What Is Retirement?

I am in, for the lack of a more precise definition, the retirement business. I have spent the last 41 years helping people invest their money so that one day they could afford to retire. Since I am now in my middle 60’s, so are the majority of my clients. Therefore lots of them have retired. I have not, and the question of when and how this will happen is still very much undecided. But I have had a front row seat watching people retire and observing the results. It has been a fascinating experience, one that has caused me to ponder foundational questions like—What is retirement?

In the history of civilization retirement is a very new phenomenon. For centuries our ancestors knew nothing of the concept. People worked from the time they were children until they literally couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. Most people didn’t live long enough to reach the golden age of 65. Like leisure, which wasn’t even a word until 100 years ago, retirement only came around as a concept in the last 75 years or so. The dirty little actuarial secret about the creation of Social Security under FDR was the salient point that the life span of the average worker back then made the prospect of the government having to fork out a retirement check to a worker for 15-20 years nearly impossible. It never occurred to the designers of Social Security that the program could possible go broke because of the mind boggling advances in science and medicine that would greatly extend the average human life. The assumption was that workers would pay in to the system for a few decades then die before they ever collected a dime in retirement, while the survivor benefits paid to the spouse would last just a few short years. You will find no references to the concept of retirement in the histories of antiquity. There is nothing about it in the Bible. Yet, in the year 2023 it is on the lips of practically every business news channel commentator. Entire magazines are devoted to it, not to mention the fact that AARP is the single most powerful lobby group in the country. But this post is not about the business of retirement or a discussion of the actuarial facts upon which it is based. I want to discuss what actually happens to people when they retire. What are the emotional and psychological benefits and deficits involved? I have literally seen it all.

I have seen some people come alive in retirement. They flourish free from the constraints and pressures of work. They discover new passions and revisit old ones. Some travel, others devote time to their hobbies, still others become happily immersed in the lives of their grandchildren. Many of these “flourishers” become professional volunteers, spending their new free time at hospitals, food banks and churches. It sounds exhausting, but they seem to love their new lives.

But others have a different experience. Faced with loads of free time they become adrift. The first six months of their retirement is spent doing all the home projects they had put off for years, or they go on that trip they had always wanted to go on but didn’t have the time. But after that they wake up to the reality that there isn’t really a driving reason to wake up in the morning, no purpose or cause that requires their participation and talents, a form of depression sets in like a mild layer of fog on the lake every morning. The good news is that many of these folks eventually snap out of their funk. With the encouragement of others they realize that they need to develop a plan for their lives post-career. Some of them take jobs at hardware stores or grocery stores part time as a way to stay busy and meet new people. Others become part time consultants in their old industries for a few hours a week. Still others find new interests and pursue them with vigor.

But for others, retirement is a disorienting and debilitating experience. Stripped of their work, these folks find it difficult to find purpose. They no longer feel a part of anything important. For them what starts as a mild depression becomes more like despair. They become withdrawn from old friends and family. Inevitably—they get sick. Even people who had always been healthy and robust—get sick. At this point I should probably say that in my observations, it doesn’t seem to make much difference how comfortable or well off people are in their retirement when it comes to which outcome they experience. I’ve seen extremely wealthy people fall into despair and people on very tight budgets flourish and vice versa.

All of this analysis is what I have observed watching nearly 70 different people from every background imaginable enter their retirement years. It makes me ask myself this question—Which will I be? Will I be one who flourishes or the one who falls into despair? What about you? My answer is a guarded one. I do believe that everyone thinking about retirement needs to have a plan—not just the financial kind, but rather an emotional one. You should be able to answer this question…What is the thing that will energize me every day to get out of bed? What will your daily schedule be? What will be on your agenda each day of the week? What will be your to-do list goals? Yes…you will need a to-do list. Why? Because we were not created for sloth. Rest, like any other good thing, is only beneficial in moderation.

One more observation, if I may. This is purely a matter of opinion and preference but—don’t go to one of those “communities” that cater to only people of a certain age. Make sure you have a healthy relationship with people much younger than you. Your attitudes and disposition eventually reflect what is around you. You spend too much time around old people you will become much older much quicker. Find some young couples with children to love. Pour yourself and your talents into helping and supporting those exhausted parents around you in the midst of raising their kids in this crazy confusing world. After all—that was you not so long ago. Those kids need your love and advice, the wisdom of your experience. I can think of nothing more fulfilling than being in the encouragement business. Its hard to be that person if you’re walled off in a retirement community surrounded by a bunch of geezers.

