My Work
It is my habit to reflect upon my life, mainly at the start of the year and as my birthday nears in July. I do mini reviews with the equinoxes.
Although many retired folks give up this practice, I find meaning in goal setting, reviewing my progress, and ensuring, more generally, that I’m living according to my values.
Before leaving paid employment, this review included assessing “my work,” which meant what I was doing for my employer.
And now?
July 1st will be my first retirement anniversary. I’ve spent much time in reflection the last few weeks.
The Harvard Business Review may seem an unlikely resource for a retiree, but there I found a good summary of the reflection process:
The practice itself is all about learning, looking … to contemplate your behavior and its consequences. It requires sitting with yourself, taking an honest moment to think about what transpired, what worked, what didn’t, what can be done, and what can’t. Reflection requires courage. It’s thoughtful and deliberate.
Retiring from the University of Michigan (U of M) was one of the purposeful life changes I made since I started working there in 2001. Others include moving to this house on five acres 17 years ago, having our mother-in-law move in, and my niece live with us during her last two years of high school.
I use the term ‘purposeful’ here in two ways.
A change within my control.
A transition that changed my purpose in existing, i.e. how I spend my focus, time, and energy, and how I find meaning in the world.
When I reflect back on retiring, one thing is crystal clear—it was the right decision. I knew that early on, even while I grieved losing the companionship of my workmates and the satisfaction I received from the parts of the work that I enjoyed.
In preparing for retirement, I read about mistakes folks make. Despite the warnings, I still made a significant one.
I put nearly all my eggs in one basket.
Before going to work for U of M, at our old home on just under an acre, I had a beautiful garden. When we moved, I enlarged the existing garden beds here and added new ones. But I never came close to having the garden of my dreams.
Yes, I wanted to spend more time with Hubby and the grands, do more writing, but most all my other retirement eggs were in the garden basket. Finally, I would have time to dig, weed, plant, and enjoy my dream garden.
Unfortunately, in May of 2022, I took a step wrong and crippled myself. I needed a cane to walk. I could not get up and down off the ground. I couldn’t pull the garden-wagon. I couldn’t rake leaves. I couldn’t shovel a planting hole.
The easy stuff—an assessment of the goals I set in January:
Reestablish a morning devotional practice—I’ll give myself a C on this one. I’m back to it but not consistently.
Weekly review of to-dos, priorities, projects, and goals— C- on this one. I struggle to set aside an hour or so to do this each week, but my desire to do it continues.
Create a study—a room of my own—B-. I’m making incremental progress. I’m far from being done, but I’m actually using the parts of the study that are done. I have a computer desk, a great printer for my art journaling, and a table with a cutting board, brushes, tools, and all my drawing supplies are at the ready.
Keep a Commonplace book—although I’m feeling a bit behind at the moment, this is going great. I love it! I get a B+.
The seedlings I couldn’t give away withered. I withered. I fell into an angry funk. I couldn’t write. I spent what time I could with the grands but not ambling through the meadow or chasing them in playgrounds.
I wrote about this last December in, Retirement Goals-FAIL. In my conclusion I said, “I'm processing how to be flexible when goals must be delayed or become unattainable.”
I’m happy to report that this processing is going well. I’m not as flexible as a yogi, but I’ve made progress.
Sometimes, this is real work.
After a visit to a museum a month ago, and, again, after this week’s trip to the carnival, I had to grieve my loss of strength and endurance. I had to get through the pain—feet, knees, and hernias. Then I worked on how to cope with my body. I can do my PT, exercise, maybe I’ll buy a mobility scooter.
I will seek the joy in the sorrows of aging. I will goldarnit!
Other times, becoming more flexible is total fun and joy. If I can’t garden, I can work in my books, my:
Doodle book
Commonplace book
Art journal
Altered book
Nature journal.
I can sit on one of my swings or porches and take in the sights and sounds—the swaying trees, the dance of the cottonwood leaves, the whirr of the hummingbird’s wings.
I can attend to my new work, described beautifully by Mary Oliver.
My Work is Loving the World
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird -
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
Mary Oliver
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