Am I Right?

I have heard three speakers in the last month who were fond of saying “Right?” or “Am I right?” after making pronouncements in their sermon/lectures.  What is this about? Are they really seeking audience confirmation? Is it a way of saying “Can I get an Amen?”

Last Sunday I was at a really wonderful Methodist church around Tampa and was having my ordinary responses to Methodist worship: “Trespasses” in the Lord’s Prayer? Really? This of course in the face of the even worse Reformed  “debts.” Also, in the Apostle's Creed, it’s one of the few times I take the missing “He descended into hell” personally. An iffy theological concept, but a part of my tradition, dammit.

So I was just a little grumpy by the time the sermon came around and having the engaging younger minister ask me if I was agreeing with everything he said did not go over well. I have to be in a pretty good space to nod affirmation to everything a speaker is saying even if I am, in fact, agreeing. I am not a sheep! I will have ironic distance and rational consideration and boundary awareness in play that is not so easily dismissed by a speaker asking “Right?” every 2 minutes.

I think this is a real problem. Am I right or am I right? So if I ever reach some speaking nadir and use this verbal device in an address of mine, you can do me a favor and, when asked, shout “Possibly!”

Jedi Retirement

True enlightenment, as we know from Star Wars, involves a solitary isolation from life. Both Yoda and Luke get so isolated that a major plot line is the search for these wise guys to save the day. And while it looks like they re-engage in the nick of time, in Luke’s case, it turns out to be some sort of astral projection from his island fortress of solitude.

There is a thread of desire in me to retire to the mountaintop cave, wear a loincloth and entertain random, occasional seekers after truth. Even after reading all the research about having purpose in retirement leads to a longer, better life, I am not quite there personally. I’m not sure if it is simply sloth or cynicism or existential weariness, but I am not now terribly inclined to save the world by taking up arms against a sea of troubles. Maybe it’s just today that I feel like older Luke. Yoda was 900 years old when Luke found him on Dagobah and brought him back to engagement. If you hear I’m on a mountaintop someplace, come get me. Bring clothes.  

Amusing Florda Traffic

Many cities have a certain reputation about their traffic. People who live in LA, for instance, have become used to the constant jam that can only sometimes pass for traffic. In Florida, two things seem to be going on. First, we have the very conservative older drivers who clog the lanes they happen to be in and are known for swerves and lane ambiguity. We will call these the honkees.

Then there are the overly aggressive drivers that Florida has somehow bred. I don’t know who these people are, but I do know how they drive. They do not sit in traffic lines, but will cut in at the last moment. They swerve in and out of traffic, disregarding the commonly held speed limit of 10 mph over whatever is posted. They drive either really expensive cars or really ratty cars. No minivans. We will call them the honkers since they will rush up on slow pokes or even regular pokes and urge them out of the way.

Between the honkees and the honkers, driving in Florida is exciting! These issues seem to get more interesting the farther south one goes, but I could be imagining that. The excitement increases as you get off the super highways onto the two-lane wonders that cross the state. It is on these bucholic delights that honkers will pass honkees any time they feel so moved no matter what the silly yellow lines in the middle of the road suggest. You may be driving along, minding your own navigational business, only to face an oncoming BMW heading right at you at 80 mph. No worries. They probably have calculated their passing correctly. Who needs Disney World for excitement? Just drive around!

There may be some deep existential truth that this traffic situation holds for the contemporary human condition, but after driving about in Florida for a bit, I’m too shaken to figure it out.

Poem: Damned Spots

Boyish freckles have conspired overnight
Becoming dark blots
Self incrimiating age
Spots

So many sweet spots have changed
Places in the world turn
From what they are
Into what
They mean

Hot spots
Broadcasting complexity
As past locations become
Reinterpreted

See spots run
Colors merging, drippy
Hippy tie dying
Marking the now blurry
Spots
Before my eyes

Florida Flight

I couldn’t very well say I studied retirement without going to Florida, where I had heard there were a few retired people. I got on a plane in Albany and we hadn’t even got off the ground before I heard several conversations about retirement around me.

A 40 something woman in back of me was briefing a younger man next to her about how he should be making retirement plans called FIRE: Financial Independence, Retire Early.  The young man in question seemed to have a good job and was describing the life changes he was making (as opposed to his decadent peers) to make sure he could retire at age 50. Presumably this was so he could then pursue the decadence he was forgoing at the moment, but exactly what was going to happen to make this early retirement so desirable was never described. I got the sense the woman was a money manager of some type which perhaps explained her desire to defend her industry. Spending on life’s pleasures early in life makes money for other people.

