I’m writing this one on the fly. A short one at that. Now on the cusp of May, April was a whirlwind, kicking up dust everywhere, pushing me into my future. And, there’s still so much to do. I feel overwhelmed, yet exhilarated to be moving forward. After putting my house on the market, it is under contract with the closing looming just ahead, the inspections and appraisal but an April memory.
During all of that, out of the blue came my optometrist’s diagnosis for cataract surgery. Silly me, I thought I was just in need of a new prescription. You know, aging and all. When I couldn’t read a single letter on the chart using my left eye, my stomach felt as if an iron ball dropped into it. My first instinct was to put surgery off until the house closed and I’d been to Italy and back. But, if I was to see anything in Italy and find my way around airports, surgery was a must have it done. I could feel my shoulders drooping under the additional weight. Fortunately, it’s a common surgery and I was in good hands with people who orchestrated all the appointments, and there were many, without a hitch. That’s now behind me. After 30 years, I can see without glasses! Tuscany here I come.
My son-in-law is a busy guy who has my new build on his calendar for an October start. No, I don’t get favoritism for being his mother-in-law and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Fair is fair, which brings me to finding a place to live for the next year. Rents are high with few apartments available. Feeling further burdened with finding a suitable temporary home, you can’t imagine the happy dance I did upon discovering a one story two car garage unit in a new walkable neighborhood at a reasonable rent. And, both my roommates are welcome (meow meow).
Now for the packing, closing, transferring utilities and the bazillion changes in address, moving, unpacking with no time to settle in before flying out to Tuscany for the trip of a lifetime. My biggest worry? Yes, the cats. I’m upending their little lives then disappearing for ten days. Did I mention feeling overwhelmed? Through all the packing I’ve thought seriously about becoming a minimalist. Not joking. With all the giving away, selling and donating over the last year I still have so much furniture and stuff, too much furniture and stuff. But, I’ll address that at some other moment in time. For now, I’m moving forward. And, that is what counts.
Along with crocus and pussy willows signs of spring include more home buyers. Consequently, as a seller I’m preparing to put my house on the market. I can’t afford to build the new house without selling the old house, which presents a whole set of additional challenges like where will I live in between. But, that’s another post.
Unlike the sale of my South Carolina house where my main consideration was Martin, here I sort of have the luxury of not having to sell in a hurry. There, I needed a quick sale to spare Martin (and me) from the stress of weeks of showings, making sure each day the house was clean as a whistle, and leaving on possibly short notice for a showing. I also didn’t want us moving to Michigan in snowy January. Having spent decades in the business I knew the realities. I did what was best for our emotional health rather than getting an extra few dollars.
Every sale has its challenges though. This time I’m in a market, which is transitioning from a sellers’ market to a buyers’ market. With inflation building costs have skyrocketed. Some pressure most definitely exists to get the new house under way. I’ve been here before as well. Clean, clean, clean and plain vanilla sell in any market, but it’s even more important in a buyers’ market. They can be choosy about not wanting to paint over the sellers’ blue, pink or mint green colors. They can turn up their noses at what appear to be small maintenance or repair items. They can demand move-in ready. So, here I am touching up my plain vanilla wall paint, decluttering yet again and looking with a buyer’s eye at every detail.
I hunted ruthlessly through closets for anything I hadn’t worn or used in the last year, packing my car for one more trip to Goodwill. On a sunny 52º day with the drip, drip of melting snow sounding in my ears, I burned reams of old records and paperwork in the fire pit, some as much as twenty years old. Why I was hanging onto this is anyone’s guess. I think it was like discarding parts of my life, but on that day it was past energy from which I needed to free myself, not to mention the space it was taking up. While I watched my life going up in flames I envisioned the Phoenix feathered and golden rising from the accumulating gray ashes. That was me rising to rebuild my life. Then, I spied, just beyond the fire pit, fuzzy pussy willows budding out. Retrieving a pair of clippers from my garage I happily snipped several branches to bring inside. Yes, there were signs of spring, a new beginning, a fresh start.
