It is an adjustment. I have been retired for five years, now. In those five years, I have divorced my husband of thirty-three years, moved across country, bought a house, lost a parent, and found a life. Five out of five of those events are the top-of-the-scale stressors. I am still struggling, though not so vigorously, to find my place, to feel like this is my life.
But this mid-July morning in North Carolina, I sat on my back deck. In a fit of pure self-indulgent luxuriousness, I wrapped up in a jacket and a blanket, and in the early morning hour, with my coffee, I watched my doggie and kitty play, listened to the birds and squirrels, and read a book. It was fifty-nine degrees. That in itself is a wonder. Me, sitting is another. Allowing myself to just BE is a third.
I remember thinking years ago that when I retired, I would just read all day long if I wanted. I would allow myself to fall asleep if I felt drowsy. I would craft and create. I would have a second career, to be determined. I would stay at home in the mornings, and not leap out of bed, dress up, and rush off somewhere. Yet, in this newly orchestrated life, somehow I have managed to have to go somewhere first thing six out of seven days of the week. This morning was my one lovely day to lounge.
Being retired is my current adjustment. For all this time, I have felt as if I were still on summer vacation. Oddly, what happened first is what I am dealing with last. Five years after the fact, I am settling into the idea that I am retired. I am allowing myself the luxury of self-indulgence.
Looks like five might just be my new lucky number.