The opportunity to simplify our lives came in the move across country. Five years earlier we sold the home where we raised our kids and moved into the city of Buffalo. We bought a 1920 brick house that was the kind of home George always dreamed of owning. It had cool features like leaded glass windows and an elaborate oak bar in the basement. It also had very cool walls (no insulation), nice in warm summers but brutally cold in the dead of a Buffalo winter. Now we were relocating to a city where the building boom happened in the late 50's and early 60's. Unless we bought a a "newer ugly build" in the suburbs of Davis, or wanted to live in Sacramento and commute (which we did not want to do) we were looking at California ranch houses that were mostly 2,000 square feet or less and built in the early 70's. Our house was built in 1974 and is exactly 2,000 square feet! The Buffalo home was 2,300 square feet NOT counting our finished basement or 3rd floor which had a full bath and 2 good sized rooms!
George says you spend the first 30 years of married life accumulating "stuff" and the next couple decades giving it away. I had always been a "keeper of the goods" as my relatives passed along furniture, dishes, household stuff and mementos. In our 30 years of married life we accumulated furniture, records, books,plants and artwork from George's mom and dad, my dad (who remarried and moved to a new home), and still more of my grandparent's and aunt's stuff!
We staged a huge garage sale, set our son up in an apartment and still managed to fill a moving van with the contents of our home and our two professional offices. The van left Buffalo on July 3rd. We arrived at our new empty home on July 6th. Here is the interesting thing. Somehow we had packed in our small Volvo sedan exactly all that we needed to begin life in Davis and survive until the moving van arrived on July 12th. We purchased one thing, a blow-up mattress which we inflated with the vacuum cleaner I had packed in the trunk in case we needed to clean before the movers arrived. We had one light blanket, a fitted sheet which we had put over the back seats for the dog, a small cooler from the trip, our clothes, a few towels, and one pillow.
I remember lying awake on the blow-up mattress thinking about all the stuff in the moving van. Yet here I was, perfectly content with all my needs met for shelter, water, and food. What did I need more of? If the van never arrived or met an unfortunate fate, what would I miss? What was in the van that I could not live without? Life seemed complete lying on an air mattress with my life partner at my side, dog at my feet, and the bonus of a few beers in the cooler. During the next 5 days I lived life without stuff and experienced "less is more". My needs never seemed to increase, my level of comfort remained constant, and it seemed much easier to live in the moment because nothing drew me away from it. No TV or computers. We walked and explored the neighborhoods, studied the gardens and flowers, listened for new bird songs, met and talked with people, ate at the farmers' markets or the Nugget (our grocery store), explored the downtown stores, walked in the arboretum on campus, and read books during the hottest hours of the day. By the end of the 3rd day I began to dread the arrival of the moving van and by the time it pulled up in front of the house I was in a panic which seemed to escalate with every box that was unloaded.
Life did calm down with most of the "stuff" finding suitable places. I confess to having large give-away piles in the new garage and often pick up stuff while cleaning and wonder what the heck made me bring this thing?? Moving can be an incredible opportunity to evaluate your attachment to objects, to make a conscious decision to cherish or reject familial things as necessary or not, to simplify your life which in turn quiets the mind. To live with less created much more in my life!
Monday, February 22, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Running Into Retirement
Running into Retirement
Lately I've had many thoughts about this whole retirement process. I decided to start writing about what I've been feeling and experiencing. Since many of my closest friends are still working full throttle and full time, I thought writing about the next chapter in life from my perspective and sharing a few insights, might be interesting to some who are considering a major life change within the next decade.
I went to a New York State Teachers' Retirement Seminar in March of 2008 to begin to collect information and ideas about what might happen when I finally decided to leave teaching. At that point I had no plans to stop working, at least not for five years. What I remember from that day was advice about not changing everything in your life immediately after you retire. You shouldn't pick-up and move away from your friends. You should keep some of your routines the same at least for the first several years. People do well in retirement by staying near their networks, their friends and family if possible. They have time to act on life long interests and passions. They give time to worthy causes. They volunteer. They may work part-time. They spend more time with family. They keep active mentally. Those are the "sound bites" I remember from that day long seminar. It all made good sense.
But what happens when your circumstances cause you to run full speed ahead into retirement? I found out in December we would be moving 3,000 miles across the country. My husband needed to begin work July 1st. I continued all my professional obligations and even taught a summer school class up until 3 days before the moving van came. I had worked full time, teaching children and college students since 1971 with only a 5 month hiatus when I had my first child. There was no prolonged mental preparation for the shift that was about to happen in my life. My husband would begin a new academic position (more of the same for him with different players) but I would "retire". What does that mean? How do you "retire"? From what do we retire? To where? For how long? I would discover many different meanings for the word retire. I had officially written my letter of intent to "retire". I legally "retired" by filling out all the paperwork with the state. I "retired" from my office space by giving many things away and clearing out file drawers. But in the last few weeks before the move there were far too many details to attend to, loose ends to tie up, and no time to comprehend the emotional impact of retiring from all the beautiful friends and people I had come to know, and to whom I was now hurriedly and unconsciously saying good-bye. I think I stayed only moderately sane by pretending I'd see everyone again soon. That is what I do when loss threatens to unravel me ......I pretend.