Here we are again. The end of another year. One of the rituals of the culmination of the year is reflection upon where we’ve been as we make resolutions for the next year. I haven’t made New Year’s resolutions in I don’t know how long, although I opted a few years ago to embrace a Word Of The Year or WOTY for short. For me, the last few months were dedicated to reflecting not only on 2022, but my entire lifetime. Many times I asked the question, “Where have you been?” So, I’m not inclined to reflect further. Instead, in early December I began thinking about where I was going. My contemplation resulted in action.
Now, back to the WOTY. The Oxford Dictionary actually chooses a WOTY to reflect the mood of the past year. On the other hand a personal WOTY is meant to bring clarity to what you expect to change in the next year. Originally, I chose ‘joy’ then ‘create’ then ‘balance’ then ‘renew’ then ‘discovery’ then no word at all. I decided I was having such a time identifying one specific word that I didn’t actually want 2023 to be defined by a WOTY. I desired the freedom to wend my way through any number of experiences and ideas and feelings and emotions and whatever life brought my way.
After seeing the book on a friend’s coffee table, in October I bought, “A Year of Positive Thinking” by Cyndie Spiegel. Spiegel provides a positive thought for each and every day of the year. The dates are non-specific to a certain year, so you can pick up anywhere in any year. I added it to my morning reading along with the “Guide For Spiritual Living”, a monthly magazine from the Center For Spiritual Living. Coupling my daily readings with a course in The After Life at a local college, I drew on these resources as I ruminated about 2022 and planned for 2023. I wanted 2023 to develop without being boxed in.
I reached this conclusion after reading, on December 23rd, Cyndie Spiegel’s thought for the day. She wrote, “Who were you once? Who were you before you began becoming the person others told you to be? Who were you when you trusted and actually listened to your truest self?” Oddly, this was exactly what I had been meditating upon since Martin’s death.
Realistically, we all know the person of our childhood is long gone. Or, are they? Is our childhood person replaced by the person who was not only molded, in part, by those around us, but also by our life experiences? “No”, I answered. “I am the same person yet a different person.” Life can indeed be messy. It can be fraught with hurt and trauma, unexpected pain. It can also be magical, joyful and mystical with unexpected gifts. Through it all, we grow and learn, rising in wisdom and, hopefully, self-actualization, becoming who we are today. Yet, our soul’s code remains deep within perhaps waiting to be awakened.
Spiegel also asked such questions as, “What did you enjoy?” And “Where did you go?” Those questions begged answers providing my mind and heart something to chew on. Even before reading this passage in Spiegel’s book, I determined to do some things I now had the freedom to make happen. Drawing on my work experience I knew resolutions often fail because they are not developed as step by step goals. Knowing what action is required to make a want a reality is the key to success. Drawing on my childhood dreams I began taking action.
Of course, whatever I did would most likely be done solo. Traveling was a dream from childhood carried into my derailed retirement. Now, I was putting that train back on the tracks full speed ahead. Trepidation over traveling by my little old self was assuaged by the Michigan State University Alumni Travel Program. As an alumnus I could take advantage of the numerous tours offered each year to Europe, Asia, South America and Africa. A friend also reminded me of how, in our much younger days, we traveled solo for business as a matter of routine. I could do this! And, so I dove into the idea by booking a 2023 tour to Tuscany, Italy.
Ah, me. I had written lots of contracts in my career days and then, there’s this blog. My soul still longed to write. To that end, I reserved a spot in a writing workshop at John Campbell Folk School. I’ve been to John Campbell twice before. There’s a certain comfort in spending a week in a familiar, friendly place where community and fellowship abound. Following the pandemic meals are back to being communal along with Morning Song and evening activities. Living on campus is part of this uniquely American experience amidst artists and art, American folk art.
