eleanor Roosevelt, who certainly lived her life both within the bounds of her position in society while at once changing the lines around that position.  She said, “Do what you feel in your heart to be right, for you’ll be criticized anyway.”  And, she was.  Though long dead, she is still.  I’ve met people who believe to this day that she was a communist because she denounced Senator Joseph McCarthy during his Red Scare of the early 1950’s.  In 1953 she also said, “No one wants real Communists let loose, but that is the work of the FBI and they did it…very satisfactorily without endangering the reputation of innocent people.”  She lived by the rules only to a certain extent advocating for a free society and equal rights.

Oftentimes we convince ourselves that we can’t do something.  While most people cheer me on, I’ve had others question my building a house at age 71 or building it in a country setting or going to Italy without a companion.  Their questioning always, always includes the phrase, “I could never do that.”  When I hear them voicing their self-imposed limitation, I always think of Henry Ford and the creation of the V-8 engine.  Told by every one of his engineers the V-8 was impossible, Ford  insisted they build it anyway.  He once famously said, “If you think you can do a thing or think you can’t do a thing, you’re right.”

While some people live their entire lives outside the lines and accomplish extraordinary things, most of us continue doing what we learned in first grade.  We live inside the lines just as we colored inside the lines.  Retirement is a game changer.  While we may not become a famous artist or advocate or entrepreneur, we can live the remainder of our lives outside the lines by doing the following:

1.  Listen to your gut.  It’s been said that our gut is the second brain.  Or listen to your heart, which sends more signals to your brain than the other way around.  Whatever you use to accomplish this, drill down deep within your soul and dredge up your true needs, wishes and wants.  What is it that you would like to do before you die?  Paint the town red if that’s what you want or at least the living room.  To me, living outside the lines means being true to yourself.  

2.  Stop listening to what others want you to do or think or believe.  I’ve heard so many people say their son, daughter, siblings, friends or even a parent thinks they shouldn’t or should do this or that.  We’ve all heard the lines, “I don’t think that’s a good idea” or “I don’t think that’s in your best interest” or “If it were me, I’d do ________.”  It’s not their life or their position to tell you how to live your life.  If you want to do it, pretend you’re Nike and “Just Do It!”

3.  Dispose of the self-imposed limitations such as telling yourself you’re too old to do whatever it is you want to do.  There are men and women in my gentle yoga class in their mid to late 80’s.  Some come in using a cane.  They do what they can, but they are doing it.  The limitation is what their aging body will allow not their minds telling them they can’t do any of it.  

4.  Ditch the guilt!  This was a tough one for me because I was raised on guilt.  Independent thinking was not family approved.  So, even though I lived my life relatively independently, the gray fog of guilt occasionally drifts in as an attempt to  sabotage my plans.  Being conscious of this fact and where it comes from helps to forge my own path and leave the guilt behind.  What am I talking about?  Recently, a woman told me she felt guilty doing something because her daughter disapproved and she didn’t want to hurt her daughter’s feelings.  Refer to number 2 above.

I’m going to leave you with one more quote from yet another famous person. Albert Einstein once said: “Live life to the fullest. You have to color outside the lines once in a while if you want to make your life a masterpiece. Laugh some every day, keep growing, keep dreaming, keep following your heart.”  If you’re not living outside the lines, start.  If you are living outside the lines, keep on doing it!

Copyright © 2024 kathysretirementblog.com – All rights reserved.

When I posted about the start of construction on my house, some of you expressed an interest in updates.  So, here is the first update on the progress.  

It’s taken all of two months to complete the permit process, excavation and foundation. That seems like a long time, but no matter what you’re building in life a solid foundation is critical.  Time, careful thought and workmanship are the essential ingredients.  Of course, the government has their fingers in it every step of the way with endless inspections, which delay progress as we wait our turn with other local builds.  Thankfully, no glitches, no re-inspections.  I worked in the building business for a long time.  But this foundation in Michigan with its frigid winters, a slab with much more under the surface, was something I had never encountered in the toasty south.