Later in the flight, the woman next to me described the snowbird life she and her husband lived that was changing as time went on. They were originally 50/50 between Florida and upstate New York, but as time went on, they found themselves shifting more and more to Florida. As their tolerance of the cold decreased and their friendships in Florida increased, they found themselves spending much more time in Florida than New York State. The husband (on the other side of the aisle) was all about the tax benefits of being a Florida resident. Again the money thing! They both described the pleasant surprise of finding new, like-minded friends in their new enclave. They were satisfied and comfortable in a way that made me uncomfortable.  

On Staying Home

When two people live in a house together, one of them will spend more time at the house than the other. Perhaps over the course of a month, it's only 10 minutes more than the other. Perhaps, for one reason or another, it's measured in days and weeks.

While I'm on sabbatical, I travel about looking very important, talking to people about the retirement thing. Then I come home. Abby, my wife, is a busy church leader type who also travels about and also looks important, talking to people about rescuing Protestantism. During this sabbatical thing she has many more appointments than I have and actually goes to work and gets things done. I sit around thinking deep thoughts, often about how and why people retire. Sometimes I write them down.

Occasionally, when I am sitting at home without a deep thought at the moment, I get up and straighten the kitchen a little. I'm not the fastidious type, but I might as well. Maybe I clean off the dining room table. You know. Not that I care about it. And then Abby comes home and puts her purse on the table! Right where I just cleaned! It's sort of an insult, don't you think? If this is what retirement is going to be like, we are in deep trouble. How do moms (or dads) who stay at home cope with such constant disrespect? Yeesh. It took me quite a while to come to this perspective. Perhaps I should focus on keeping my office perfect and not care about the common spaces. I'll try that. Or the yard. I guess you have to be careful what you care for when you have some space to choose.

On Not Going to Church

I remember many of the people in my life by one or two of the aphorisms they were wont to spout. Mrs. James, a divorced fifth grade Sunday School teacher was famous for, “Never marry for love.” When pressed, she would clam up with, “I don’t want to get into it, but trust me on this.” My father had several, but for some reason, “Everyone puts their pants on one leg at a time” stands out. The delivery of these weighty sayings was always in a grand manner, conveying the importance of these facts.

I remember my homeroom teacher at Hufford Junior High in Joliet, Illinois saying, “I’d rather be in bed on Sunday morning thinking about how I ought to be in church, than in church thinking about how I want to be in bed.” While this could easily work it’s way into an essay on the nature and use of guilt, the very fact that some people intentionally stayed home from church I found curious. My family went to church. My mom sang in the choir and my father did other important, mysterious things. We went to church if we were in town and it was simply the fact of our lives. There was no discussion or wrangling on the issue. There were no sports events to compete. Sunday morning television wasn’t worth watching. So off we went for church and brunch at the Skylark Diner afterwards where I would luxuriate in a salty hot roast beef open faced sandwich with peculiar mashed potatoes and that diner gravy. And big fat meally peas.

I didn’t mind going to church. The First Presbyterian Church of Joliet Illinois was a big place with nooks and crannies and friends galore. It was the heyday of American Protestantism and there was a large Sunday School class for every grade. I assume we learned all sorts of important things that I can’t remember exactly except for the books of the Old Testament that I managed to memorize in order. Perhaps a verse or two as well. My confirmation class was so big that they didn’t notice that I wasn’t there for the actual confirmation and I got my certificate in the mail later. This missed event planted the seed that perhaps if I wasn’t in church not only would no one notice, but that it might not matter at all. I had heard that church attendance was mandatory for those Catholic people, but the idea that it was NOT mandatory for us never hit home.

Well, I’m on sabbatical from my job as Senior Pastor of the First Reformed Church of Schenectady New York and I’m not taking it as a busman’s holiday by visiting other churches. A part of this is that I taught preaching for many years and it is difficult for me to listen to a sermon and not grade it in my head. It’s hard to give yourself to the power of the Spirit when you are counting the ‘ums’ or designing an intervention for the distracting lisp. I once thought that this judging process made me unique, but I have come to understand that most people are evaluating what is happening in a church service all the time, just not with my criteria.