And, of course, the house I’m still sitting in as I write this is going back on the market next spring. While my new house is being built I’m not sure where I will land to call my temporary home. Yet, I feel strangely secure in the idea it will work out. I know how the big picture will look if I’m off on one of my forays. It’s the details, which allude me due to timing and the market and all the unknown little things that surface only when a contract is put together. One of the gifts of Martin’s passing is my spiritual transformation to faith in the power of the universe. I am not a body with a mind; I am a mind with a body. Whatever occurs, everything I need will all come together.
This is my plan for 2023 so far. And, that may be enough for one year. For all the times I could barely put one foot in front of the other, I’m so excited about the future. This is my time. There is unlimited joy in just thinking of the possibilities. Taking steps to make these dreams a reality is empowering beyond anything I could have imagined. I revisited the idea of a WOTY and revised my thoughts. Why not have Words Of The Year? Plural. As I enter 2023 ‘creativity’, ‘self-discovery’ and ‘adventure’ capture my mood and intent.
To all of you, wherever you are, I wish you a creative, adventurous 2023 of discovery!
The post I had in mind for a month ago was “Cooking for One”, but I found myself, not for the first time, with writer’s block. It’s been a rough last few weeks. So, today, forcing myself to write, I decided to post what’s kept me from writing. “Cooking for One” will have to wait.
It should come as no surprise that my somber mood has to do with Martin. Over the course of the summer he declined significantly, more seriously so in the past few weeks. Hospice says it’s a matter of months. I ask the question. A few months? Several months? They don’t know. Just months. Martin’s primary attending predicts a more rapid decline in the next 90 days. But, even he doesn’t know for sure. All they know is the signs are there for end of life. But, this disease is as unpredictable as it is cruel.
I’ve long steeled myself for this moment, yet somehow through all the years of anticipatory grief, I wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming feelings of impending final loss. Adrift. Alone. Indecisive. Unfocused. I feel as if I’m slogging through mud up to my knees. Just putting one foot in front of the other takes effort. Yes, I’m depressed. Who among us wouldn’t be. We all experience loss throughout our lives. We walk through the actuality of our sorrow to hopefully come out on the other side to accept the loss and start our lives anew. It’s the getting there that depletes us.
This end has been coming for the past ten years, twelve if I count the two years prior to retirement. That’s when I noticed changes in Martin’s once predictable personality. Blamed on stress and depression he chose to retire from his pressure cooker job. It was one night not soon after that we sat in the kitchen sipping cabernet and talking about dinner. Instead of bowl Martin described mixing something – I don’t remember what – in a box. “You mean a bowl,” I said. “No. A box,” came his answer. Perplexed, I got up, went to a cabinet and pulled out a bowl. He smiled and said, “Oh. Yeah. A bowl.” I brushed aside my concerns not knowing a years long trial had just shown itself.
My vast experience as a caregiver tells me the best thing I can do for me and Martin is take care of myself. To that end I started seeing a counselor again. Hospice, of course, has social workers and a chaplain to talk to. Family and friends are getting me out to some fun events. And, my readership gives me purpose. Last week I took my first ever yoga class. It was so rejuvenating I wish I had started sooner in my caregiving journey. I read Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking for a second time. With its honesty her memoir about the year after her husband’s sudden death speaks to me as I experience many of the same emotions, confusion and wishful thinking. Meditating and reading my spiritual guide each morning at least starts my day off on a peaceful note.
I sit with Martin, who no longer recognizes me, looks at me, won’t let me hold his hand, but still allows me to rub his shoulders. He can no longer say even one word. I talk to him soothingly telling him it will be ok, not certain if I’m reassuring him or me or both of us. I’m hoping somewhere inside what remains of my Martin he recognizes my voice and takes comfort from its sound. And I pray for mercy and grace for a peaceful death. Soon.
I received a lot of insightful comments to my query on retirement challenges. It sounds like we all realize retirement is no different from the other times of our lives. There are ups and downs we weathered and will continue to weather as we age. For some of you the challenges provided inspiration to find new meaning and purpose enriching your retirement. For others, you faced unexpected loss as I did early in my retirement. For others still, it was a matter of accepting the situation, what I call lightening up.