At 7:30 AM on June 30th, 2009, I got into the car in Buffalo New York and we (husband and dog) headed for Davis California. The sky was thunderously gray, dark, dreary, ominous and threatening. It began to rain hard, thunder, and lightening. We drove in silence. We left New York and entered Pennsylvania and somewhere on the highway near Warren Pennsylvania, the crack in my damn gave away. My husband pulled into a rest stop because I was out of control with wailing sounds and physically racking sobs. It poured both outside and inside the car. So many intense emotions had been stuffed down, tucked away, unexpressed....with no time given to feel the sadness or acknowledge the enormous changes that were underway. I left the car and walked, very slowly, in the pouring rain, to the bathroom. I didn't care who saw my crying face. I didn't care what they thought or imagined. I didn't care if I stayed in the restroom for hours! I was "retiring" from the life I had known for 38 years and I had no idea about what kind of life I could create or who I would encounter. What I knew was it felt great to give in to this intense sadness, to break apart the stoic automatic life of movement and detailed action I'd been living for the last few months. It felt great to wash my hot face with cold water and to look into the mirror and see tenderness returning to my eyes. After 30 minutes of uncontrollable sobbing, I did not care about what would come next. After years of running my life with checklists, endless planning, keeping on a schedule, meeting deadlines, planning a year in advance, setting and accomplishing goals, it was over. I was, at this moment, living in it! I remember smiling into the mirror and watched the concerned look of the woman next to me melt away. I "retired" back to our car and the journey continued.
Lately I've had many thoughts about this whole retirement process. I decided to start writing about what I've been feeling and experiencing. Since many of my closest friends are still working full throttle and full time, I thought writing about the next chapter in life from my perspective and sharing a few insights, might be interesting to some who are considering a major life change within the next decade.
I went to a New York State Teachers' Retirement Seminar in March of 2008 to begin to collect information and ideas about what might happen when I finally decided to leave teaching. At that point I had no plans to stop working, at least not for five years. What I remember from that day was advice about not changing everything in your life immediately after you retire. You shouldn't pick-up and move away from your friends. You should keep some of your routines the same at least for the first several years. People do well in retirement by staying near their networks, their friends and family if possible. They have time to act on life long interests and passions. They give time to worthy causes. They volunteer. They may work part-time. They spend more time with family. They keep active mentally. Those are the "sound bites" I remember from that day long seminar. It all made good sense.
But what happens when your circumstances cause you to run full speed ahead into retirement? I found out in December we would be moving 3,000 miles across the country. My husband needed to begin work July 1st. I continued all my professional obligations and even taught a summer school class up until 3 days before the moving van came. I had worked full time, teaching children and college students since 1971 with only a 5 month hiatus when I had my first child. There was no prolonged mental preparation for the shift that was about to happen in my life. My husband would begin a new academic position (more of the same for him with different players) but I would "retire". What does that mean? How do you "retire"? From what do we retire? To where? For how long? I would discover many different meanings for the word retire. I had officially written my letter of intent to "retire". I legally "retired" by filling out all the paperwork with the state. I "retired" from my office space by giving many things away and clearing out file drawers. But in the last few weeks before the move there were far too many details to attend to, loose ends to tie up, and no time to comprehend the emotional impact of retiring from all the beautiful friends and people I had come to know, and to whom I was now hurriedly and unconsciously saying good-bye. I think I stayed only moderately sane by pretending I'd see everyone again soon. That is what I do when loss threatens to unravel me ......I pretend.
At 7:30 AM on June 30th, 2009, I got into the car in Buffalo New York and we (husband and dog) headed for Davis California. The sky was thunderously gray, dark, dreary, ominous and threatening. It began to rain hard, thunder, and lightening. We drove in silence. We left New York and entered Pennsylvania and somewhere on the highway near Warren Pennsylvania, the crack in my damn gave away. My husband pulled into a rest stop because I was out of control with wailing sounds and physically racking sobs. It poured both outside and inside the car. So many intense emotions had been stuffed down, tucked away, unexpressed....with no time given to feel the sadness or acknowledge the enormous changes that were underway. I left the car and walked, very slowly, in the pouring rain, to the bathroom. I didn't care who saw my crying face. I didn't care what they thought or imagined. I didn't care if I stayed in the restroom for hours! I was "retiring" from the life I had known for 38 years and I had no idea about what kind of life I could create or who I would encounter. What I knew was it felt great to give in to this intense sadness, to break apart the stoic automatic life of movement and detailed action I'd been living for the last few months. It felt great to wash my hot face with cold water and to look into the mirror and see tenderness returning to my eyes. After 30 minutes of uncontrollable sobbing, I did not care about what would come next. After years of running my life with checklists, endless planning, keeping on a schedule, meeting deadlines, planning a year in advance, setting and accomplishing goals, it was over. I was, at this moment, living in it! I remember smiling into the mirror and watched the concerned look of the woman next to me melt away. I "retired" back to our car and the journey continued.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)