Category Archives: mid-life transition

Contemplating a Mid-Life Migration

04 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in adult children, aging, environment, friendship, mid-life transition, travel, writing

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Last weekend we shared homemade pizza with friends on our back deck while a great blue heron sailed overhead. Throughout the course of the meal, we heard orioles singing and saw flashes of orange as they flitted across the yard between their nest in the willow tree and the fruit trees in our garden. A grosbeak, hummingbirds, and various other winged residents also made appearances as they went about their evening business.

When you aren’t confronted by the ticks, poison ivy, and mosquitoes, and don’t have to cut the grass, weed the garden, or shovel the driveway when you’d rather be doing something else, this place can feel like paradise.

We moved to Concord almost 20 years ago, and Paul and I still remember a day that first spring when we looked out a window to see our 10-year-old son trailing a pheasant across the back lawn, nearly stepping on the end of its long, sweeping tail.

Our pheasant-follower and his younger brother grew up here. They went to school here. And now they have both moved on to make their own homes and create their own exciting adventures. And as hard it will be to leave this house and yard behind, Paul and I are ready to move on too.

At least we think we are.

In an ideal world, we could create an oasis like this one in the middle of some city. A city that has sidewalks, public transportation, and a rich cultural life —all things that are missing and are sorely missed in our current location.

I want diverse neighbors, a corner store, a local cafe, and a bit of nightlife. I’d love to attend a movie or a concert and then walk home afterward while discussing what we’ve just seen or heard.

In his recent op-ed piece for The New York Times about New York City’s new bike-share program, David Byrne captured my idealized version of city living as he described the different routes he takes on his bike to pick up groceries, commute to work, or visit friends. And he talked about making his home in the big city.

“I just turned 60 and have no plans to retire to the suburbs,” he writes. “I love it here.”

“That’s what I want,” I thought. “A place I can fall in love with, a place that stimulates my intellect and fosters my creativity.”

But then, just below his paean to urban life was another op-ed by his daughter, Malu, who described the optimal environments of young artists like herself who have left the city because of its high cost and many distractions.

“I might have to escape New York to keep my artistic spirit alive,” she writes.

Somewhere between Byrne’s viewpoint and that of his daughter lies the crux of my dilemma. I want the bustle and excitement of the city but not the noise. I want to be able to move around freely even when—especially when — I am too old to drive, but worry that the constant press of people will grate on my introvert soul.

While any place that Paul and I are together will feel like home, I also want to find  my own niche. I want to write in my office and then meet friends for coffee at a neighborhood cafe, or spend the afternoon wandering around a nearby museum.

I know that there is no ideal place, there are only places that you make idyllic. Paul and I will take a few trips, and maybe someplace will click for both of us. Maybe no place will, and we’ll decide that this is the only home we want.

In the meantime, it’s fun to weigh our options and examine the possibilities. That’s the joy of being middle aged. Even with financial restrictions, we are as free as we’ll ever be to do what we want.

I will be sad when/if we leave this house and town that has become so familiar and where we have lived so much life. And I’ll miss those birds. But I’m also ready to follow their example. Yes, they return every spring, but in the fall they leave that empty nest without hesitation. They move forward.

Armchair Traveler

21 Monday May 2012

Posted by in aging, inspiration, meditation, mid-life transition, travel, writing

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Yep, it’s a pretty slow day here at the homestead. We’re just sitting around and thinking, cogitating, mulling things over, chewing the fat with ourselves. You get the picture

When I find myself stuck in the mental doldrums where there is both everything and nothing to write about, I look for inspiration elsewhere.

I didn’t have to look far: This morning two beautiful pieces about traveling crossed my screen almost simultaneously.

The first is by my long-time friend Martha Nichols. In her piece, “Why Travel?” she describes what travel does to her “inner landscape.”

“When you go to a new place, you’re more vulnerable,” she writes. “It’s as if a crack of light opens in the clouds, illuminating your inner landscape as well as what’s passing outside.”

This piece reminds me that no matter how far I roam, I can never escape myself. Martha explains why the hard parts of travel are also the most valuable.

Then, over at Lost in Arles, my new friend Heather Robinson tells the story of how she came to live in Arles. She says it’s a story that bears repeating and I say it’s a story worth sharing.