For me, while recently working on creating a greater idea about my life, I’ve encountered some setbacks beyond my control. As someone who’s always tried to control events learning to let go and allow this evolution to flow wherever it takes me is a challenge in itself. My personality was never one to lighten up.
Now, I find myself with no other choice. The new house is on indefinite hold. I haven’t sold my current house. In order to build the new one I must first sell this one. Our inflationary period played a role, but the big deterrent came out of the blue. Following the height of the pandemic, people are still working from home and many will continue to do so. I lost two serious working-from-home buyers wanting to live the rural life, but needing the ability to video conference. I now know more about the internet than I ever wanted to know.
My Modern Farmhouse Now On Hold
I have high speed internet. However, the download is fast enough for video conferencing; the upload is not. The upload pushes information out into the world wide web. The only way to increase the speed at my house is access to fiber optics, which my carrier predicts is at least a year away. As I write this fiber is being laid a mere eleven miles from my house. According to a recent article in The Washington Post only 43% of the population in the United States has fiber optics. The Biden Administration passed a bill to extend fiber into rural America and Michigan received its share of the funding. As we all know, everything takes time as a project of this magnitude requires lots of labor and materials to execute the plan.
Since I need to rent while my new house is built, I was also in a quandary about where I would live. Not only are rents exceedingly high, every single place I contacted had long waiting lists. Very few offered short-term leases of six to eight months. In the college town of Kalamazoo with thousands of rental units I was shocked to find nothing readily available. With my three cats and Rachel’s three dogs, moving in with her family is out of the question, unless we want the fur to fly. Consequently, I decided to take the house off the market and wait out inflation, market fluctuations and laying fiber optics.
Though disappointed I’m also grateful I don’t have to move. I have the luxury of staying put a while longer. And, with all the work preparing the house for sale, I can sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor. We all face challenges. The ups and downs are normal. We work through our current sticky wicket, reach a plateau and then the next glitch appears in our lives. Working through each one is called growth. We learn, compromise, rise to the occasion, adapt, acquiesce or whatever else it takes. It’s all part of our evolution. I decided to surrender to this moment. I know what I’m seeking and eventually it will happen. For now, I’ll continue doing nothing and just lighten up.
As my retirement turned into an unplanned roller coaster ride with ups and downs I’ve wondered about my readers’ experience in the time of Covid, inflation and other uncertainties. I think of all the retirees planning to travel by air or land or spend leisurely days on the golf course or tennis courts, beach or lakes. There are the dreamers of a long awaited tour of other countries or an RV adventure. People who want to start a second career or volunteer, take classes, start a new hobby, spend more time with grandkids. You’ve heard about my journey; now tell me something about your experiences.
By asking you to share your experience with others I believe we’ll find we have a lot in common. Sharing can create change, a feeling of community and the knowledge we aren’t alone. Oftentimes, we keep our battles hidden. I deliberately exposed mine through this blog hoping to help other retirees work out what I saw as common dilemmas from identity loss to how to fill our time. Reading the comments to some of my posts helped me realize I wasn’t alone and gave me insight and ideas I might, otherwise, have not encountered.
At one time I really thought my retirement was over. Maybe even an enjoyable life would never come again. But, I found I had more resilience and strength than I ever thought possible. Enter Covid. I thought the world had gone to hell in a hand basket. Being house bound was difficult; going out with a demented husband was even more difficult. Getting him to wear a mask, social distance, use hand sanitizer took all my patience some days. I thought retirement couldn’t become more difficult, but then I thought of the people around the world suffering far more than I and Martin. For years now, I call Tuesday Gratituesday as a way to be sure I count the good things in my life at least one day a week. That kept me going with hope.