At the beginning of a Jazz Vespers service I will usually tell folks that they can turn off a certain evaluative section of their brains because there will be no creeds or hymns that we will all say together that they need to decide about. There will be no doctrine that they will need to take a position on. There will be a little banter, a longish prayer and mostly music. Of course, since many of the folks are jazz enthusiasts, all this means is that they are saving their judgement for the music, not the theological positions. But I say that to people so that they can have a different experience. There is such a wide spectrum of thinking in the particular churches of every religion, it must be tough to figure out how to fit into the community as well as the philosophies. If I am to be held responsible for the insanities of the conservative elements of most any religion, I’m not sure I want in at all. Can I just go to something and not be a part of it? Can I go to a Trump rally as an interested participant and not support Trump? Well. No. Certainly not as the world will see and interpret your attendance. Being a Christian going to church these days is a bit like being a Republican embarrassed by the high profile shenanigans but still believing in important things. Or being a Scout leader or a Roman Catholic in the face of the abuse scandals.

So I’m not going much. I may sneak into some strange venue once a month, but only if I really feel like it. But do I feel like it? I’m writing this early Sunday morning and the irony and suspense is palpable. Is it better for me to be writing about church attendance or to actually attend?

There is a part of the American experience that is fiercely independent. It is how our country was formed. This spirit has mitigated the business of being in community where individual self-interest is subordinated for the common good. This requires participating in things that may not serve our individual needs at any moment. It requires us to understand that life together is not all about us at every moment. That our opinion about this or that is not the final word. That the egregious lisp may, in fact, make a preacher more interesting. Whether or not I feel like going to church, I may need it.

Going to church is an act of humility. Which, of course, is why Trump rarely goes. Quite apart from comfort or inspiration or getting a deeper understanding, the very act of showing up is a subordination of selfishness that we certainly need.

Big People Carry On

It has been noted elsewhere that air travel today is literally torture, that is, if we subjected prisoners to the treatment we endure on long flights, the ACLU would get involved. I'd like to log in about how the bonds of flight have become just a bit tighter and what to do about it, especially if you are a large person.  Feel free to add your personal tweaks.

Somehow, seats have gotten smaller, especially the clearance for the seat in front of us who travel in steerage. The table trays are often now articulated since a whole tray no longer fits in front of a passenger for any length of time. If you are of any size at all, say goodbye to access to the stuff on the floor in front of you. Don't even think about it because the fishing required to get it is not worth the bruises.

For those of us who pack compulsively, this tighter fit means several different things.  Even if it meets all the dimensional guidelines for a carry on, we assume that a wheeled bag that will not fit under the seat in front of us will be taken at the gate (gate checked) for all the smaller planes, i.e. the ones that service Albany. This means that we will go through the ignominious new ritual of carry-on claim lined up in the jetway. For true speed, we pack even lighter and go with some kind of softsided pack that we can carry IN to the cabin and that will fit in the new smaller bins above us. Those wheelies were great for decades, but now it’s time to rethink things for those of us at then end of the flight links.

What we have with us at the seat has changed too. If travelling economy, laptops no longer really fit on that new, smaller fold down table. Certainly not in a way that you can actually get any work done. On a recent international trip with British Airways, I found that watching a movie on a smallish laptop to be quite an effort. I now suggest a long life, medium sized tablet if you want to bring your own entertainment. Give up altogether on getting keyboarded work done.

Since the space beneath our feet is only hypothetical for us bigguns, I suggest (shudder here) something like a fanny pack that the staff will not make you stow at all. Waist pack, belt pack, whatever they are calling it these days, it's that thing you strap to your waist somehow that, if not big at all, doesn't even count as a carry on if you are wearing it. Wear it in front of you and you will have pleasant access to the things you really will use. This is a neat new trick many have noted in the travel wonk blogs. It is occasionally identified as a personal item, so only bring the nice fanny pack and your full sized carry on. In this worn lap bag you will put a very select set of items:

• the previously mentioned tablet or Kindle
• a few pills - always ibuprofen.  Consider allergy stuff and pills for both ends of your digestive tract
• some kind of candy, not gum - I suggest jelly beans.
• breath mint or two
• slim battery and short cord for phone unless you have great battery life
• small drink bottle or flask. I use a smallish titanium flask tucked in the bag.
• hefty tissues that could be used as napkin 

This lap bag will be stowed in the front pocket of your carry on pack when you are not on the plane.  I also suggest wearing an item like a vest (another shudder) or a jacket that carries your billfold and your cell phone. I understand that for some the idea of a travel vest and a fanny pack is an abhorrent statement of classless dad style. But who are you trying to impress anyway?  You will not see these people again and you will not lose a seat upgrade if you are spotted with a fanny pack by a gate agent. There are some black travel vests that don’t have obvious pockets that don’t look too bad and some waist packs aren’t laffable. Except to your kids, who will mock everything anyway.