“Inside an abandoned church, we looked at the work of Harry Gruyaert’s ‘Rivages,’ ” she recalls. “We turned ourselves towards beauty and that stirring surged up into tears. We knew. This was where we were ready to be.”

Indeed, Heather’s entire blog is a celebration of the beauty she finds in the landscape, villages, and food around her. Every one of her posts is un petit cadeau dropped into my inbox.

And then, because I also needed a bit of bucking up, I reread a favorite piece by Dominique Browning. “Go where the love is,” she advises.

“That means not only doing what you love, but being where people love you–where they understand what you do, and, more important, where they have an affinity for who you are. Where the wellspring of creativity can be nurtured.”

And that’s what I’ve been doing these past couple of years as I search for new ways of working. Her post reminds me that if I keep planting the right kind of seeds, something satisfying and meaningful will eventually take root.

And finally, I leave you with this video of fearless young women cruising down la Sierra de Madrid. I may have a middle-aged body, but my spirit still soars like a twenty-something’s and I can feel the wind in my face and the road vibrating under my wheels as I watch them sail down the mountain on their longboards.

This Mother’s Day, I’m Thanking the Men in my Life

10 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in adult children, inspiration, mid-life transition

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During my sophomore year of high school, my mother took me to a jewelry store at the local shopping center. She wanted to buy me a bracelet. The two of us picked out a nearly one-inch-wide cuff of sterling silver.

I remember the day as being sunny, and not too cold as we walked outside from store to store. Looking back, I imagine us chatting and laughing at some story about one of her friends. We were comfortable together. At the time, it seemed like an ordinary mother-daughter moment.

A few months later, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and a year after that, she was gone forever. In the wake of those facts, that we ever enjoyed such ordinary moments seems extraordinary.

Now that I’m a mom myself, I’ve learned to savor the everyday time with my sons. It’s in those moments when we truly connect as people. It might happen in the car, for example, when a son finally ‘fesses up to what’s been on his mind, or plugs in his iPod to share some music that exposes his softer, romantic side.

Sometimes we connect over food, or while walking around a son’s new neighborhood. A spark might flare in a complicit, but loving, exchange of looks triggered by something amusing that Dad has just said or done (usually in the kitchen).

I love those exchanges. They say, “I know you,” and they almost always show me something new about myself and the people I love.

My mom has been gone for my entire adult life. And while the example she set as a mother is forever imprinted on my psyche, it’s the men in my life who have taught me the real down-in-the-trenches lessons of mom-dom.

My husband not only taught me how to make an infant laugh, he continues to give me the young man’s point-of-view when there’s something going on that I just don’t get. And each of my sons, in moments both painful and gratifying, have shown me something that I needed to know, or pushed me to acknowledge something that I didn’t want to see.

So this Mother’s Day, as I remember my own mother, I also give a nod to the men in my life. Thanks guys, you make my life more beautiful every day.

Is it Time to Disrupt Our Inner Climate?

23 Friday Mar 2012

Posted by in adult children, aging, environment, inspiration, meditation, mid-life transition, pets

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It has been a week of changes here at our little homestead.

On Monday, our son Karsten left for his Peace Corps assignment. He will be living and working in Morocco for the next 27 months. He had been staying with us off and on since June, and was here full-time for his last six weeks in the states.

The house feels pretty empty. Not that he was loud or took up a ton of space, but his presence — the smell of his cooking; the sound of his voice as he practiced his Arabic; and the buzz of excitement as he greeted the dog every time he walked in the door — is suddenly gone.

Karina still listens for him, jumping up and barking every time a car door slams. One night Paul found her alone in the dark, at her favorite post, waiting for him to come home.

But our collective melancholy over Karsten’s departure is more than matched by our excitement for him and his new adventure, his new life.

Then it was Wednesday, my birthday.

And we were in the middle of a freakishly warm week. This photo of our back yard, taken on March 21, 2012 provides a snapshot of what Dominique Browning, cofounder and senior director of Moms Clean Air Force calls “climate disruption.”

First, we have chunks of our ancient willow trees littering our lawn. This was the work of Hurricane Irene, which severed an entire trunk of one tree last August, and the heavy snow from New England’s “Halloween snowstorm,” which brought down several large branches.