It has been a humbling experience watching people retire. I like to think that I will flourish when its my turn. But I’ve seen enough people who were better than me struggle mightily. Knowing the right thing to do is not the same as doing the right thing. It takes courage and intentionality to craft a good life in retirement. It isn’t for the feint of heart.

The Groomers

Ever since we returned from Maine a month ago life has felt chaotic. There was a medical procedure and the accompanying health concerns. At work it seems like a game of whack-a-mole, new business to write and dear, long time clients passing away, plus all the playing catch-up that comes with taking six weeks off. The next two weeks will be even more hectic, as we try to get everything done in time to go back for our Fall trip. In case you are beginning to become annoyed—I am not complaining. However chaotic life becomes as a result of two trips to Maine in one year, I’ll take it.

One of the things we do to prepare for Maine is taking Lucy to the groomers. The rest of the year, Lucy’s grooming needs are taken care of in-house. But if you’re staying in someone else’s cabin for weeks on end, you want your Pup to have as little excess hair as possible along with short and smoothly ground nails. I will not tell you how much this grooming costs because I would be irretrievably embarrassed. Be that as it may, it had to be done. 

Usually, the groomers tie a doggie bandanna around her neck—to help assuage the shock of the bill they just handed you. But this time there was no bandanna. Instead, there was this:

They put bows in her hair right behind her ears. We can’t decide if she likes them, is embarrassed by them or clueless of their existence. But Pam has decided that with the price we paid these people, the bows are staying in until they fall off. We will get our money’s worth.

In other news…I am in the process of closing down The Tempest on Blogger and recreating it on Wordpress. Patrick is helping me with the nuts and bolts of the process and I am doing a terrible job of following up because of the aforementioned chaos, however it will eventually get done. So very soon, The Tempest will have a completely new look and feel, but unfortunately the same insipid content!!

Miscellaneous Thoughts of an Aging Man

5:30 in the morning is a good time for reflection. Its quiet and the cares of the day have not made themselves known. You drink your coffee and slowly come to life. You think. You question. In a couple of hours there won’t be time for such thoughts. Here are just a few that I have pondered this morning.

1. Why are so many of our leaders so old? Our President shuffles along with an unsteady gate, mouth agape and slow witted at the microphone. Yesterday, the Senate Majority leader Mitch McConnell froze during a press conference for the second time in two months, staring eerily into space, silent as the grave for several minutes while his aides came along side to whisper in his ear. A US Senator from California clings to power despite deterioration of her mental and physical health. Although the United States is by far the youngest major power in the world as a nation, our leaders look like escapees from a Nursing Home.

2. The Front Runner for the Republican Party Presidential nomination and a former President of the United States has 97 pending felony charges against him, and is himself 77 years old. The previous sentence is one that I never thought I would write at any point during my life.

3. There is a professional baseball player out there who turned down a contract offer that would have paid him 400 million dollars over the next ten years, every dime of it guaranteed. Who does that? Juan Soto better hope he doesn’t slip on the stairs at his house and blow out his knee.

4. Aging has not at all been what I expected it to be. When I was a much younger man I would look at people in their 60’s and think, “Why are old people so grumpy, mean and set in their ways?” But over the last couple of years the aging process has manifested itself differently for me. The physical part sucks. When stuff starts breaking down, its no fun. Your body tries to warn you but you don’t listen. The other day the kid next door wanted to play some one on one. I took him on and although I managed to win, when it was over the kid went on about his day like nothing had happened. Me, on the other hand, spent twenty minutes in the jacuzzi to regain feeling in my extremities! But the physical is one thing, what has happened to my thinking and attitudes is what has been a whole other story. Instead of getting more set in my ways, I have begun to question my ways more than I ever have. I’m always thinking, “Why do I do this? Why do I think this way? Why have I always done things this way?” Its not that I am rejecting my earlier ideas or habits necessarily, but I am inspecting them more closely. Its difficult to explain. Some old habits and preferences haven’t changed at all, but others have. There are publications I used to read without much scrutiny or criticism which now I find myself questioning…wait a minute, that’s not true! At one time in my life I could be very unyielding about certain things. Now I find myself much more willing to listen. I’m growing much more contrarian with age. I’m much more suspicious of conventional wisdom. Groupthink still repulses me but as I get older I am much more likely to notice that groupthink in my own views. And there’s another thing…

The other day I was meeting with a client and was telling her a story about something her deceased husband had done for me many years ago. Right in the middle of the telling I suddenly choked up—in front of a client!!!—to the point where I had to pause the story to gather myself. Its not even the first time this has happened recently. This NEVER would have happened when I was 40. I have never been overly sentimental…until I turned 60 or so. Now, sentimentality rears its strange head at the oddest times and for the oddest reasons.