What have you faced my friends? Did Covid or some other event derail your retirement plans? Did you work and continue to work? Did you retire early? Did you shelve plans to travel or golf or visit museums or wineries or other parts of your country? Now we are experiencing high inflation. It’s higher than it’s been in decades. There are supply chain issues. Travel is expensive and from what I’ve seen on TV air travel is frustrating as flights are canceled or delayed. Are you like me and experienced a health crisis with your partner or yourself? The list can go on and on.
Retirement is much like our pre-retirement lives – stuff happens. What challenges have you encountered. How have you handled those challenges? Did you handle the challenges? Let’s help each other by sharing. We’re all on this journey together.
In order to reinvent my life I must divest myself of fragments from my past. Like my best memories of Martin, I’m keeping the possessions, which are dear to me. I’m not seeking a minimalist lifestyle, but one honoring our past while giving breath to what lies ahead of me. Unlike past decluttering this one requires a wisdom imbued with greater purpose.
I had a longtime habit of cleaning out closets and drawers each January as my version of out with the old, in with the new. Somewhere along the path I’m on that annual ritual went by the wayside. When we sold our South Carolina house, I did a major declutter. Or, so I thought.
In preparation for the sale of my Michigan house, I began going through drawers and closets with the purpose of decluttering. As I cleared drawers of stuff, I also considered furniture, which won’t fit in my new smaller home. Lists of things to donate and items to sell forced me to realize I wasn’t decluttering; this was the big purge.
There were obvious items that must go, like Martin’s bicycle, gear and outfits along with sport coats, dress shirts, slacks, leather belts and shoes. No reason for any of it to languish in closets and cubbies when someone else could make good use of it. It took two weeks for me to act on selling Martin’s bike. I cleaned it, polished it and looked at it day in and day out. I felt frozen in time, slogging through quick sand. After mustering the courage to drop his clothing at Good Will, I felt relief. Then, a few hours later, came a serious meltdown as grief washed over me in a torrent of tears. Divesting myself of his belongings was accepting he would never walk through the door again. Once I was all cried out, I let go of the bicycle as well. It was a kind of release.
Martin’s racing bicycle
As I sort through our lifetime with a mostly clear head I didn’t have in 2019, I often ask myself why I paid to have this or that hauled from South Carolina. Taking a page from organizational expert Marie Kondo, so much of what I had didn’t spark joy. “Did it spark joy for me?”, became my precept, albeit one which is resulting in keeping a few things that may not evoke a modern farmhouse style. Looking at my Great-Great Aunt Josephine’s crystal jewelry box, I opened it. I lifted out a chestnut. Hard and brown my Mother carried it in her purse as a talisman. As I ran my fingers over its smooth rich decades old surface this memento from my Mother was now my symbol of juju, mojo, good luck. A practical woman, a strong woman, her spirit would help me push through this arduous task.
As with the chestnut, possessions carry energy in the memories they summon in our spirits. I looked at the five sets of dishes from the dinner group we belonged to in the 1990’s. I hadn’t needed nor used all this entertainment paraphernalia in decades. The dishes, napkins and rings, table clothes and serving dishes. In an epiphany I realized it was the memories I was holding onto, memories of those evenings when we gathered monthly to break bread. Fun nights like the mystery dinners where we dressed up as various characters in a whodunit. And then, there was the toga party where neighbors must have thought we were crazy traipsing through our garden, glasses of red wine in hand, with our guests, all of us dressed in bed sheets! I would keep the memories and some of the accoutrements, but it was time for most of the physical trappings to go.
Following my second car load of memories taken to Good Will the picture was becoming clear. There were certain objects, furniture, glass ware, keepsakes I would never part with. Antique pieces from both our families needed to stay with me a while longer. A few pieces of the furniture we bought during our marriage were now vintage, slightly marred with scratches or glass rings where a coaster went unused. There is no place for a couple of items in my to-be-built new home, but I’m making a place.