These trees are so old, they touch the sky.

Then we have the daffodils. I was born within a day of the spring equinox, yet I don’t remember ever seeing daffodils bloom on my birthday.

Change inside. Change outside.

I was thinking about all of this when I woke up on Friday and opened my email to find this question from Seth Godin.

Did you wake up fresh today, a new start, a blank slate with resources and opportunities… or is today yet another day of living out the narrative you’ve been engaged in for years?

Funny, because with Paul’s semi-retirement, and both sons launched, and then this week re-launched, our conversations are full of ideas for changing our narrative as a couple. Where do we want to live? Where can we live? What work will we do? And what do we want to accomplish in the years ahead?

But Godin is talking about changes within ourselves, and I think his advice is particularly relevant for people who are in their fifties and sixties. As he observes,

The truth though, is that doing what you’ve been doing is going to get you what you’ve been getting. If the narrative is getting in the way, if the archetypes you’ve been modeling and the worldview you’ve been nursing no longer match the culture, the economy or your goals, something’s got to give.

… When patterns in engagements with the people around you become well-worn and ineffective, are they persistent because they have to be, or because the story demands it?

Change is everywhere. Change is hard. And creating internal climate disruption — re-examining old habits of perception and decision-making that persist because that is what we have always done — is the hardest change of all.

This isn’t about hunkering down for a session of self-blame or questioning every decision we have made since our 18th birthday. Not at all. It’s about opening the doors and windows of our mind, letting in fresh air and light, and viewing the world through a different lens.

Because when we clear away old baggage and take another look, we make room for new growth.

Wish You’d Answered JFK’s Call to Service? It’s Not Too Late!

18 Sunday Mar 2012

Posted by in adult children, mid-life transition, travel

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Joining the Peace Corps when you are over 50.

Map from U.S. Department of State website

His bags are packed. In a few hours our 26-year-old son will begin his journey to Morocco as a Peace Corps volunteer.

As the minutes tick by, my husband and I are feeling a mixture of pride, excitement, and sadness—he has never lived so far away.

I also confess to a bit of jealousy. An experience like this wasn’t on my radar when I was his age.

But as it happens, the Peace Corps is not just for the young. Those of us who are old enough to remember President Kennedy’s call to service in the 1960s are still eligible to answer it—and many of us are doing just that. While the typical Peace Corps volunteer is in his or her mid- to late twenties, 7 percent of volunteers are over the age of 50.

According to Andrea Fellows, a marketing and outreach recruiter at Peace Corps, older volunteers are invaluable because they bring deep expertise to the table. “Our first goal in the countries we serve is teaching people a skill,” she says “We love seeing people who have been working in a specific field for 10- or 20-plus years because we know they will be able to do the job very, very well.”

For example, dietician Beth Payne began her service at age 62, after retiring from her career at the Department of Veterans Affairs. Payne was assigned to work at the national nutrition agency in Gambia, West Africa, where she did policy development, reviewed reports, participated in nutritional surveillance, and taught at the local university and school of public health. “The assignment was a perfect fit,” she says. “The benefit of being an older volunteer is that you don’t become a jack-of-all-trades, but rather use your specific skills.”

Adapting to What’s Not “Normal”

In addition to a strong skill set, Fellows says, you must have solid reasons for volunteering; the emotional maturity to function far away from loved ones and friends; and cultural sensitivity. That final criterion “is huge,” Fellows notes. “People have to be willing to adapt to things that aren’t ‘normal’ to them, but that may be part of the culture where they are volunteering.” A sense of service and the ability to give freely are equally important, she adds.

Fellows also emphasizes the need to have all your ducks in a row. If you own a house, for example, will there be someone who can take care of it while you are away? Do you have children and grandchildren? Someone who may graduate from college or have a baby while you are away? “You have to be prepared to miss some of those life events,” she says. (The typical term of service in the Peace Corps is 27 months.)

Consulting with loved ones before deciding to apply is crucial, say Fellows and Payne. In Payne’s case, her adult children were delighted that she would finally fulfill a lifelong dream. “They both said, ‘You talked about it all our lives. Do it,’” Payne recalls. “If you don’t have that sort of encouragement, you can fall apart pretty fast. For your peace of mind you need to know what people who matter to you think about what you are doing.”