To complete your nerdish look, wear a cap for warmth, diverting the fan blasts, and for pulling down over your eyes for a better snooze.

Poem: Overworking a Sports Analogy

Life is not basketball, where the miracle shot at the buzzer changes it all
     And hardly worth watching until the last few minutes
Life is not soccer, with the grinding running running running up and down
Life is not baseball, a set of counted chances that run out
Not tennis, where we face those who serve with a steely eyed dance
Not the ping pong of right and wrong
Not cricket, because who knows what that is

Life is the staying on the balls of the feet, the footballs

Where the whole time matters, but unless we are outmatched, the last quarter is most exciting

A Happy Niche: Where Retirement is Working

There is an interesting little pocket of retirement satisfaction tucked away in a corner of South Africa. Several of the workers in a little resort in Rustenburg are looking forward to their retirement and report parents who are happy in theirs. The folks that I talked to were maids, bartenders, and receptionists who happened to be black. In each case, these are the variables:

• They are did or are expecting to retire ("go on pension") at age 60. In South Africa, it is not uncommon for government jobs to require going on pension at age 60.
• They are not particularly worried about money, it will be similar enough, they say.
• They are not planning on working part-time at all.
• They are very committed to their families and see going on pension as a time to spend with family, not friends particularly.
• They are not planning on traveling or leaving the area.

While Americans are making extreme changes in lifestyle early in the life of a family, dedicating great time and resources to children's activities, in this culture, employment is demanding in mid-life and family time is a focus of retirement. The clear notion of the importance of the extended family is palpable.

The impact and purpose that people in many cultures usually talk about as necessary for retirement are here focused on family and not diversion, enrichment, or even community in the broader sense. It is possible that this is a product of the strangeness and upheaval of South African culture, but many countries have histories of racism and classism. Notably, the folks reporting satisfaction here are in the smallish (compared to other countries) middle class. However we parse it, it is hard to argue with the satisfying nature of these last chapters for these folks.

Poem: Planning on Dessert

Planning on Dessert

Bright diner cheers with red and chrome
The speckled formica states the common bounty with
Crusty red sauces and packets of sweetness and soldiered salt and pepper and tardis napkins for the happy mess
And the little plastic sign that promises pretty pies and careful cakes
Tempting, proclaiming before the beginning

How sweet the ending can be
“Save some room for pie!”

All during the full oval dinner we eye the ending
Speculating on just desserts
Is the cheesecake cheezy or cakey?
Good enough for the price of empty sweet?

And then the loving battle of “Something Else?”
Where soldiers of Self battle
The compromise of Share
“Yes, we’ll share the carrot cake.”
“You could have gotten the cheesecake.”
“I know.”

Worthwhile: What Feelings about Retirement Tell Us About All of Life

At the moment, one theme that is emerging from my discussions and questions about retirement is that there is often a general 'uneasiness' about the substance of the life people are leading before retirement. The biggest reason people give for either retiring or wanting to retire amongst the people I polled is "Desire for a different life." Assuming we are not talking about mere variety, it indicates a dissatisfaction with life that retirement presumably will or did address.

The features of retirement that are imagined to bring a more satisfactory life are clearly an increased attention to family, friends, and relationships in general. Recent longitudinal and cross-class studies in America are showing that longevity, health, and satisfaction are tied to the reported richness of relationships in life, or more simply put better love means better life.

And yet, there are surprisingly few resources about relationships compared to financial planning or even to the resources about buying a good sleeping bag. Headline media has surfaced with some "Five Ways to Have a Better Marriage! Number Three Will Surprise You!!" but they tend to be shallow and often not based in anything other than the price per click being farmed. (You are still wondering about number three.) The complex and often difficult business of relationship is best done in the context of a trusted community supporting relational values. i.e. the church. Other than marriage counseling, not sure why we haven't been better at relational enrichment, before and after retirement. Small groups have been a bit of an answer in the life of a the church. New vocabularies and quasi-scientific metrics have also been helpful for relational understanding, including the 5 Love Languages, the 4 Myers-Briggs variables, and the 9 Enneagram types. I'm going to start working on an article called "The 6 Limitations of Structural Typologies." Although the Christian tradition does celebrate the 10 Commandments, we don't much emphasize the number of beautitudes, or even the summation of the law and prophets ("The Big Two"). If we promoted better relationships as much as we promoted environmental sensitivity or even personal spiritual growth, we may actually help people more.