The large marble coffee table in the great room was originally on the chopping block. Then came the evening I sat in front of the fire place mindfully looking at its smooth surface and rough edges, the tiny scratches from grandchildren running toy cars across it along with a few water marks from spilled drinks. Martin and I had gone to The Street of Dreams charity event while living in Seattle. In an 11,000 square foot show house sat a marble coffee table dazzling us both. A couple weeks later Martin went on a motorcycle ride returning to announce he’d found such a table at Frederick and Nelson Department Store. He wanted to buy it. And so did I. I knew now I couldn’t part with it. It represented a joint purchase, a joint love of beautiful things. Though now imperfect with blemishes from nearly 40 years of use, this table also represents the joyous imperfection of our lives. As with ourselves, we looked upon the blemishes as character. There are possessions, which are just baggage. And, then, there are things, which warm my heart each day, that spark joy and must continue to color my life. Despite its ultra modern look the marble table stays.
As I empty the house of remnants of my past life I feel less overwhelmed, lighter, more forward looking. I’m honoring my past. And, making room for my future.
While this post seems strange to me on Valentine’s Day eve, it is the approach of February 14 which fostered my curiosity about my current sense of singlehood. I began looking closely at what it means to be on my own after half a century. While searching within, I also, of course, searched the web. There are lots and lots of articles and blogs on being single. I had to diligently drill down in order to find articles, which weren’t how to’s on dating again or finding a new partner. Searching my heart and soul, I already knew I want neither. According to the Pew Research Center living without a spouse or partner under the same roof means I’m single.
Yes, yes I know. I can already hear someone saying, “But…but it’s almost Valentine’s Day”. For those of you with another partner after the death of a spouse or a divorce, I wish you a happy life together. You are all very fortunate people. You are also people who most likely made the choice to seek another partner. Or, perhaps, there was a bit of serendipity at play. Although I’m now single by chance and location, I’m choosing to remain single for several reasons.
One of many books of love Martin gave me over the decades. This one from the 1970’s is my favorite.
I had the good fortunate of a long, long marriage to a man who enjoyed cooking together, shopping together, working with me in the garden, while I went on motorcycle rides and hikes with him and cheered him on at bicycle time trials. If something needed repair whether bicycle or house, I was the extra pair of hands. We supported each others careers, with Martin even becoming the trailing spouse for my job move. Fun for us was creating great meals at home, stopping at our favorite pub for lunch or supper, going to art galleries, museums and historical sites, an occasional play or concert and later creating our art. We raised two kids and were rewarded with wonderful grandkids. We had good times and some bad times. It was all a lot of work, compromise, give and take. It took years and a mutual commitment to create what we had.
Then, this unthinkably horrible disease took away our beautiful life together, making me Martin’s caregiver and slowly stealing his mind and spirit. And, now, leaving me to carve out a future of my own, on my own. I still have our loving family as does he. They give me support and advice, but the reality is I’m single, alone, but not alone. As I do today, I will always have a hole in my heart for this profound loss.
However, at this juncture in my journey I’m also savoring buying my land, planning my new house and making the inherent dozens of decisions with no other consideration than what I want and can afford. While it’s sometimes scary because all errors in judgment fall squarely on my sagging shoulders, it’s also exhilarating to be forging a new identity. I feel like a kid again, only with lots of experience.
As is my habit I didn’t make New Year’s resolutions. But, I did write goals for 2022. Perhaps, they are one and the same. Topping my list is self-care. Self-care is not being selfish. It’s putting your own oxygen mask on first so you can help your fellow passengers. More than one well-meaning person recommended I volunteer as a way to handle my grief. When I’m fully breathing again, I’ll go back to volunteering. Following years of caregiving and putting Martin’s needs first, self-care is putting my needs, health and well-being first. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten Martin. It doesn’t mean I don’t still love him. It doesn’t translate into I’m no longer grieving. In fact, part of my grief is finding myself without my lifelong partner. It’s possible to grieve and, at the same time, feel joy again.