While all Peace Corps volunteers must be in good health, the organization does try to accommodate qualified applicants who have medical issues. “There isn’t any one thing that would prevent you from serving,” says Fellows. “We try to accommodate everyone. We recently placed a person who is HIV-positive.”

Even so, volunteers must have some level of physical fitness. Because they are not allowed to drive, volunteers in more rural places may have to walk or ride a bike to get from place to place. “All the older volunteers I served with were placed in cities or villages where this wasn’t an issue,” says Fellows, who served in the Republic of Moldova.

Of Pit Latrines and Perseverance

Payne’s assignment was in a major city where she had access to public transportation, but her language training took place in a small village without running water and electricity. She said that she was nervous about her ability to use a pit latrine. “When you get older, your knees are not so great,” she says. “I had visions of squatting and not being able to get up. It took me about four days to get used to it. The anxiety was much worse than the actual event,” she laughs.

In addition to good health, perseverance is another important trait. Older volunteers, who are accustomed to feeling competent, may face a few failures. “They have to be willing to rethink, go back to the drawing board, and talk to the locals to learn how it can be done successfully,” Fellows says.

Learning a new language at an older age can be tough, and Payne is grateful that she worked in an environment where English was the official language. But Fellows insists that language should be an older volunteer’s last concern. “Our language program and support are second to none,” she asserts. “In Peace Corps they throw you into a host family and you are forced to build upon what you learn every day.”

While citizens of their host country revere older volunteers, they can sometimes find it difficult to find a support network when so many of their colleagues are in a different life stage. “Developing some sort of a sounding board the first year that I was there was far more difficult,” Payne recalls. “There was nobody my age. Once there were people who would enjoy a glass of wine with me rather than a bottle of beer, things got much better.”

Challenges aside, Payne has no regrets. “I’m so glad I finally did it!” she says. “I learned that I can be extremely flexible and go with the flow; that I’m a better teacher than I thought I was; and that I can be patient when I need to be.”

For more information, visit the Peace Corps website. In addition,  “The Peace Corps: Volunteering at Age 50+” (PDF) provides many details to help older volunteers prepare for service.

Photo from iexplore.com

Another version of this piece was published by Women’s Voices for Change under the title, “JFK’s Peace Corps Call — Wish You’d Answered it? It’s Not Too Late!”

Joy!

03 Saturday Mar 2012

Posted by in environment, mid-life transition, pets

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I woke up this morning to a house and yard enveloped by heavy, white air. Rain was coming down, and the ground was covered with several inches of icy slush. It was hard not to feel as gloomy as the weather.

A walk in the woods is my antidote for gloom. In the woods the weather is almost always better. You are protected. The trees take the brunt of a cold rain or a harsh wind. And even if you do come home cold and wet, your spirits are high, and your mind is clear.

And how could that not be the case when you walk with a friend who exudes joy in every move. And you are her joy just as she is yours.

Fostering Healthy Relationships with Adult Children: An Expert Weighs In

28 Tuesday Feb 2012

Posted by in adult children, mid-life transition

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In my previous post, I wrote about my changing relationships with my adult children. As my son Ben, a 28-year old musician, observed in a recent email, “As we have come to understand that boundaries are different than they once were, we’ve tacitly accepted it but also had moments here and there where it has become clear that a specific boundary is different than it once was.”

And it’s in those “moments” that we parents often struggle. Should we remain silent? Should we speak up? And if we speak up, what do we say, and how do we say it?

Looking for answers, I called up Dr. Ruth Nemzoff, author of Don’t Bite Your Tongue: How to Foster Rewarding Relationships with Your Adult Children.

As you can imagine from her title, Nemzoff advocates speaking up—but with a few caveats. Here are her suggestions:

Lay the groundwork for adult conversations. One way to do that, says Nemzoff, is by sharing some of your daily dilemmas before your child leaves the nest. Annoyed at your boss, for example? Share the story.

“Often parents feel they have to be perfect in their children’s eyes or they don’t want to bother them, but children learn a great deal from our mistakes and our struggles,” says Nemzoff. “So learning that you were miffed at your boss today is an interesting thing because you stayed at the job even though you were miffed. How did you handle it? Did you blow up? Or did you talk to him or her a few days later?”