At this stage it’s not much to look at.  Just a lot of dirt and cement give a hint of what will rise from all this hard work.  Though the site appears to be a barren stretch of soil right now, I have several pounds of wildflowers to seed on the back third of the two acres and among the trees along the roadside.  One of my new neighbors gave me hundreds of milkweed seeds to sow.  A few young cedars already on the property were moved to the very back and I planted a young maple, wrapping it in tree guard and crossing my fingers that the deer won’t find it enticing.  Add to that several junipers I bought during end of season sales and I have a good start towards shaping up the landscaping.

Friday my builder son-in-law, Travis and I made the trip to Michigan Barn Wood and Salvage in Mason to choose beams for the front and screen porch columns and headers from among stacks and stacks of rescued beams.  Passing a pile of aged barn siding wearing time worn remnants of red and pale blue paints, I stopped.  Travis and the owner, Trevor had already passed by. I called to them.  

Pointing to the stacks I said, “I’m thinking screen porch ceiling.”

Already enthused by the shops deep caverns filled with salvaged remnants of a bygone era, Travis dove into a description of how he would install the boards, which would most certainly add a charming character to the space. 

“How much?” I asked Trevor.  

“$4.00 a square foot” came the reply as he quickly calculated how much I would need and Travis turned the boards looking at both sides. Although the planks were already planed smooth on the opposite side, we agreed the side with the aged pigments was to be the side down on the ceiling.  Character. Yes, I bought them.  And, fawn colored rough hewn beams for the front porch along with greyed beams for the screen porch columns and header.

As our beautiful Michigan autumn progresses toward winter the framing began yesterday with rain spitting from cloud covered skies periodically breaking apart to reveal patches of cool blue with a sparkle of sun.  After yoga class, I used the day to revisit the flooring store and my initial choices just to be sure nothing new and trendy had materialized over the summer.  It hadn’t.  I was still in love with my selections and, thankfully, the prices of last June hadn’t budged. Then, I was off to the lumber supply to choose a roofing color.  Originally thinking of black with the white board and batten siding, after seeing a white farm house with a pale grey roof, I changed my mind.  I chose the palest grey from among the available shades of grey.  Decisions, decisions as we make progress, but, oh, so exciting!

Copyright © 2023 kathysretirementblog.com – All rights reserved.

And so it begins. Finally!  Last Sunday, a drizzly chilly day in the mid-60’s when normally Michigan temperatures would be approaching that of hell’s front porch, I located the site for my house.  Last winter the house locale was staked at the front of my property close to the road.  I was never happy with that site.  Today, the intention was to find a spot, which I loved.

In spring of 2021 my oldest granddaughter and I stood on a little bluff looking at the view of trees lining the front of my property with farm fields stretching on the other side of the road for as far as we could see.  It’s a huge farm operation encompassing thousands of acres.  Successful farmers don’t sell land; they buy more.  The odds of that beautiful vista becoming a subdivision in my lifetime are pretty much nil.

“You should build it here”, she said.

“No.  It’s too far back from the road.  I don’t want another 300’ driveway to plow.”

It was and still is the best location for the house.  So, despite my hesitancy due to self-inflicted pictures in my mind of snow, snow plow bills and snowed-in me, that bluff is precisely where I had the house staked.  I let go of worst case scenarios, what if’s and mind concocted fears.  Just as when I bought the land, I went with my gut.  My granddaughter was right after all.

 Building a custom home is a lengthy, involved process requiring a multitude of decisions before the property is even staked for the location of your house.  I bought the property nearly two years ago.  If you remember, it was on a whim, so I named my place On-A-Whim Farm.  About the only farming I’ll do is wildflowers and my vegetable garden, but it has a nice ring to it.  

Working with an architect, the house plan was developed eighteen months ago.  As it sits unrolled, day in and day out on a large server in my kitchen, red pencil marks where the plan’s been slightly tweaked. Overall I’m very happy with the result.  To get me through all the decision making, which goes into building, I got a three-ring binder with dividers and set up a section for each room as well as exterior, landscaping, flooring, HVAC, plumbing and electric.  Basically, every room has a mood board.  This will, hopefully, keep me from going insane during the next several months.  Or driving my builder, Ferris Brothers Construction, insane.  

It will be a few weeks, but the next step is clearing some scrub trees for the driveway entry followed by excavating the house site.  In between there’s all those pesky county and township permits to gather and have approved.  And, so it begins.