Accepting my single status allows me to envision my future. I was one-half of a pair in an egalitarian marriage. The chances of finding another partner wanting or even willing to cook, shop, clean, do laundry and be supportive of my activities outside the home is pretty much nil, especially since at my age, there are far fewer single men. The reality is women still live longer than men. Consequently, we outnumber them in the millions.
I’m also set in my ways. After five decades with one man, adjusting to a new partner is not anything I want to tackle. While there is a void with Martin’s decline and subsequent absence, it’s not one I feel a need to fill. I handled all the finances, paperwork and our social calendar. As he declined I even learned to make repairs around the house by watching YouTube how-to’s. I’m most proud of unclogging the dishwasher drain after a glass broke filling the drain with shards. With family and friends, as already mentioned, I’m not alone or lonely. I’m finding new meaning and purpose in my life, including my return to blogging. I’m quite capable of caring for myself and have every desire to continue doing so.
All of the above adds up to my choosing to continue living my life in singlehood. One of my other goals for 2022 is finding me, the real me, the self-directed me, the me without a partner. I have a house to build, classes to attend, books to read, people to meet, places to go, music to listen to, art galleries, museums and historical sites to visit, trendy and not so trendy small towns to explore, along with locally owned restaurants where I’ll savor good food and wines, cooking great meals at home and creating a new landscape to go with my new house. Whoopee, more plants, more gardens! And, of course, not doing anything at all…just being…just me…and my cats.
First I want to say, “THANK YOU” to all my loyal readers for staying with me. I humbly appreciate all of you as well as the kind comments and encouragement. For those of you on a similar journey as mine I wish you a clear path to ease your way forward. It will take some time for me to figure out WordPress all over again as they made many changes in my absence. Time, however, is what I have. My return to blogging is part of my self-care as I share my retirement story once again.
Most of us retire with deliberateness. We plan and dream. As I sit here writing with the serenity of lightly falling snow in my view, I think of all the plans Martin and I made. None of them included a life shattering illness. Yet, here I sit mapping a new retirement path. And dreaming.
As spring 2021 arrived with arrangements to place Martin in memory care, my doctor counseled me. Don’t make any major changes for at least a year. Do engage in a period of extended rest and self-care. After all, I was grieving and dealing with the attendant guilt, which comes with such a decision.
Seven months later I went straight into the deep end feet first with a major change. It felt right and still feels right. On the surface my actions appear to be on a whim, but I assure you much thought went into it.
I knew from the moment we bought this huge house I’m living in it was never going to be permanent. It was too big for the two of us, let alone just me. But, only five minutes from our daughter, it served its purpose. I had the nearby help and support I needed as a caregiver.
After placing Martin, as the months wore on, my mind turned to moving back to South Carolina with its mild winters. Then, there were the blazing summers. So, I thought about two homes, summers in Michigan and winters in South Carolina. Guilt over not visiting Martin for the months in South Carolina chewed at the edges of my heart. Even with Hospice attending now, his disease is so unpredictable. The end will come when it comes.
Yet, while recognizing the fluidity of our situation, I couldn’t help ruminating about my future. With winter approaching, I also realized I still loved living in a true four season climate. Wandering online through homes for sale in both markets, hot markets where nothing remained for sale for very long, I found my future.
Following a visit to Martin one sunny day this past fall, I drove down a pothole riddled road in dire need of replacing. Forget repairing it. The asphalt was beyond mending. But, I noticed the nice homes, the small farms and the seemingly never-ending acreage of a very large farm. Surprisingly, I was only five minutes from a desirable village where I had established relationships with doctors, dentist, a bank and a few businesses.
A large wooden For Sale sign heralded the two acres I came to see. Flanked on one side by freshly painted red barns and the original white farm house, my neighbor’s property looked like a beautiful greeting card. Idyllic. My acreage – I was already calling it mine – was a long and narrow meadow with oaks lining the frontage. I could picture the meadow dotted with wildflowers and paths for walking. And gardens around the house. Gardens with lavender and thyme and rosemary and vegetables in summer.