She also suggests soliciting their advice when appropriate. “Say, for example, you have a noisy coworker.  They know about that. They face it every day in the cafeteria at school.”

Invite them into solutions. Chats about real-life problem- solving can set the stage for later conversations. For example, if your college freshman, home for a holiday break, bristled over rules set in high school, Nemzoff suggests making a pre-emptive phone call before he returns in the spring.

“Think about the rough spots and then talk about them on the phone,” she says. “Perhaps a rough spot was when you asked, ‘What time are you coming home?’ You can acknowledge that at college no one’s asking that, but explain that as his mother, you can’t just turn it off. Perhaps instead you can ask, ‘At what time should I start to worry?’”

“You have to be flexible, but so does he,” Nemzoff adds. “He has to understand that things have changed for you, too, and that you may not be as available as you were when he lived at home full-time.”

Choose your battles. As much as parents don’t want to feel silenced, they can opt to not say anything. “Being silenced by someone else is very different from deciding to be silent,” says Nemzoff. If your adult child’s behavior isn’t harming anyone, then perhaps you should remain silent and save your advice for another time, she suggests. Nemzoff also recommends couching the advice you do give as just one perspective, suggesting that your children seek other opinions as well.

Use the same communication skills you employ with others.  As with anyone, timing, tone, and environment all matter when initiating an important conversation with your adult child. You wouldn’t ask your boss for a raise after making a big mistake, any more than you would loudly demand a raise in a public place.

“We fantasize that we can say anything we want to our kids, but the truth is, we never could,” Nemzoff says.  “When I’m babysitting my grandson I don’t tell him that we are going to the circus while I’m putting him in bed. He’d never get to sleep!”

Maintaining open communications with our children is endlessly challenging, but ultimately rewarding. And, as Ben notes, always evolving.

“Gradually coming to see your parents as equals, or at least equally human, is a big one. While the first 18 to 22 years of my life were spent as the focus of care and attention while I faced various transitions, I now find myself somewhat stable, while my parents are wrestling with major changes to the life that they’ve had over the last thirty years. Seeing this has led me to understand our relationship as being co-equal in certain ways. For example, as a freelancer in a creative field undergoing major changes due to the Internet, I can trade ideas and commiserate with my mom’s journey as a writer.”

In addition to Nemzoff’s book, I also recommend this essay by writer Dominique Browning, which contains valuable tips for planning a vacation with adult children. In retrospect, if my husband and I had followed Browning’s first rule, “Turn it over to a younger power,” our Paris trip would have gone much more smoothly.

(photo by Paul Syversen)

This piece was originally posted on Women’s Voices for Change. 

Family, Dynamic

26 Sunday Feb 2012

Posted by in adult children, mid-life transition, travel

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A dozen years or so ago, my husband and I were sipping coffee at an outdoor cafe in Harvard Square. Seated one table away was what we assumed to be a college student with his visiting parents. We could overhear the low babble and occasional laughter of what sounded like an easy conversation.

“I hope we get that with our guys,” I commented. “I certainly never had it with my parents.” Indeed, neither of us had. I lost my mother at age 17 and was left with a father who was unable to sit still for any normal conversation, while Paul’s parents lived several states away, and visits with them were rare.

Our two sons, who were in high school when we had that exchange, are now well into their twenties. And we have enjoyed numerous meals and lively conversations with them. For the most part, our adult sons seem to enjoy spending time with us.

So I was taken by surprise last summer when things went awry during a family vacation in Europe. The trip started out happily enough with a family wedding in Italy. But after we left for France, things started to go haywire.

Each of us was in the throes of a major transition. My husband and I were adjusting to his retirement the month before. Older Son joined us on the heels of completing an intense project —a concert tour with his trio that as “band mom” he had organized and led after a year of planning. And Younger Son was in limbo, awaiting final word on his Peace Corps assignment.

We were all making huge changes, and while we didn’t know it, our relationships with each other were changing too. There were squabbles and showdowns the likes of which we hadn’t experienced since the boys were teenagers. In fact, I felt as though the ride from Florence to Paris took place in a time machine, rather than on a train.

