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.