Why Not

One of the reasons relational depth may be so longed for is that there may be less time for it before retirement. The demands of a job, of having perfect children, and of having so many relationships all may work against having the few that really support a person when they struggle. The pressures of having two income families has changed the amount of time available for relational investment. Even if the church were to offer a six week course in the "7 Relational Skills," the folks who need it most might not be able to clear their schedules to do it. Just to relieve you, I made up that last title, but I'm not ruling it out for my next bestseller.

The business of having rich relationships is matched by the desire to have a life of some significance. Another part of the business of wanting a different life is the feeling that the current one has lost some meaning. Just going through the motions may be what happens in any job after a while.  However, people in certain professions I have interviewed seem to be able to keep the edge of their feelings of effective agency sharp. These tend to be physicians, pharmacists, and farmers. Some lawyers, too, but I gave up trying to find an F sound to start their proFession. The commonality here seems to be the ability to practice a profession on ones own terms, not only in time, but in constituencies served. This may suggest that greater vocational freedom earlier on may lead to greater satisfaction along the way.

I'm going to stop this particular post now, because I sense that I am trying to reach conclusions a bit early in the going. More high sounding learnings are yet to arrive.

Animals: A South African Album

Pictures and videos of some of the animals around Rustenburg, South Africa

Coffee! Small Batch Roasting Videos

Roasting coffee from Rainhill Farm on a homemade rig.

Chasing the Weather: Retirement and Thermostats

I'm still sitting on a sunny porch.  There haven't been many clouds all week. The temperature drifts up to the high 70s. It's a little chilly at night.  In short, almost perfect weather. On occasion I like to bake in the sun, but not as a rule. The sweaty hot thing is only nice when there is water near. Bake, dip, repeat.

Elize, 82, praises the weather in Rustenburg with a charming British coo: "ooo I just love the weather here. I hate the cold."

I think of all the retired snowbirds who fly to Florida ostensibly for the weather. It can't be the culture or the politics and certainly not the stimulation of cultural diversity in those compounds.

I wonder if we can't take the dislike of the cold more seriously up north. Build sunny warming huts for the oldsters. I just read an advertisement trying to sell me a smart light that proclaimed that older people need many more lumens to get around. I'm not sure what evolutionary purpose this need for warmth and light when older fulfills, but it can't hurt to take it a bit more seriously and stop trying to keep the thermostats 'normal.' My poor wife has no idea of what is in store. We already have a year-round hot tub. Soon I will be putting up a sweat lodge in the backyard. Please don't make me wear a sweater and a shawl just to survive.

Don't get me wrong, Florida is a nice place to visit. I have beloved friends and family there. And there is a lot of water and quite a few places to eat and a good tax rate and maybe . . .  No. There must be more important things in choosing a place to live than just hating the cold. Like . . . schools. Yes.  Schools. Florida has horrid schools. Hmm. If you don't have kids, this may be a plus.

Well. At the moment, a sweat lodge will be easier to manage than a house in Florida.

Poem: The Old Dog

The Old Dog




Towards the end
I spent a time in a wondrous place full of green and sun
And the still porch I visited was the home of an old old dog
Grey and rheumy, with a woof that would warp the heart
I offered no snack, just a gentle scratch and a song sung low
Our creaking quiets twined and leashed us
And now he follows me or I follow him
I am never sure

I see in his cloudy eyes that he was a puppy once, all jumps and joys
I sense the worker he was, guarding the beloved
He and I know his age but he will still find his puppy paws
And postured vigilance

Sitting at my feet in peace, neither of us need him to learn new tricks
This old dog

The 'Different' List: South Africa vs. USA

I wonder if the very common desire to travel internationally in retirement is in the need for the refreshment of the new. In South Africa, where I am hanging out talking to very different people about retirement, I experience differentness in almost every moment.

• Differing sounding birds
• Dogs wandering about and barking at will
• Strange fruit trees that drop apparently edible star shaped fruit
• Driving on the left
• Slower traffic (me) to the left
• Steering wheel on the right
• Stick shift on the left with reversed gears
• Metric everything
• Simple road signs that have no meaning at all for me i.e.