Wanting to stick with my doctor’s advice, however, I hesitated even after my daughter affirmed, “Mom you should buy this.” Even after my builder son-in-law seconded her motion. Instead I looked at other properties and communities. Self-doubts about what to do floated in and out of my mind.
Eventually, I realized artificial deadlines were exactly that. Yes, I bought it! I determined to forego the one year moratorium on major decisions. This property, this place called to me as no other in my life. It had been on the market for two years just waiting for me. There had been other offers, but mine was the one the sellers accepted. I was giddy with a renewed sense of excitement for my retirement.
Though bittersweet, I dream of the small house my son-in-law will build for me and the wildflowers in the meadow. I’m working on a plan with an architect. A modern farmhouse look, it will be just the right size for my needs. I plan to sit on my back porch with good friends and family and my cats and good wine and great music. And writing and drawing and, of course, gardening.
Oh, the road? Well, I tried to drive down it one day to find heavy equipment being used to tear up the old road before building a new one. Potholes no more. Instead, my new road for my new beginning.
Born at the turn of the century (does that sound strange?It does to me.), they don’t have a moniker yet like Baby Boomers or Generation X or Millennials.Names like Generation Z have been offered up, but nothing definitive sticks.I have one, a grandson, born in January of 2000.Last week he graduated from high school as his mother, my oldest daughter, posted on Facebook his time as a caterpillar is over —time to fly little butterfly.All the excitement, pomp and circumstance, family celebration party, teary-eyed reminiscences of his mother and promises of a solid future.
What advice would I give him?The same advice I would give someone getting ready to retire.I believe it’s good advice for any new start in life.
Believe in yourself.You have innate gifts.Be confident in your abilities.Do in life what you want to do, not what others want for you.There are lots of people out there with lots of advice (including me) on how things “should” be.Realize that when the “should” word comes out, you are listening to their ego.Take it for what it is and make your decision for what you want.Be a little selfish.Pander to your ego.
Follow your passion.That old saying“Do what you love and you will never work a day in your life” is true no matter what your age.I garden on a large-scale.People often comment to me, “That’s a lot of work” to which I reply, “It’s not work to me.I love doing it.”Yes, do what you love!
Never stop learning.Going off to college or trade school or taking a job, graduation isn’t the end of your education.People who are life-long learners continue to grow and thrive.It doesn’t mean you have to take formal classes.Stay open to opportunities.Be curious about life in general.Ask questions!Investigate what makes something tick. Then, you’ll always have excitement in your life and something to talk about when you meet new people.
Speaking of other people, keep your old friends and cultivate new friendships, too.Growing up I was a Girl Scout.We had a little song that went like this, “Make new friends and keep the old; one is silver and the other gold.”People with strong support systems have an easier time adapting to life’s ups and downs than those without.Change is inevitable.Form your posse to help you through the changes.
Exploring the world goes hand in hand with never stop learning.Even if it’s just the world in close proximity, be curious about what’s around you.A Realtor friend recently sent me a list of all the summer happenings in the Upstate.With enough activities to fill a page there’s plenty to do and see in my backyard.Get off the couch and out the door.Or explore the globe.
Enjoy each and every day.Tomorrow is promised to no one.Live in the moment being mindful of the sights, sounds and smells.Touch the world you have in front of you.Mind-spinning about the future or reliving the past is time lost forever.Enjoy today.And enjoy it with gratitude.Revel in what you have, especially the things that can’t bought.Materialism is over-rated.Stuff won’t make you happy.
Lastly, life is what you make of it.There will be good times and not-so-good times.You will meet good people and not-so-good people.Choose how you will respond or not respond to what or whom you encounter.Live your life on your terms.No one knows what’s best for you like you do.
Fly, little butterfly, fly!
Dedicated to Jake and all the graduates of 2018, no matter where you are in the world.You are our future.Get out there and put your dent in the universe!
Kathy's Retirement Blog 