There comes a time when a middle-aged person pauses and considers what is next. At 51 years old, I am not an old man, but I am at an age where I can peer into that future and can see the shapes and forms of what can be. There are some at my age who simply say that it is not time to consider what is next for them. In some ways, I wish I could be like that, but it has come to me that I want to do more than just keep on being as I am, working as I am, digging a deeper foxhole than the one I defend now, so to speak.
I do not see retirement as an end to the light and the beginning of some dark thing. Rather, I see it as a reward I can give myself for the life I have lived, the work I have done, the labors I have been through. Of course, there is a very serious financial planning side to retirement. And, this essay is not about that. For the purposes of this essay, let us just say that side of the house is watertight and coming along well.
I think one of the great mistakes of people contemplating retirement is that they only speak about the financial planning dynamics to retirement. At no point do some people stare into the mirror and say, 'What will I do with myself?' OK, you have a place to live, and in your planning it is taken as said you can afford your monthly bills and are comfortable enough with your medical care and such. Who is around you in retirement, what does your day look like? What are you getting up for in the morning?
Well, I want to paint. I am informed as much about art as the next person, studied it during my bachelor's years in school, and also as part of my Master's program. I love the wondrous, limitless potentials of a blank canvas. A blank canvas, for me, is a place of endless possibilities into creation.
As part of the financial side of my planning, it has always been my objective to move from the Northeastern United States to the mountains of North Carolina, within some proximity to Asheville. Far from a whimsical idea, North Carolina has the kind of tax structure and economy where retirees can not only sustain themselves, but they can thrive. I would not and will not try to envision me painting as some business or other. The fact of the matter is I have only nominal talent. It is not to create the great masterpiece that I will insinuate myself as part of some larger Asheville art scene. Rather, I just want to travel with the herd. See the sights. Enjoy creating a small garden to grow vegetables. Maybe do some freelance work for the local newspaper if they need someone to cover a budget meeting or give an account of some dry chicken dinner by local squires.
In my last career, I was a professional journalist for weekly and daily newspapers.What I wrote paid my mortgage, my car note, afforded my groceries and lifestyle. I have no want of this life, and that is not the writing or the painting I am discussing. No, I just want to be in the moment and feel the use of whatever I am doing. Not everyone will be inclined to writing and painting. They do not have to be.
Maybe some mechanic who has done his or her years wants to build the dream car, or some accountant for a large firm wants to open up a coffee shop. The direction of the creativity of this wonderful part of our lives, retirement, can travel in any direction -- like beams of light.
The point of my 'career after my second career' is not to make a living. I must see to it that my financial strength can support me and my significant other by its own merit. Yet, these endeavors, painting and trying to show and maybe penning some articles are not the beginning of some mighty new chapter. They are simply for me to enjoy the days. Because these will be the days to be enjoyed.
After living life for a half century, no one gets to do that without knowing disappointment, success, great joy and sadness, love and the retraction of love. It's part of the human experience. Our walks in life may be varied, but some of the same signposts are along all of them. I choose to make the last part of my life, my retirement, not the quiet, desperate chapter where I stare into a television set and dwell upon my victories and defeats in life. I do not want to re-live the big game or withdraw into seclusion. I want to make new friends, embark on a new journey....learn and do things I have only daydreamed about from desk.
I will never get a gallery show at a swanky, upscale hotspot. The New York Times will not come to one of my shows and proclaim the next Van Gogh. But, with a little luck, maybe I can be part of a show at a local volunteer fire department, or coffee house. Maybe I can make some art friends and discuss the thing I love -- painting -- with some regularity. Maybe I can grow a perfect tomato one day, or help some Elks lodge looking to raise money for a good cause by getting a couple lines in the local (print) newspaper. No, this is not a great ambition. It is just a reason to wake up and go outside. It is a reason to step lively from my bed and to set my alarm.
Retirement is my time when I will actually take dancing lessons with my girl, rather than just rely on what my Mom showed me when I was nine years old still. I was not blessed with a family in life, as many people are, and that is how it was supposed to be. Why curse the night because it is not day? I have done so many things, though, and gone so many places, worn so many hats and worked in so many different things. I had a life. I have a life.
If things in life are not perfect, then it is as it is supposed to be. Any artist can tell you there is no perfect line. There is no perfect painting. It might be said that a painting is not just measured in those things done well within it but also in the eccentricities of the work: the imperfections. Like all lives, all paintings have their imperfections. Artists ruin perfectly lovely work all the time trying to rub out some imperfection, only to make a charming flaw into a hideous blob.
My life was my greatest work, not perfect but a well-earned canvas. I want to savor the days and enjoy my dabblings now. I go to work and, to some degree, I guess I am like that anxious kid in the third grade, who cannot wait until the freedom of the bell releases him from the duldrums of school only to run home as fast as he can and grab his baseball mitt and bat and head for the local field to find a game of ball to play.
Life is many things, and encapsulating it into a few lines is ridiculous. It is big, wide and as vast as the widest, mightiest forest. It is filled with so many things. I am so glad to have experienced the things I have. But, I certainly cannot wait until that damn bell rings so I can get the heck out of class and go indulge my inner eight-year-old all over again.
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