View from inside the time capsule

For one thing, our sons were no longer willing to sit back and let Dad lead the way. With three leaders and only one follower, it took us forever to get anywhere. Finally, Younger Son grabbed my husband’s GPS and laid down the law. “I know what I’m doing, Dad. Let me lead.”  And Older Son, who had been riding the Paris subways for a couple of weeks by this time, had his own ideas about which trains we should take.

What do you mean I'm supposed to follow you?

And Dad wasn’t the only one being chastised, I was in for some critiquing too, and unlike my husband, I let it get to me. I will always remember this trip as the one where I walked around Paris with a constant lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. My children didn’t need me — did they even like me? —and there was nothing I could do about it.

Alone in Paris (photo by Paul Syversen)

Except that there was. After a serious talk with one son, and a loud argument with the other (I yelled), and some time apart, we did manage to come together and enjoy each other’s company. But I know I wasn’t the only one heading home with this equation in my head: family+ vacation = oxymoron.

Then, Christmas rolled around, and something had changed again. One son suggested that we each cook a dish or two for the family dinner. Everyone liked the idea and my husband and I were thrilled to share that responsibility.

The transformational moment arrived when the two young men came back from buying ingredients at the grocery store, and neither of them handed us a receipt. Clearly, they were taking full ownership for their portion of the meal. Although we haven’t supported either of them financially for some time, in that moment something changed. I saw them more clearly as equals and Paul and I were no longer just parents, but people too. The resulting feast was especially delicious.

I now know that as tough as that Paris trip was, it helped us all move forward. I realized (and I hope we all did) that the four of us have to keep talking and listening, and that sometimes the most difficult conversations are also the most rewarding.

I’ve also discovered that my relationship with my adult children will always require tweaking and even major adjustments. And though I advocate initiating difficult conversations, there are ways to handle them that don’t involve yelling — or even tears.

Equal

In my next post, I consult with an expert.

***

This piece was originally posted on Women’s Voices for Change.

It’s Not Your Age, It’s Your Attitude

22 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by in mid-life transition

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Middle age is definitely on my mind these days. After all, it’s the theme of this blog.

One thing I have struggled with is the concern that others may view me as somehow less interesting because I am “over the hill.” Lately, however, as I have stretched my legs and tried some new things, I have realized that my experience makes me more interesting, not less.

Age truly is an attitude. What does that mean? Well, for one thing it means chucking one’s rearview mirror and instead staying open to what’s ahead on the other side of the windshield.

In fact, hanging on to that rearview mirror can hamper you in the workplace, an idea that emerged in an interview I did a few weeks ago with business guru Margaret Heffernan.

In answering my question, What is your advice for a woman over 40 who has lost her job during this ongoing recession and is trying to get back in the game? She said,

One of the hardest things around this, that I’ve noticed with a lot of my former employees and friends, is that when they get stuck, it’s because they are looking for things to be the way they used to be.

Nothing ages you faster than talking about the “good old days.” Don’t like today’s online communication, for example? Well maybe getting a Twitter account will help you stay abreast of your adult son’s comings and goings. Following a blog might take you to some new and exciting places and inspire your imagination. And yes, there is nothing like receiving a letter in the mail, but isn’t it also great to see a loved one’s face as you video-chat with them over the internet?

My concerns about aging are also based in vanity. No one will ever mistake me for a 30- or even a 40-year old again, because the skin doesn’t lie. But lately, I’ve also realized that it’s better to accept these changes rather than obsess over them. Maybe beauty can come from something more than lucky genetics. It’s also in the way you carry yourself and approach the world. This theme cropped up in a couple of places last week.

First, in a piece by Garance Doré, a photographer whose subjects are often young, beautiful, and impossibly stylish. In this particular post, she focused on a 48-year old woman who has her own line of beauty products. Upon learning the woman’s age, Doré documented her inner reaction this way,

I don’t want to say that she ‘seems much younger’ (even if that’s the first thing I thought) because ‘seems much younger’ shouldn’t be the ultimate compliment. The ultimate compliment would be something like she’s ‘in amazing shape.’

She went on to say that, “…aging gracefully requires an attitude, coolitude, and a certain serenity.” These words felt downright uplifting coming from a style icon in her  thirties, whose work is steeped in the youth-obsessed fashion industry.

