I'm Bossy

 Gina & I  at Corporate Run

"You have to tell the story about you bossing John around at the Corporate Run," my sister said as her suggestion for my next blog.   She continued, "how you told him what to do, and he totally ignored you."  I remembered the Ft. Lauderdale Corporate Run, and how John didn't listen to me when I told him the exact route and specific parking lot location.   And how he regretted not bringing the specified roller-cooler .  But I didn't see it as "bossing him around",  I was just doing my job and being the boss.

I guess the frustrated boss in me forgot John was my husband, not my employee.   Now, I am no longer the boss of anyone, except myself.  Changing roles in life is rough on egos and relationships.  Especially when you have to take a step back (and down).

I imagine it is similar to the way the President of the United States must feel when he leaves office.  Leader of the free world one day, working on your museum the next.   I heard General Colin Powell describe how he felt the morning after he stepped down as Secretary of State.  He said that he stood in his kitchen with a cup of coffee as the Secret Service came and ripped out all the phone and cable lines and then speed off in the black, bulletproof SUV never to return again.  His wife quipped, "What do we do now?".

I hate that uneasy feeling when you realize you are dispensable, but you can't take it personally.  "Nobody is indispensable" my dad advised, "and that includes you."  People who hang on too long, need to accept when it is time to move to the next phase.

For John and I it seems we have lost many of our roles.  As almost empty nesters, we have (almost) let go of our "parent roles".   Since John and I both quit our jobs we also (simultaneously) lost our "career roles".   In this encore period of our lives I am still trying to figure out "What we do now".

F**k "Type A"

I took the tests in Cosmo and Working Woman - "16 Signs You Might Be Type A".  My score always rocked the charts.  Are you driven? Impatient? High Stress? Yes, yes, yes. Do you get things done?   Yes!   I wore my scarlet Type A like a badge of honor.

Writing speeches on  luncheon napkins minutes before I was to address the audience.  I never met a crisis I couldn't handle.  All that stress was 99.9% self inflicted.  There was no boss or  company requiring long hours or demanding performance, only me.  My best New Year's Resolution one year was a new mantra - "My resolution this year is to not take on any more projects".  I used that line well into December.

My family tried interventions.  My father-in-law gently broached the subject, "Sometimes, you only need what makes you happy." and my own dad saying "You don't have to be a millionaire to live like a millionaire."  Both are true.  It's not a sellout to  s l o w   d o w n.  But why does it feel like a "sell out"?

Lately, I have been practicing Bikrim Yoga.  Twenty-six poses at 104 degrees while focusing on little more than your breath.  Meditation has always been a challenge for my racing mind.  Now, I have the time to  s l o w  down and only push myself to meditate, stretch and breath for 90 minutes.  How things have changed in this encore phase of life.  And how liberating, fuck Type A!

"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.