After being updated, this article is being reposted as it has more meaning to me now than it did when originally published in 2017. Retirement affords an opportunity to grow again, to dream, wish, stretch and do that which may not have been possible when we were young.

Growing up on the New Jersey shore, my parents, younger brother and I sometimes went to an inlet at low tide to hopefully collect crabs.  An old wooden bulkhead provided a place for the crabs to clutch or, perhaps, be blocked from rolling back out with the tide.  As the tide ebbed, we searched for the crustaceans clinging to the decaying wood. Back home in my parents’ kitchen, my brother and I played with the crabs on the floor as my mother boiled a large pot of water on the stove. Once the water came to a full rolling boil, my Dad put the crabs in the pot. It seems cruel to me now, but as children my brother and I liked to watch the drama of the crabs in the pot. You see, one of the crabs always tried to climb out of the pot while the other crabs pulled it back in until they all boiled together providing quite a show.

It wasn’t until I took the Dynamic Aging Program at Furman University that I heard crabs in a pot used as an analogy to describe people who are aging in the way our society expects us to age. According to the program creator, Dudley Tower, Ph.D, most people today just follow the expected norm, retiring to a life of leisure where they play golf or cards, travel, do a little volunteer work, watch TV or whatever activity they choose to occupy their time, until they slowly decline mentally and physically, sliding little by little, day by day, inch by inch, toward death.

We expect to take care of ourselves by following a healthy diet, doing some type of exercise, but believing, inevitably, we’ll need assisted living and eventually, maybe, probably, nursing home care. Prior to my mother’s death several years ago, she spent the last three months of her life in a nursing home. After visiting her with Martin and our youngest daughter, as we rode the elevator down to the ground floor, I said to my daughter, “If I ever have to be in a facility like this, it is my express wish that you just shoot me.”

As dreary and desperate as that sounds, my view has not changed, especially after Martin’s illness and demise in a memory care home. So, the story of the crabs in a pot resonates with me. But, what is the alternative? Is there an alternative? We all know we are all going to die. As my father used to say, “Nobody gets out alive.” Then, of course, he’d chuckle at his little joke. In fact, most of us have probably lived our lives based on societal norms and expectations of how we should behave. We went to school, grew up with little push back, got a job, got married, had kids, bought a house with a mortgage, raised the kids, advanced in the job and finally, here we are, retired. And, now, we are following the normal model of aging, retiring to a life of leisure and slow physical and, maybe, cognitive decline until we have to go to a nursing home. In other words, we are waiting to slowly boil to death like crabs in a pot. Ugh!

Now, for the alternative to what was the normal aging experience for our parents and grandparents. People are living longer with more and more people in developed countries living to be 100. Retiring at 70 years of age could leave you with 30 years until you die. Think about it! If the idea of spending 20 to 30 years playing golf or mahjong or traveling or gardening or whatever and then going to assisted living followed by nursing care, is your idea of a great life, that’s entirely up to you. But, wouldn’t you rather do something more exciting?

I asked myself the question, “What would you do with the last third of your life if you were not afraid?” It is self-imposed limitations that hold us back. Self-imposed limitations are something we attribute to ourselves out of fear of failure, fear of embarrassment, fear of ridicule, fear of whatever we are afraid of. What would you do if society, your friends, your family, your neighbors didn’t expect you to live a life of leisure until your world becomes smaller and smaller and you decline further and further? Would you go back to college, start a new career, open a business, learn a new skill, follow your heart, resurrect a childhood dream?

The last third of life offers a freedom like none we have ever experienced. What others think about what we do with our lives really doesn’t matter. We can let our imaginations soar. We can take some behavioral risk. Our society, however, does not readily support personal development as we age. Someone who is 20 or 30 or 40 or even 50 is expected to continue developing on a personal level. It’s a given, the same as society’s expectation of decline for our aging population.