Don’t misunderstand. I still have my “get off my lawn” moments. I’m still stubborn about certain things. But there has also been a slow transformation in the way I think. Its as if the more I know, the less I think I know. Maybe thats not the best way to say it. Perhaps its closer to this—the more I know, the more I realize I don’t now.

Pete’s Preaching Today

Pete is preaching today. At my church you never know who will be in the pulpit from one week to the next. Most of the time its David Dwight, but there are three or four other guys who take turns. Today it will be Pete Bowell. I know this because it was my turn to prepare the discussion questions for the sermon this week, so I received his notes on Monday. I had seriously considered calling Tera Fleming, the coordinator of this project, and telling her that I couldn’t do it this week. I didn’t feel up to it honestly. But then I started to feel guilty for disappointing Tera by shirking my responsibility, so I opened the email and read through Pete’s sermon notes.

I can picture him delivering this message. This one is right in his wheelhouse. The topic is anxiety, precisely, why it is that we humans constantly worry about everything. The scripture is from the 6th chapter of Matthew’s gospel, right in the middle of the famous Sermon on the Mount. As fate would have it—if you believe in fate—crushing anxiety was the very thing that almost caused me to bail on this responsibility this week. Had I followed through on the bailing I would have missed my encounter with the words of Jesus in Matthew 6: 25-34. It was exactly what I needed to be confronted with this week. The worry and anxiety had become debilitating, it felt like I was wearing a thick and heavy winter coat in the midst of a heat wave. Reading this passage and Pete’s thoughts, along with a few encouraging and wise texts from Tera brought me back into a place of relative strength and peace.

So, there are many lessons to be taken from this experience. First, don’t shirk your responsibilities. It was my turn to do the discussion questions. My mood of the moment was irrelevant to that responsibility. Second, the scriptures are alive with the power to inform and correct, no matter how many times you have read them. They are new every morning.

So, I will listen closer than usual this morning to Pete’s words. He will make me laugh out loud at least once. He will add things that weren’t in his notes. But I will come away from it feeling more confidence and less fear. 

National Dog Day…what a racket!!

What a racket. Dogs, who already have the cushiest life on Earth, have somehow finagled a way to earn an exclusive day on the calendar. Like they actually needed an official day. Anyone who has a dog will tell you that every single day is Dog Day. No matter what bizarre, hair brained, cock-eyed stunt they pull they know that at the end of the day they will still get their dinner, a couple of treats, plenty of “good boy’s” and tummy scratches. And now they need more fawning devotion?

Dogs spend 14 hours a day asleep in a variety of shameful poses usually hogging an entire sofa in the process. When they are finally able to rouse themselves from repose they spend another hour searching the yard for the exact perfect spot to relieve themselves. Then there’s the endless growling and barking at the unfortunate man and women who had the nerve to walk their dog on the street in front of the house. Who could forget the ever vigilant warning woofs whenever any delivery man shows up with a box in hand—even though half the time the box contains yet another toy for her?!

Although it isn’t fair to accuse all dogs of the following behavior, our Lucy adds several more wacko traits to the list. First there is the strange meal time protocol that she established years ago whereby she insists upon complete stillness and silence from everyone in the house during her mealtime. You heard that right. When Lucy eats her morning and evening meal she refuses to begin until both of us are seated. It doesn’t matter where we are seated, just that we are not standing. This is non-negotiable. Then there is her psychotic relationship to the stairs in our house. 

