Flow State

Don’t worry. This won’t turn into a daily retirement blog. But that has been the most recent issue in my life, so that’s what you get for another few days.  This weekend I’m going to Wisconsin to hang with friends.  It’ll be bars, bags, guns, and fun.  Then I’ll turn this into a “bad decision” blog.  Anyway…

Yesterday, a friend asked how it is going. All in all – and granted, it’s been four days – it is going well. In large part, simply because of a change of mind. Permanent vacation vibes.

Retirement is easier when you actually believe you’re retired.

For the past several months, I was stuck in this weird limbo where I didn’t know where I’d be working, how long I’d be there, or whether somebody from CPS would suddenly decide I should report to a school 47 miles away because a guidance counselor’s cousin heard I once taught government.

Now I know exactly where I’m reporting every morning:

Nowhere.

And I have to admit, the commute is fantastic. I do not miss driving in Chicago traffic. At all. There hasn’t been a single moment when I’ve been sitting at home drinking coffee and thought, You know what would make this better? The Kennedy.

I also don’t miss having to be at work at 8:00, which, for me, meant being there by 7:30 because, apparently, I spent my entire working life afraid someone might catch me arriving on time.

On a morning like today, I’d already be leaving the house. Instead, I can drink another cup of coffee. Read the paper. Read the Bible. Eat breakfast. Exercise. Put something away as part of my ongoing Swedish Death Cleaning project. Look at the clock.

9:17.

Well, shit. Now what?

That is the one downside I’ve discovered. Retirement mornings are delightful. Retirement afternoons are…long.

In the morning, I get my exercise done. I read. I do whatever little tasks I’ve assigned myself to maintain the illusion that I’m a productive member of society. Then sometime around 1:30, I realize I’ve completed everything on my agenda.

I can read some more.

I can watch a movie.

I can take a nap.

I can stare at the dog until she becomes uncomfortable.

Normally, I’d go kayaking, take the dog somewhere, ride my bike, or just get outside. Unfortunately, Chicago has decided to celebrate my retirement by being approximately the temperature of Mercury’s surface. It’s been in the mid-90s, so I’m not taking the dog to the park unless I want to return home carrying her in an oven mitt.

But something else has happened that I didn’t expect.

I’ve slowed down. Literally.

When I walk to the gym to swim, I just…walk. This is new for me.

Normally, walking is simply an inefficient way to get from one thing I’m supposed to be doing to another. I walk quickly because I need to get to the gym, swim, shower, get dressed, get home, and move on to whatever comes next.

Now I amble.

I walk to the gym. I swim. I take my time getting dressed. Then I amble home. I’ve even started running farther from my house, knowing I’ll have a longer walk home afterward.

Because why not? There is nothing waiting for me. For someone who has spent most of his life rushing from one thing to another, this is surprisingly pleasant.

The other adjustment is that I’m alone a lot during the day. Yesterday after swimming, I stopped at Starbucks and sat there reading for a while. Yes, I wanted coffee. Yes, I wanted to read. But mostly I wanted to be among the humans.

I didn’t need anyone to talk to me. I just wanted confirmation that civilization was continuing while I was at home reorganizing a drawer. So I need to work on that part.

My original plan was to substitute teach a couple of days a week, which seemed perfect. I’d get out of the house, make a few bucks, interact with people, and then leave before anyone could ask me to join a committee.

Unfortunately, I quit a little too late for that. The private schools have their substitute rosters filled, and CPS apparently isn’t even hiring substitutes. (but I really didn’t want to work for CPS again anyway)

So, ironically, after spending the last few months desperately trying to escape teaching, I am now unable to teach.

Life comes at you fast.

I’ve started looking for other things. Next week I’m volunteering at a senior center where I’ll help play Bingo. I’ve volunteered there before, but back then anything in the evening came with a calculation: How tired will I be after work? How late will I get home? Is this worth giving up my precious free time?

Now? Sure. Bingo. Let’s get crazy.

I also signed up for two board-game nights at local bars. I like board games. I like bars. The only downside is going without a wingman, which isn’t exactly my favorite thing. But maybe I’ll meet some people who also enjoy board games, have a beer, and spend an evening arguing with strangers about whether I am legally allowed to place a settlement there.

Four days ago I was a high school teacher.

Next week I’m playing Bingo at a senior center and searching the Internet for other retired people. This transition is moving quickly.

There are also trips coming up. I’ll spend time at Webster, Wisconsin this weekend. October in Boston, November/December in Ohio, January in Utah, February in California, March in Banff.

Once winter arrives, I can ski during the week. And one of the nicest things about all of those things is knowing there isn’t work waiting for me afterward.

No Sunday dread. No wondering what fresh organizational insanity awaits Monday morning. No commute. No 7:30 arrival. And no feral fourth period.

That last one is important.

Whenever I start thinking, Maybe I should have kept working, I remind myself that every year there was at least one class that made me question every decision I’d made since birth.

Even at my old school, where I generally enjoyed teaching, there was always that class. You teachers know the one. The class where the bell rings and you briefly wonder if you could make a living selling plasma.

This year, my feral class was a double period.

A DOUBLE PERIOD.

So if I find myself bored at 2:15 one afternoon, sitting comfortably in my air-conditioned house wondering what to do with myself, I can always close my eyes and remember what 2:15 used to feel like.

Suddenly boredom seems pretty damn good.

I don’t know what this version of retirement will ultimately look like. I don’t even know if it is retirement. I may find another job. I may teach a college class. I may volunteer more. I may buy a little business. I may become the most feared 60-year-old board-game player on the North Side.

Or maybe I’ll just learn to be a person who doesn’t need every hour of every day filled.

That might actually be the biggest adjustment.

For most of my life, I’ve had somewhere I needed to be and something I needed to do. Now, for the first time in a very long time, I can walk slowly.

So far, I kind of like it.

And that’s the mindset shift.  I’m living for me each day.  Not in a selfish way.  I do chores at home, make my wife dinner, etc, but I’m not on anyone else’s schedule or demands.  Like I said, vacation vibes.  And knowing it’s not just a week or two but could be for the rest of my life actually makes it easier.  My life has slowed down to a speed I’m enjoying.  I don’t rush.  I don’t stress.  I don’t worry.

For one, since I was a toddler, I’ve just been living each moment and enjoying that.

As the man said, “Enjoy every sandwich”