The Accidental Retiree

I've been thinking and reading a lot about retirement lately.  Being the compulsive planner that I am, it's surprising that I didn't do this before I left the workplace but at the time I believed it was temporary.

I left accounting to pursue a degree in psychology but my timing was off.  In the midst of various family emergencies and pursuing a new relationship, continuing education wasn't a priority.  I decided the degree could wait.  Life didn't slow down so the following year I enrolled in a college program - "psychology light" - which I enjoyed but didn't feel was adequate preparation for a career.

So, I told myself I was taking a "sabbatical" and bought a farm and moved to the country and woke up one day and admitted to myself I had "retired".

It took me rather longer to start telling others, when they asked, that I was "retired".  Most people respond with "Lucky you!  Are you enjoying it?" although a few ask "Are you bored?" and the answer to both questions is "yes".

The good part is as I expected.  It's lovely to be able to devote as much time and attention as I want to my hobbies and pastimes.  I can stay up until 3 a.m. to finish a mystery novel without worrying about getting up with my alarm the next morning.  I can choose to spend the day sewing or gardening or window shopping or napping - whatever I like.  I don't need to deal with mean people.  (Although the great majority of my co-workers and clients throughout the years were, in fact, very nice people and I miss them.)

Boredom, I've concluded, is in the eye of the beholder.  I have no lack of activities to fill my time (see hobbies and pastimes above).  Some days are a bit tedious but after two and half decades of accounting, I'm not a stranger to tedium.

The downside of retirement, for me, is the absence of a sense of purpose, specifically a sense of purpose reinforced by outside acknowledgment.

Like many (probably most) accountants, while I was working I harbored the fantasy that beneath my staid and sober exterior lurked a free spirit, a bohemian, a wild woman waiting to surface.  I told myself that I was not defined by my job.  When the time was right, I would explore my creative side - become a potter or a poet or a travel writer.

I may have been mistaken.  I'm having a grand old time exploring my creative side but I can't escape the feeling that this is just an interlude - I miss putting on my grown-up clothes, hopping on the subway and being at my desk before 8 every morning.  I miss staff meetings and month-end and the adrenaline rush of meeting the tax deadline.  And as much as I wish I were the type of person who gets more satisfaction from completing a quilt or growing a perfect eggplant as from receiving a glowing performance review - I'm not.

There are lots of options - go back to school, go back to work, volunteer, take up golf or give it awhile longer in the hopes that the wild woman is just taking her time to wake up.  In the meantime, I feel I'm sitting in the station - sipping a latte and debating which train to take.

What Not to Wear: Farm Edition

Lately I can't get enough of Stacy and Clinton and their show What Not to Wear.  In past tv seasons, I flipped merrily past Stacy's exhortations to try an "empeer" waist (why can't Americans manage to pronounce French words correctly?  Is it from spending too much time in their "foy-rrrs"?) and shook my head as she and Clinton wrapped yet another belt around a blazer - a look I thought had gone out in 1983.  That was before I moved out of the city and discovered that a large portion of the population think it's a good idea to wear their pajamas to the grocery store and resurrect 1970s concert t-shirts for formal occasions.

Welcome to rural fashion.

If it were simply a matter of observing others' faux pas (or would Stacy say "fox paws"?) I might still resist the show - seeing dozens of people lined up on the causeway each day with their bait and tackle hasn't convinced me to start watching the fishing channel.  But a glance at the mirror demonstrates that my own fashion sense has taken a turn for the icky since moving to the farm.  To quote Dilbert, casual day has gone too far.

Apart from some youthful experimentation with skirt suits and padded shoulders, I've spent most of my adult life in clothes from the Gap.  Jeans, khakis, button down shirts and the occasional colorful sweater or cute little denim skirt pretty much covered all occasions.  When I went back to work in a corporate environment, I took a step up to Banana Republic for appropriate "business casual".  It was great.  I didn't need to think about fashion trends or this season's colors - a bi-annual trip to the mall - once in spring and again in the fall - and I could rest assured that I was appropriately dressed if not exactly a fashionista.

Moving to the farm and turning 50 have required some serious wardrobe editing.  Gone are the tailored wool trousers, the colorful short skirts, the graceful ballet flats - impractical on muddy driveways, unflattering to middle-aged legs, unsupportive of fallen arches.  What remains in my closet might best be described as artisan hippie meets senior citizen - yoga hoodies, hand knit socks, Birkenstock sandals and far too many pair of capri pants.  Stacy says no one over the age of 5 should wear capris and, in this instance, I'm with Stacy.

I'm uncertain how to exchange urban preppy for farm chic.  I'm too old for Daisy Dukes, not ready to give in to pajama jeans (looks like denim... feels like pj's) www.pajamajeans.com

Stacy and Clinton's assistance is available only to U.S. residents so I'm going to pitch a spin-off to CBC.  We'll get fashion ikons Shania Twain and Burton Cummings to co-host and call it "Tragically Hip - What Not to Wear Canada".