I was going to tell you about Louisville. This came out instead.

“Just because my life is different than I expected doesn't mean it's bad. Different is not necessarily bad; different is just different.”

It took me awhile...like a few years...to come to fully embrace that viewpoint. Now, closing in on a decade of “different” I can honestly say that in my case, different is definitely good.

To the outside world, my different life...my life of very early retirement and my husband who decided to join me and our relocation to the boonies and our very flexible schedule...looks like a dream. And honestly, it is. It was our dream when we married as young pups nearly 20 years ago. “Save for a house then for retirement.” That was our plan. Four years in, we had the house. We then launched into turbo mode, working incredibly hard so we could stop working. Our stated goal was to mutually retire by the time I was 40. We admitted 45 might be more realistic. I'll be 43 in a few months.

By the grace of a cough, we got our dream about 10 years early. It came with a few strings, like pain meds and bad days and worn-out heating pads and disability status. In the early years, the dream seemed much more a nightmare. But these days, I am grateful for my new normal...which isn't so new anymore. And I don't bother so much with dreams anymore. Life is too much of an adventure to try to plan it all out so carefully. I still have plans, things I would like to do, vague images of what I hope my future might look like. But for the most part I am trying to just experience life as it comes, to learn to be open to things that happen that I would have never planned on my own, to leave open the possibility that “different” might actually be “better.”

Well, THAT didn’t take long

A funny thing happened last Friday while Lori and I were walking Rojo the Llovely Llama around a retirement center. I realized I was smiling huge from ear to ear, probably beaming, face likely full of joy. My “work” passed the Smile Test (see January 30, 2008 post). I think I’ve found my happy.

Yes, this llama gig isn’t technically work since I don’t get paid. But as I was pondering today what sort of paid work I might want to find, I realized I don’t want anything to interfere with my outings with Rojo and Lori. And then I remembered what Rob and I have long said our definition of retirement is: Doing what you want to do, not what you have to do. I want to have the honor of helping Rojo bring such fun and wonder to people. Despite years of training to the contrary, I'm finally coming around to the sincere belief that our value rarely has a dollar sign attached to it. So maybe I’m done looking for "work"?

Lori and I are both amazed by our good luck. She can’t believe she found someone so enthusiastic to help her on her outings. In fact, she’s been trying to find some help for the last year or so. I can’t believe I have been so graciously and generously invited into a world I assumed was out of my reach. I can’t believe I get to spend time with a truly remarkable animal and get fed by the joy he brings people. Lori and I both suspect something much larger than either of us is at work here, and we both feel like we’re getting the better end of the deal. How cool is that?

Because I’m me and I like to be thorough, I will still read the two “find your purpose” books I have on my nightstand and will attend a class series along those lines in a few weeks. Few big questions in my life get answered without careful research, analysis, and dissection. Funny, though. A week ago, the thought of the books and the class scared me. I was deeply afraid I’d get to the end and still not have an answer. But now, now that I have found something that has me smiling like Mel the Drummer, I’m eager to challenge the books and class to find something that even comes close to hangin’ with Rojo and Lori.

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It shouldn’t be that hard of a question. “What sort of work do you do?” used to be a benign little ice breaker to get the conversation flowing. After five years of practice, Rob and I still fumble for an answer. We’ve mostly settled on “We’re sort of retired.” And that is usually met with silence and an awkward hiccup in the conversation. And thus we hiccuped on Monday as we sat across from Jannet at a local bank to open a checking account.

Our New Account process was humming right along. We learned Jannet loves our town and rarely leaves its limits. Hard to imagine how she shops. We learned our new bank started 60 years ago just down the street next to the dairy. Jannet learned we were annoyed with our Big Bank after nearly 20 years and were abandoning them. She learned we used to live near San Francisco. She learned our Social Security numbers. Then she asked Rob, “So what sort of work do you do?”

Awkward smile, a glance at each other, a hesitation. “Well, we’re….ummm…sort of retired.” Wide eyes, gears doing fast math on the birthdates we revealed moments before. Eventually, “Wow – I wish I were!” Looking at Rob, Jannet – who looked to be about our age – then asked, “So what sort of work did you retire from?” Rob explained that he used to be an engineer designing medical devices. “Wow!” Turning to me, looking full of wonder, Jannet then said, fingers poised above her keyboard, “And you’re a housewife then?”

Excuse me? What? Where did THAT come from?

