Retirement Musings - Pre Retirement Announcement

"Retirement is wonderful. It's doing nothing without worrying about getting caught at it.
- Gene Perret

It's time. I'm tired and I've had enough. I watched my parents work till the day they died and neither had anything to show for it. I refuse to accept that demise for myself. I'm retiring.

Abe Lemons said “The trouble with retirement is that you never get a day off.” I'm willing to find out for myself just how troublesome this is.

My first job beyond getting a modest allowance for chores at home was a paper route, throwing the Garland Daily News to about two hundred homes when I was twelve years old. It seems inconceivable these days that a child would come home from elementary school, roll, rubber band, and bag each days' edition, then take off on a bicycle to deliver them, getting back home at dusk in time for dinner. Even more strange is that that I used to walk up to strangers' porches with a pocket full of cash to collect subscribers' payments every month. This seems strange today, but it wasn't back in the day because there were hundreds of paperboys like me hitting the streets daily. I had Saturdays off, but Sundays were long days that started early because subscribers expected their paper on their porch first thing in the morning, and they had no reservations about calling to complain if it wasn't there. Every Sunday, I would be out on my bicycle before dawn with bags on each side of the rear wheel and one on the handlebars because the Sunday

Winchell's Donut House 1974 - Garland, Texas

edition was much larger than the weekdays'. When I was 14, I noticed that many paperboys were actually paper men and women who worked in teams and threw the papers from their cars to several routes combined into one large one. I couldn't compete with that kind of volume, so the Garland Daily News eventually gave my route to someone with a car. My favorite part of the paper route was stopping by a Winchell's Donut House on my way home after my completing my Sunday route. I would give the lady behind the counter a paper and she would give me a box of free hours-old donuts. Simpler times.

Sheraton Inn Today

Losing the paper route didn't bother me because at fourteen years old, I got a job as a busboy at a Sheraton Inn. My stepmother worked there and got me the job. I lied on the application, saying I was 15 years old, but it's not like she didn't know. Again, it's astounding in today's world to picture a 14 year old boy busing tables in a busy restaurant and taking room service meals to complete strangers' guestrooms on Saturday nights. I recall my mother warning me to be on the lookout for weirdos; especially during room service deliveries. I saw more than my share of interesting things, but the weirdest weirdo was the restaurant's lead cook who was a self-cutter. Joe was a big, strapping Italian guy with slicked back hair and a wicked set of chef's knives. I once watched him cut his forearm and dribble the blood into the hot grease fry vat. I told the manager and Joe was gone. Still, i never ate food from the hotel after that.

My shift was 6:00am to 2:00pm, and then 5:00pm to 11:00pm on Saturdays, and the same on Sundays, except that my evening shift ended at 7:00pm because I had school Monday morning. I made $2.35 per hour, plus room service tips. The waitstaff was technically supposed to share 10% of their restaurant tips with me for bussing their tables, but it occurred to me that it appeared to them as if I was just working for pocket money, and they had adult expenses and families to support. I never took the payout from those who offered. What I did earn was major cash for a 14 year old and I was able to help out at home buying my own lunch at school and occasionally slipping a few bucks into mama's wallet when she wasn't looking. Also, mama wisely made me bank most of it. I was saving for a motorcycle, which I purchased when I was 15. I credit mama and my stepdad for not only letting me work at the Sheraton, but for driving me to and from when the weather was too bad to ride my bicycle. Sometimes when there were vacancies, the hotel would allow me to stay over on Saturday night. This was a win for everyone. My parents didn't have to stay up late and get up early to drive me, I could get more sleep between shifts, and best of all, I could watch the pseudo dirty movies on the hotel TV. They were innuendo at the worst back then, and would probably be on Nickelodeon these days. That job came to an end when the Sheraton was purchased by another hotel chain and shut down for renovation. Over fifty years later, it's actually still there and has changed names more times than I can count.

