It is now a year since I retired from the National Rural Health Alliance. (I was going to say “since I left the Alliance” but it will be longer yet before I ‘leave’ the organisation and it ‘leaves’ me.)
Some of my friends have asked what it’s like to be retired. The short answer is that it’s wonderful. Every day is a long weekend. There are few deadlines to be met, no meetings to attend, no representative duties to acquit. Getting out of bed occasionally at six o’clock in the morning is now to go for a walk or cycle while the air is still and the trees breathless – not to trail to Sydney or Melbourne with a tie on.
I will never forget how lucky I am. To be contentedly retired one needs the fundamental assets providing quality of life. A safe home – with all that the simple word ‘home’ connotes. Adequate income. Social interaction of the kind and quantity that suits you. Continued good health. Stimulation or brain food. And the means (technology; access) needed to pursue your interests or hobbies.
I was happy at work so there are many things I miss. The repetitive rhythm of a workplace can instil a sense of security and confidence. Working in a small organisation with colleagues who share one’s commitment is personally and socially satisfying, as well as professionally valuable. A happy workplace can provide some of the benefits of ‘community’: mutual support, shared purpose, recognition and self-actualisation.
Rather to my surprise, it has become apparent to me that some of this sense of community can be provided by social media. Facebook has been a revelation. It can be built in one’s own image – crafted to meet some of the needs of different individuals for ‘community’.
Two of the things one often hears about retirement before testing it for oneself are that you’ll be busier than you used to be, and that no one at work will miss you. This last might be suggested as a rationale for not working too hard: to ensure there is an appropriate work/life balance.
The first of these is palpable nonsense. You can fill the time with a wider range of smaller matters than in your working life – but you select the smorgasbord and there are gaps between each mouthful.
As for the second, it’s impossible to know because one is no longer ‘at work’ to observe the consequences of one’s absence. If you were fortunate enough to have work which gave purpose and value, all you can ask is that it continues and that the person who filled your position feels as lucky as you did.
It is so luxurious to be free of appointments, teleconferences, deadlines and protocols to which one had to be faithful at work. You can be true to yourself. If you write a blog you can wander at will over any range of topics you like.
Being retired makes it possible to look after yourself more easily. I try to walk or cycle every day which is something many people in the workforce do, but was something for which I had insufficient discipline at that time.
I am avoiding taking on regularised weekly happenings which would give the week a schedule or structure in the way that staff meetings, monthly teleconferences and other events did at work. Having a list of future appointments in a diary has always sat heavily on my mind – been a source of tension – as if the need to prepare or be prepared for each and every one crowded out the pleasure of the current moment. One of the consequences while at work was that the great majority of my own meetings with colleagues were called and held immediately – and I was always grateful for the fact that they almost always put up cheerfully with such a regime.
I’m reading a book.[1] The potted garden is being tended; next Spring’s display should be even better than last year’s. Alpha and I have time to catch up more slowly with friends and family. We haven’t fully made the switch from watching live TV to watching everything on demand, but it’s coming.
And of course if you have a partner, retirement means there is the opportunity to spend more time together. Or you can have separate work places in the home and separate interests and networks, and meet just now and then – as before.
We’re rather in the latter camp.
[1] Neal Stephenson, The Confusion.