"I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date."

Last week I came to a brilliant post-retirement breakthrough, "I'm not late anymore" I told John.  He quickly retorted, "That's because you have no place to go".   That's kind of sad, but the freeing feeling and lack of anxiety is exhilarating.  Like a deep yoga breath, followed by as many more as you want to inhale. 

The last time I experienced the calmness of unstructured time was after our youngest son, Jack was born in Tallahassee.  I was a "stay at home" mom.  It didn't last long, and as soon as our family moved back to Miami I went into full speed ahead "working mom" mode.  I recall one hectic afternoon when Jack was about 5 years old and he asked me from his carseat in the back of my minivan, "Mom, what does it mean when you are late all the time?".  Almost twenty years later, I vividly remember how I advised him,  "Then, you get the reputation for always being late and nobody can rely on you".   Jack's innocent response made me swallow hard, "So, how does that feel?".  

My entire life I have always been late, or at least as far back as high school tardy slips can document.  Overextended, over scheduled, over committed trying to do it all and dropping balls left and right.  After it all came to a stop, it took me a month to realize that I hadn't missed one appointment or been late to anything.  I have decided that "having no place to go" is one of the best things about retirement.  

Encore 2.0 "I don't think I can survive this"

I wrestle awake, open my eyes and focus slowly, I begin to see my husband at the edge of our bed.  I shake my head out of a fog, I see him sitting on MY chair at the foot of our bed, looking into my eyes, staring.  "What are you doing?" I ask, half awake.  "Nothing" he sheepishly replies, with an english muffin in his hand.

This is the first official day of my husband's retirement.  For almost 30 years he has rose from bed and been out of the house no later than 8am.   Every day he leaves the house and I have it to my own until he returns after 6pm.   But this morning he is having breakfast at my feet, like a sad anxious puppy dog.

How we ended up retiring at the same time, seems a twist of fate.  But the timing was out of my control.  I was supposed to sell the family business, but it dragged on for over a year.  So here we are, both retired, looking at each other from the foot of the bed.

When I left the house that day, I talked to my sister.  "I told her the "english muffin story", and said something like  "don't think I can survive this".  I think she laughed.   When I came home that afternoon at 4pm, my normal routine of Ellen Degenress and dinner preparations was interrupted.  I walked into our bedroom and my husband was laying in our bed - in his underwear, popping Rasinets in his mouth.

I cooked dinner, walked the dog and drank my share of wine.  Happy first day of retirement.  I don't think I can survive this.