I continued to work through high school for pocket money, gas for my bike/car, insurance, and to help out at home. Mama and my stepdad divorced, and my 18 year old sister was killed in an accident just days prior to her high school graduation in 1978. Mama was understandably an emotional basket case and by that time I was old enough to recognize our financial dire straits, so anything I could contribute to ease the pressure was never given a second thought. I worked three part time jobs my senior year. I was a porter at Treasury Drug Store, I drove a Sunday morning distribution route for Mrs. Baird's Bread, and I sold tokens and maintained the games at a local video game arcade called The Twilight Zone. It never occurred to me that this work ethic for a 17-18 year old man-boy was extraordinary but looking back, I suppose it might have been in some peoples' view. I managed to graduate high school in 1981 in the bottom half of my class of 600, and worked through the summer until October. I was leaving for Air Force boot camp on October 30th and I followed mama's advice to take some time off before my departure. My Air Force years could be their own blog fodder, but I'm not going there in this one.

I have worked pretty much nonstop since I was 14 years old. Put a fork in me 'cause like I said above, I'm done. I've come to recognize and more importantly, fully comprehend the difference between lifespan and healthspan. Lifespan is just that; our living years. Healthspan refers to the quality of life during those years and while I appreciate the prose and sentiment, Mick Jagger was wrong. Time is not on my side.

It's been said that our life leading to retirement is typically experienced in three segments:

• Go-Go Years: Living an active and purposeful life that requires and builds strength and endurance
• Slow-Go Years: Living a less-physically demanding lifestyle, yet maintaining relationships with others
• No-Go Years: Living a more sedentary life when mobility and physical capabilities have diminished

I plan to spend my first year in retirement in what I will call my great personal reset, during which I plan to rest, recreate, and rejuvenate during the onset of my senior Go-Go Years. We have all had to unplug our home computer or internet router that was running sluggishly. Sometimes, just simply unplugging these devices for a short time provides the reset they need. I believe the same analogy applies to us; or at least to me. Obviously, we don't unplug our electronics for a year like I'm planning for myself, but when I put it in perspective and consider a working career spanning 45 years, a one-year personal reset is reasonable.

So what's in my reset? I plan to spend time trimming and pruning to make the tree groves on my land look like the park I have in my vision. I plan to spend more time with my livestock. I plan to become a more competent beekeeper. I plan to build a shooting range in the back corner woods on my land and become a better marksman. I plan to reinvigorate my passion for playing drums and to channel that passion into a low-pressure, light commitment, occasionally-gigging band. I plan to take the time to no longer dread what's coming tomorrow, and I plan to accomplish this by living a smaller, peaceful life, free of hustle, traffic, and corporate stress. I realize that retired life will be neither perfect, nor totally stress-free, but I am confident that the stresses I will experience will be easier to face in my post-rat raced life.

It occurred to me eight years ago when we first moved out to the country that it was time for me to redefine my vision of success. Through this introspect, I've realized that time is far more valuable than money. I can always get more money, but my time to enjoy life, family, and personal passions is finite. I realize that this isn't some profound epiphany, but facing it objectively was a profound moment of clarity for me. I have chosen to retire during the youth of my senior years and to be the master my own uncomplicated (or at least less complicated) life.

I don't want to be alone. I just want to be left alone.
- Audrey Hepburn

When it comes to true friends, I've never really had that many and like many, that number tends to dwindle as we age. And I'm aware that the considerably few friends I have now will likely be even fewer once I'm retired. In my career, I worked either from home or as a crew of one at client sites on the road, so I never really had work friends either. Having moved out to the country and now living on a small ten-acre homestead, I've grown accustomed to a limited and measured social circle. I have always been a type-A personality, but again, in retrospect, it occurred to me that I have become increasingly content with my own company. Having spent a cumulative total of over 2,000 nights of the last thirty years on the road and alone in corporate hotel rooms will do that to a man. I still see my oldest friends from school and some band mates, but I'm the one who moved out to the middle of nowhere, so getting together tends to fall on my shoulders if it's going to happen. I'm OK with that, and I know that a little of me goes a long way, so I'm sure they're OK with it too.

Some of the very few people with whom I have shared my retirement plans have asked about my getting lonely living in the added solitude. It's a valid question and after giving it some thought, I don't believe that one necessarily has to lead to the other. To me, solitude provides time for self refection and introspection. I view loneliness as a consequence of being isolated, rejected, and forgotten. And, while I have come to recognize a greater sense of being alone, I have never felt lonely.

I have also decided to take a stab at documenting the experience of transitioning to retirement. I'm slowly creating content for a YouTube channel called My Rural Retirement. The channel is created, but I don't plan to be on the air until May or June. It will be a stream of conscientiousness view of my transition to life in the slow lane after a 45 year career in the express lane. Stay tuned. It could be fun.

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