The idea that beauty is epitomized by being in “amazing shape” rather than looking young was echoed later in the week in a piece by my friend, Ronnie Citron-Fink over at Econesting. In “Stay Fit,” Citron-Fink mentions winning a Nastar ski race at age 50 and then shares a video of a 95-year old ballet dancer going through her daily exercise routine. Talk about serenity!

As I work to shed old attitudes and preconceptions, I’m learning that getting older has its advantages. My inner revolutionary hasn’t died. In fact, she is more alive than ever. And because I am learning to please myself as much as others, I’m also gaining the confidence to let her speak.

Yes, I am middle-aged. It’s time to let go and be who I am.

When a Spouse Retires

13 Friday Jan 2012

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At the last minute, on a rainy Thursday, my husband suggested that we go into Boston to visit a favorite museum. With this seemingly innocuous request, my personal tectonic plates began grinding away. Thursday is a work day. I should be at my desk writing, not wandering around a museum like a person on vacation. Didn’t he understand that I was on a schedule? That routine is the anxious person’s lifeline when navigating unfamiliar terrain?

In the end I calmed my inner earthquake, put my work aside, and went. I wasn’t on a tight deadline, and after all, spontaneous weekday excursions are exactly the kind of thing we had fantasized about when we were both working full-time.

Such a choice is a great problem to have. Yet ever since Paul announced his intent to retire after 32 years at the same company and start working for himself, I’ve often found myself trying to steady my roiling emotions.

He was already working for this large technology company when we met. Over the years he worked his way up from quality control inspector to mechanical engineer. That work, combined with my own income, helped us to buy a house, to raise, educate, and launch our two sons, and to do a bit of traveling.

When I was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer, the benefits that came with that job covered my treatments. With the exception of the year when Paul was bumped down in pay and position due to cutbacks, his company seemed, from my perspective, both steady and reliable.

The same has not been true for my own employment. While I have worked for a variety of organizations since my youngest son was in nursery school, I was laid off the summer before Paul’s announcement. Now in my mid-50s, I am nowhere near ready to retire. Yet the prospects for regular employment, especially for a writer in an evolving publishing environment, are uncertain.

So I was nervous—at times even panic-stricken—about letting go of that security blanket. But I also wanted to support Paul’s dream of being his own boss and doing more satisfying work. For the past couple of years he’d been doing carpentry for friends. Now, at age 62, he wanted to turn that hobby into a second, part-time career.

After a lot of talking, we began some serious research. Together, we met with a financial planner. She believed that Paul’s modest pension, combined with his carpentry business, could keep us afloat, especially when she factored in his retirement savings and Social Security.

We both left those meetings elated. Yet, while he remained buoyant, my nagging fears would seep back in. For me, those meetings brought up a host of issues— and they weren’t all financial.

Having faced my own mortality at the early age of 39, I was suddenly faced with his. Why else would the financial planner recommend that he take out a generous life insurance policy? Because he might die someday and leave me alone.

Also, even if he wasn’t going to die soon, he was clearly getting older. Would the day come when my still-agile husband couldn’t climb ladders, use power tools, or beat our sons at ping pong? It might.

Well, if that’s the case, then he should retire. Today! I countered to myself. After all, stress takes years off your life. His previous job was a hotbed of stress. Also, if he’s getting older, then so am I, and we’d better have a few adventures while we still can!

My mood swung back and forth as reliably as a pendulum. I’d go from being the supportive, enthusiastic spouse I wanted to be to one who got snippy at the slightest provocation. My inner control freak went into overdrive—a few crumbs left on the kitchen counter suddenly became a major offense.

Eventually, the happy thoughts outshouted the grimmer ones. And as we kept talking and planning, we were both convinced that it was time to turn what had become a shared dream into a reality. So he set a date for early June.

Six months later, the alarm clock is silent. We get up when we wake up, eat breakfast, and discuss our plans for the day. There are still many adjustments. For example, because he no longer keeps a set schedule, he’s often at home when I need to work. He doesn’t always remember that writers can’t write and answer questions at the same time.

He’s learning though. In fact, we both are.

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This piece was originally posted on Women’s Voices for Change.