My self, that part of me which feels, perceives, thinks, wills, and especially, reasons, is divided.
I’m 2.5 years past the normal retirement age in my country of birth, and 12.5 years beyond the customary retirement age here in Zambia.
I have cut back. I work from 6:30 to 13. In the afternoon I read and putter and take a nap. Then, around 17, I get a second breeze (second winds are a faint memory) and do some writing and chores.
On days when I have no appointments or deadlines, I think “Ah, so if I retired life might look something like this. No pressure. Do whatever I like. This is what I want.” But on such a day, when I choose the activities I like, I often look back and think I’ve wasted the day. Or worse, what I’m feeling is boredom, despite all the ways in which I tried to be entertained.
Then on those days where there are lots of emails to answer, money to move for missionaries, book chapters and newsletters to edit, support work to be done for Debi and her troops, and handling of the person-to-person encounters necessary to minister and live and keep everything working in Africa, I get stressed. The work isn’t all that difficult, but it is enough to get me stirred up inside and to think, “If I retired I wouldn’t have to put up with this hassle.” Yet at the end of this type of day, I do have a feeling that I’ve accomplished something — that I’ve helped some folks.
So I’m not fully satisfied with a day under my control, and I’m not all that happy with days that put demands on me.
Most people who retire seem ready, and those who prefer to work past 65 obviously seem OK with that.
I want both. But I’m finding that it’s not easy, because circumstances guide me into an attitude in which the opposite of what I’m doing seems better. But when I get a steady diet of that “other” life, I reverse my preference.
That said, I think I’m at the stage where retirement often looks attractive, but deep down I feel I’m not quite ready for the highlight of my day to be back-to-back reruns of Law and Order.
