I spent ten years treading water as an elementary school teacher before I was able to swim to the shores of retirement. True confession time, when my late husband, Bill was my tremulous fiancée he said, “Dahlin’, you can keep working or you can quit.” It took me less than five seconds to say, “I quit!” I was a prime candidate for high stress just driving to school. Hay trucks weaving and bobbing on a two lane highway at five miles per hour made me forget my Sunday School lessons.
Now, I can finish two cups of coffee without listening to the everlasting story of an elementary child. The story was, “Why I lost my homework.” Their excuses were extremely creative. Runaway weed eaters, paper eating dogs, and whirling cyclones are just some of the novel excuses. I can eat lunch without interruptions or looking at a child grinning at me through an orange rind. (Insert orange, rind side out and grin.)
For the first time in many years, I have options. Travel isn’t limited to June, July, and August. I can choose to stay at my computer and write or read a book I wish I had written.
Traveling takes on new meaning when you journey to a place that you’ve only seen in a textbook. Since leaving employment, I’ve toured Abe Lincoln’s real log cabin birthplace in Kentucky. The popsicle stick and glue models fashioned in the classroom don’t measure up to Abe’s genuine surroundings. As I walked through the Alamo I could hear my own voice as it echoed with the words, “And now class, turn to the Alamo chapter in your Social Studies textbooks.” How grateful I am! I was able to walk the grounds of the Alamo and experience the battle in a museum alive with artifacts, video presentations, and a terrific IMAX movie.
The mosquitoes and I have walked the Edisto Indian Trail with my new husband instead of merely tracing it on a map. “Don’t worry,” I reassured Bill as we took the trail, “this is an easy thirty minute walk, it says so right here in the guidebook.” False propaganda also lives in guidebooks. Two hours later, we didn’t know if we were seeing our car or just a mirage. The low country pests found my groom so delicious our doctor had to treat him when we arrived home.
Retirement is a time to reflect, regroup, renew, and retread. As I wrote my memoirs, I reflected on joys, sorrows, and lessons learned from my past. Regrouping finances for retirement is a reality check. It’s great to have a Plan B that doesn’t include the stock market.
Volunteer activities are another path to renewal. I reaped a wonderful harvest of love from the grief support group that God allowed me to lead for three years. As I helped others navigate tidal waves of grief I was also rewarded.
When I was a student I read Charlotte Bronte, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I longed to be able to emulate their lyrical writing.
Retirement brings the rebirth of a longing to write. Writing can be compared to the careful nurturing of a child. Playing with the flow of poetry and the colors of language brings my soul the gift of release.
I consider “retreading” the time I spend working on my body. Now that the holidays are behind me, the treadmill looms larger than life. Realignment and tune up are necessary to create the endurance to explore beaches and play with grandchildren in the summer months. The exhilaration of calories well spent is a wonderful boost to my self-esteem.
The first anniversary of Bill’s death is upon me. It is still difficult to fathom life without him. I know that time goes forward and I am moving slowly toward life’s carousel once again. It is necessary to look back at good memories now and in the years to come. With the memories come knowledge gained from those experiences. Bill, the teacher, left me some great lesson plans for a Christian life. The benefits at the end of it are truly awesome. I pray that I can stay the course.
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” Hebrews 12:1 (NIV)