“Umm, no, I’m retired, too. On disability, actually.” I took a breath, ready to answer her next question with a brief sentence or two about my 13 year career in research. Nothing. No questions. No interest. Just typing. I decided “Retired” must have been a sufficient answer. We moved on to discussing safe deposit boxes.

Looking later at a copy of our completed application, Rob’s listed occupation is “Retired” and mine is indeed “Housewife.” I’m still mulling this over. I have never thought of myself as a housewife. On our recently completed tax return, Rob’s occupation is “Amateur winemaker” and mine is “Writer.” We figured, what the heck, may as well try those titles on for size. I’m still not sure “Writer” fits, but it sure feels more comfy than “Housewife.” But, then, what is a housewife? A woman who hangs out at home, takes care of the house and cooking, does the shopping and laundry, runs errands, keeps things flowing for the family. Yep, that’s me. Of course, I have a lot of help from Rob since there are a number of things my back won’t let me do. I guess I’d be less unsettled if Rob’s occupation were listed as “Househusband” because, really, when it comes to the house we both pull our respective weights. I’m just not sure why Rob gets to be retired and my career disappeared.

It’s an interesting identity crisis, this unexpected early retirement. As much as I’d like to stand on my soapbox and refuse to be labeled, titles and labels are how we organize and understand our world. We all need them to figure out where we all fit. A paying job gives you a title, even if it’s a temporary one. Kids give you a title, even if there’s no paycheck. Being in school gives you a title, as well as one in the making. Me, I’m still looking for my title. Jannet happened to give me one I hadn’t considered. Much pondering still left to do.

“What do you do with your time?” Part 2

A young-ish retired woman with no kids and few obligations really has no business being stressed to the point of back aches and insomnia. And yet, here I am, overwhelmed and cranky. And it’s my own darn fault.

I’m learning there is an unexpected caution to having lots of free time to fill as one wishes. Over the past several weeks, I have found myself scheduled with fabulously fun things to the point of exhaustion and panic. A friend with whom we’re trying to schedule a visit recently began an email with “How can two retired people in youth be the busiest people we know?” That’s a very good question and the answer isn’t as obvious as I would have thought.

The answer is since I don’t have any obvious reason not to (like a job or kids or parents to care for), I quickly agree to anything that sounds fun because, well, it sounds fun and I want to do it. Seemingly, it's all about instant gratification without considering any consequences. It's like I'm 5 -- or 14 -- all over again.

“Meet downtown for dinner?” Sure!
“Check out that new winery?” You bet!
“Come over for cards?” What a hoot!
“Go to a garden show?” Sounds fun!
“Come hang out and play with the kids?” I’m grabbing my coat!
“Help write content for a new website?” LOVE to!
“Can we fly up for a visit?” We’ll camp out at the airport!
“Know how to set up a wireless network?” We’re on our way!

The thing is, I absolutely want to do everything that is on my calendar. I am grateful that most of the things I do, I want to do. That’s what Rob and I defined as “retirement” a few years back – doing what we WANT to do, not what we HAVE to do. So I’m living the retired life we set out to live. But when I had a job and less free time, I was more careful with it. I spent that free time wisely. I prioritized it. I considered it. I managed it. It was free but it was so precious. Now I am learning that you can indeed have too much of a good thing -- including fun and time.

"So what do you do with your time?"

Being retired at 38 sounds like a dream, doesn't it? The freedom, the lack of stress, the ability to start each day with the question "Hmmm...what do I feel like doing today?" And yes, in many ways it is a fantastic life. Not one that I planned to have quite so young, but the cosmos said it would be so and so it is. And most of the time I am grateful and aware of my blessings.

But then there are those days when someone learns of my situation and, mystified, asks, "So what do you do with your time?" The answer is never satisfying to either one of us.

The truth is, I'm not sure what I do with my time. I don't have a schedule. I don't have a pattern. I don't have a plan. Each day is different, and yet most are similar enough that they don't stand out. Any truthful answer I give leaves both of us wishing there were more.

"Oh, I read the paper."
"I watch TV."
"I check email and goof around on the Internet."
"I do a little consulting work."
"I do some volunteer work."
"I go to the gym."
"I take walks."
"I meet friends or family for lunch."

All of this sounds very nice and relaxing, but does it really constitute a life fully lived? Is there more to do? Should I be doing more? Should I over-schedule my days so that I yearn for the life I already have? Is the grass always greener on the other side of the septic tank? Which reminds me. I need to get the septic tank inspected. Add that to the list of how I spend my time...