By the time we hit the big 60, we are expected to slow down. We start hearing the ‘at your age’ mantras. Oh, yes, we hear on occasion about the 79 year old weight lifter with a great set of abs or the 89 year old gymnast still vaulting off equipment like a teenager or the 98 year old publishing a first book. Why aren’t we all striving to do something we always longed to do but never had the time to pursue? Because we believe the aging euphemisms about slowing down, about being too old to do this or that. As children, we all had dreams. We all learned new things every day, day in and day out. Aging dynamically requires more than taking care of our health. It requires that we look inside ourselves and resurrect our thirst for learning, our thirst for living on our personal edge and maybe a dream or two. We really won’t know what we are capable of as we age until we throw out society’s expectation of aging.

Shortly after retiring, it occurred to me that retirement was not all it was cracked up to be. Sure, I enjoyed the honeymoon after leaving work, when everyday seemed like an extended vacation. It didn’t take long, however, for disillusionment to set in. I missed the challenge and excitement and camaraderie that work provided. Yet, I didn’t want to go back to work, at least not the traditional work place.

Instead, I resurrected a dream and have been pursuing it ever since. My dream was to be a writer. Long, long ago life got in the way. Having to support a family and taking a different career path, I gave up my dream. Shortly, after retiring, with the power of the internet, I started my own blog. I became a writer. Recently, I started taking courses in writing to sharpen my skills. I decided to seriously pursue writing as a craft. And, now I’m writing my memoirs along with some short stories. I may or may not find a publisher. I may have to self-publish. It doesn’t matter. What matters are the possibilities I am creating for myself.

 
I am feeling more alive and excited about the future than I have in years. I’m more mindful of what I am doing with my life. I have a vision of how I want the rest of my life to play out. I am aging dynamically. And, that is the alternative. We can meet society’s expectation of how we will age or we can chart a new course, throwing away previous models and maps. How about it? Are you going to be a crab in a pot? Or, will you be the one who scrambles over the side to freedom? Come on…dream a little dream or two.

Shortly after Martin died I walked down my long driveway to fetch the mail.  Usually, I have little or none.  But, in the days following his death my mailbox held more than junk mail.  There were sympathy cards and official letters from various institutions.  As I pulled out the cache of the day I saw something I’d never seen in my mail.  A penny.  It lay underneath the cards and letters and the ubiquitous junk mail.  A penny so tarnished it almost faded into the background of the black metal floor of the box.

My mind flooded with the rhetorical questions.  Who would leave a penny in my mailbox and why and how?  I lived on a busy road, so someone walking by was unlikely.  The leaving must have been thoughtful, intentional.  “A penny for your thoughts” (Sir Thomas More) came to mind.  Was it my faithful mail lady who left it?  I lifted the penny out, slid it into my jean pocket and walked back to the house.  Inside, before turning my attention to the mail, I fished it out and set it on a mosaic trivet Martin had made in an art class. 

Over the next couple of days I eyed the penny still wondering how it got in my mailbox.  Did a penny have any significance?  “See a penny and pick it up and all day you’ll have good luck”  (Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes).  Since we can pretty much Google anything these days, my curiosity finally gave way to asking Google.  To my surprise a penny has significance for the deceased or their loved ones.  In the case of a veteran a penny left at the grave means someone visited.  For a widow like myself a penny in the mailbox represents a new beginning, a rebirth, renewal of your life.  A penny being first and one represents singularity.  If you are part of a couple, one of you will die first leaving the other alone, single.

I’ve been alone for nearly eighteen months.  While Martin still lived, it was not with me.  If there is a silver lining here, it’s that I had ample time to adapt to my aloneness and grieve this impending, profound, enormous loss in my life.  The outcome?  I was not filled with the expected feelings of grief.  Rather, as I held Martin during his final moments I cried tears of gratitude for the end of his suffering.  He was free of this disease.  I was free of this disease.  Our family was free of this disease.  Relief instead of deep sorrow.  Comfort in knowing he was at peace.  As I stroked his face I noted how serene his countenance.  Peace at last.

Though I’ve had fits of grief, I’ve also felt immense joy when contemplating my future.  During the last year I deliberately divested myself of anything, which smacked of negativity in my life.  I decluttered the house paring my personal belongings. I feel washed clean, ready for a new start.  Martin would want that for me.  A friend asked if I thought Martin’s spirit left the penny. I would like to think so. I may never know who left the penny in my mailbox, but it is now my talisman for fresh beginnings, rebirth, a reawakening of my life’s potential.  And a second chance at the retirement we dreamed of.