Although neither of us can recall any bad stairway experience in Lucy’s entire existence, whenever she is upstairs and we want her to come downstairs, she insists upon an escort. The only exception to the Psycho Stair Rules is when a visitor arrives at the front door. Then its full speed ahead. The second exception is that none of the Psycho Stair Rules apply to any set of stairs in Maine, no matter if they are scary steep and into the darkest abyss, Lucy is convinced that all stairs in Maine lead to a lake. Lastly, there is her supernatural hearing that manifests itself whenever one of us begin eating a bowl of ice cream. No matter how quiet and stealthy I am and no matter where I hide in the house to eat the ice cream—as soon as I near the bottom of the bowl and my spoon makes that tinging sound when I begin scraping the bowl’s bottom, Lucy miraculously appears, as if by teleportation, at my feet with that irresistibly forlorn expression on her face:

Does she look like she needs a National Dog Day? She needs a psychiatrist, that’s what she needs!

But, like all dogs, Lucy is loved deeply and profoundly by everyone who knows her. Despite the considerable work and inconvenience that dogs bring to our lives, they bring something else that is almost impossible to find these days, let alone quantify—joy. 

A Wearisome Day

There are days in every life that feel wrong. From the moment you wake up something seems amiss. You stare longer into the mirror trying to identify the cause but you look the same, just a bit older. You complete your routine without incident. You drink your coffee and get out the door at the regular time. You tell yourself you should eat something but you have no appetite. You head to the office and don’t remember anything about the drive when you arrive. The air seems tepid as it stirs around you somewhere between humid and refreshing. The place is empty when you unlock the door.

There are a couple messages blinking at you from the phone on the credenza. You feel overwhelming dread at what awaits although you have no reason for such pessimism. The messages were both benign. You feel momentarily like a fool. You glance at your agenda for the day and there is nothing there which would justify the great unease that you have felt since 5:45 in the morning. You pour a second cup of coffee and settle in to the work.

You meet with your assistant and find it difficult to pay attention. You can’t afford a wasted day at this point. There is a lot to do, several appointments to plan for. You need to prepare a presentation. There are two clients with review documents that need to be assembled. Suddenly the tasks at hand feel leaden, too much for you. Its a ridiculous notion. You could do all of this in your sleep. You need something to eat. You pick over the offerings in the conference room but take nothing.

You begin returning calls and checking off agenda items. Nearly everything goes perfectly. You skim through the moderate number of business emails and find nothing of significance. You open up two news articles that are appropriate to your industry and skim through the first few paragraphs of each while nausea begins to build. Even though you should read each through to the end you can’t make yourself do it. 

You think of several volunteer tasks you have taken on later in the week and realize that one of them you will need to bow out of because of an unavoidable scheduling conflict. The other one you have plenty of time to do but the thought of it feels daunting even though its anything but. In fact, it happens to be something you love to do. You have to find a way to shake off this inexcusable and self-indulgent melancholy.

It is 2:45 in the afternoon and you are as unmotivated as it is possible to be. You find yourself at the Cadillac dealer having the battery replaced in your key fob. The attendant has to speak your name twice to get your attention. He hands it back to you as good as new and you can’t remember giving it to him. It occurs to you that your mind has been consumed with a minor health procedure that you are dealing with in less than a week. Yesterday you were at the doctor’s office for a preliminary checkup in preparation for the main event next week and from the second you arrived there the smell of the place has brought back twenty year old memories, none of them good. Its total nonsense to equate one with the other. Complete foolishness. But the mind has thoughts of its own and try as you might sometimes you are powerless against them.

Dinner will help. I will grill steaks. There will be tomato pie. Tomorrow will be a new day.

Free

It took a while. It was a rough transition, a difficult re-adjustment. But I am completely back in Short Pump mode, fully immersed in the life I have built here. Then, early this morning I stumbled across this photograph:

There was no identifying time or date. I recognize the dock and lake to be Loon Landing on Quantabacook. Could have been anytime in the last seven or eight years. It doesn’t matter really. It was a sunset and I thought to take a picture of Pam and Lucy admiring the beauty. But for some reason this morning it nearly brought me to tears. Its why we keep going back. Its why we spend so much money borrowing other people’s houses for insanely long stretches of time—for these transcendent moments of beauty that have the power to transform us, to make us better people for having witnessed them.

Of course, moments of beauty can be found everywhere, even Short Pump. But most of the time we are too preoccupied with our routines to notice them here. If I were better at living in the moment I would see them all around me. But I’m not, so I go to Maine where it is exceedingly difficult not to live in the moment. That’s where moments like this one come out of nowhere and stop you in your tracks.

How much would you pay for that sunset? There isn’t enough money in the world and besides—its free.