(I keep hoping I’m not abnormal.)

All this traffic strangeness has introduced another strangeness: getting honked at. That is something that happens to Abby and her family. Not me!

• Lots of churches promising healing and requiring tithes
• Being the only person of my skin color in the store
• Worrying about crime.
• Tipping someone to watch the car at the mall. When you come back, they help you back out.
• Money: one dollar = 14.4 rand

• Tipping (10%)
• The way credit cards are handled
• Lots of servants. Listened to a (long) sermon that regularly used the servant imagery in the New Testament with direction application. “You know how you need to tell servants what to do?” O and servants are always black in South Africa.
• The dirt is reddish, never black.
• Lots of dirt (red) roads
• Trees with all sorts of crazy flowers and berries
• Biscuits that are, in fact, cookies
• Bars that have no idea what a martini is, but have 17 drinks using brandy. The pub I am in most does not have martini glasses!
• No spanish sub-culture. I the US, I’m used to the subtle presence of a significant Hispanic population. Not here.
• A second, insider language for locals (Afrikaans)
• Very few insects, therefore, no screens on windows
• Few swimming pools
• Boring salads: iceberg lettuce, sliced tomatoes, cucumber slice
• Few people wearing caps
• Corrugated metal roofs

• Corrugated metal houses (the building material of choice in very poor neighborhoods)
• Wondering whether the color of my skin is influencing whatever is going on
• The idea that most American are rich
• Meeting community health care workers who look quite ordinary who are living on about $100 a month
• The absence of progressive protestantism
• Family graveyards
• The comfort of a massive dog lying at your feet

• Since I am travelling alone, it’s a different world to not negotiate any life event. I’m keeping an even more peculiar sleep pattern than I usually do. Actually, I’m not noticing any pattern at all yet.

I sometimes feel something happening in my brain, as if all this new is creating new zappy paths in my head. When I come here, I make a point of not doing any tours. Having to try and understand things keeps me on my toes. No, I am not googling everything I find. People on the farm here are singing songs I have never heard in a language I will never know. I do not ask them what the songs are about. I don’t have to know everything to enjoy everything. I hope my retirement will be a greater comfort with knowing less (than I thought I did when younger at least) and enjoying more.

How to Retire Like a Henry

Today I met and talked to two Henrys who were rather pleased with their retirements.  Henry Sr. is an 87 year old pharmacist who sold his two pharmacies in Rustenburg in 1968 but who kept his licence and worked "locum" or as a temporary replacement pharmacist in the UK on over 95 occasions after that, continuing until he was 84. He was pleased with how his retirement had turned out mostly because he was able to feel useful and productive, but on his terms.  He took positions when he felt like it and didn't have any continuing worries about a business to haunt him. His retirement had two vital factors that he credited with his satisfaction: productivity and freedom.

His son, Henry Jr., is a veterinarian and, at 60 is facing retirement with no worries. He too, intends to phase out of his profession by getting out of his full-time commitment, but by very intentionally working in his field internationally, where he feels it is desperately needed. Like his father, his intended satisfaction is based also on staying active in his discipline on his own terms, but with the added feature that many planning retirement talk about: international travel.

The three of us talked about how fortunate the two of them were in that they had professions that they could phase out of and practice on their own terms. They understood that the vast majority of people didn't have this luxury nor did they have skills that were so valued that they were in demand.  Henry Sr. had just recently gotten a call from the UK asking for his services when they very well knew he was 87.

Henry Sr.'s take on retirement in general was influenced by his understanding of how drugs had revolutionized the last part of human life. "People retired at 65 in the old days because they were probably about to die." He was actually a bit worried about how society (in South Africa in particular) could support all the pensioners that were to come, echoing a common fear in American politics.

While their stories are good news for professionals of many types, their approach points out the challenge of retirement for people who aren't really able to dabble in a job in a way they choose. Feeling productive (and perhaps even getting paid for it) may be more difficult if we have to start fresh at something. This suggests that for many, the development of a valued occupation that can be pursued in a limited way would be a vital pre-retirement concern.

The Something of Nothing

"Is Nothing sacred?"

In talking to people about retirement, it’s clear that for many, staying active and productive is very important. For these folks, the value of just taking it easy is only in service to getting back to getting things done. These people will often quote examples of those who die soon after retiring. There are mixed studies about this, some even suggesting that the stress of working longer shortens life. Here are some:

• https://www.quora.com/Do-people-tend-to-die-when-they-retire
• https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/627711
• https://www.biznews.com/thought-leaders/2013/09/10/retire-at-55-and-live-to-80-work-till-youre-65-and-die-at-67-startling-new-data-shows-how-work-pounds-older-bodies

There are folks who understand human life as measured by how productive it is in worldly terms. Most religious traditions (Islam being a notable exception) have a clear notion that, in some contexts, doing nothing is just fine, thank you. Monks, yogis, shamans, and swamis dedicate their lives to the understanding that there is value in the renunciation of appetite and the worries of productivity. This is a refined form of nothingness that is, of course, not just eating chocolates in front of a screen.

As I sit on a porch on a sunny day in South Africa typing on a computer, I would like to think that I am in some kind of monastic tradition, but here I am writing words for some vague urge to produce something of value on my sabbatical. I do feel some things slipping away, however. There are some worries that don’t seem quite so worrisome anymore. There are some distractions that now appear a bit unnecessary if not compulsive. The very intentional online shopping prohibition that I managed to pull off with some difficulty for the season of lent now seems a natural thing. Since I’m not constantly trying to solve problems, I’m not seeking consumerist solutions. For the moment.

We will see how long this kind of peace will last. In the past, I get ‘done’ with vacations after about a month. There is a difference in the way we think about things if they are a temporary suspension of the ordinary or if they are the new ordinary. This sabbatical of mine is an interesting dry run for retirement, but doesn’t have that notion of permanence that reframes the whole experience. We’ll see.

Night Flights

On my way to South Africa, I decided to do an 8 hours lay over in London, which gave me a day in a fun city for no additional travel cost, but did require TWO overnight flights to pull off:  one from Philly to London, then one from London to Johannesburg. I fall asleep fairly easily so thought this would not be a problem. I forgot.

• I forgot that I snore a bit more now and wake myself up with my own noise and with the guilt of disturbing my neighbor. "O no," they always say, "I didn't hear a thing." Well. The rules of being an intimate stranger on a place require such a response, so I never believe them. 
• I forgot that I now use the rest room at night in the way that men over 50 use the rest room at night. That combined with the fact that I like window seats to lean against when trying to sleep mean that the contortionist dance of getting to the smallest room with plumbing ever is particularly horrid.
• I forgot that flying economy as a man who is 6'2" means that sleeping is something that happens in tiny intervals between aches and interruptions. I can't imagine it at all without the ibuprofen. 
• I forgot that flying overnight will almost certainly involve serious disruption of whatever internal clock I have, and I don't even have much of one.
• I forgot that even though the flight looks like a good price because I did everything right, somehow getting a decent seat is a coordinated gamble of how comfortable I want to be vs. how full the flight will be. At every juncture, the airlines want to sell me a better seat, even after paying for a pretty good one. Normally, I don't pay much attention to this, but when imagining an 11 hour flight and the forementioned issues, I get a little nervous, and they know this. I wonder how much of travel culture is based on relieving the fear of the unknown at the very moment that you are paying for the refreshment that travel to new places brings.
• I forgot that I am worried about forgetting things.  Night flights are filled with the worrisome management of the gadgets and gizmos of my life in the dark of a cramped seat. I sometimes even forget the hard earned rule of "Never Put Anything in the Seat Pocket."
• I forgot that not everyone cares about what I forget and yet I am writing this.  :)

I close with a quote from Amelia Earhart “Flying may not be all plain sailing, but the fun of it is worth the price.”  We all know what overnight flying did for her.

Results of Retirement Survey

I sent out a survey about retirement to folks who I had reason to believe might fill it out.  So, with the VERY important caveat that the sample is "People who know Bill," we have some early results.  About half the sample was either retired or semi retired. I noted that the retirees filled out their forms first as a whole.  :)

On several questions, there was a wide divergence of opinion. I'll do the fancy deviation stats later, but it's clear that on some issues, folks do not agree: whether they will be working a bit in retirement, whether work friends survive retirement, feelings about saving more.  On the whole the group doesn't seem to be worrying much about retirement money.  Here is more:

Some of these speak for themselves, but I think you will agree the responses are interesting.  This is just a teaser, since I will wait for other kinds of folks to join the statistical chorus before wrapping it up.

In terms of how this all affects me, it looks like I will be leading some trips in the future, since lots of folks are interested in that and good travel with friends is rewarding.