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Reflections On My Early Retirement
And all those plans — the gods are laughing
Winter’s bones are here. Another turning towards the darkest day and Yuletide.
Ho! Ho! Ho!
And a time to be strapped to the torture rack of self-reflection. Not just this past year. No. Let me do this properly and spare no pain. Alongside the traditions of the fermented grape I will indulge in some seasonal mulling over the time since I retired, just over two years ago.
The time was right. I was more than ready to go. I have never defined myself by my work. It has never been a particularly good fit. My dream job would be to just sit and think beautiful thoughts, on a scale to be negotiated. I squeezed myself into the role until my pips squeaked. Being a line manager for thirty years was never an aspiration. It was just better than being managed. And having a boss that visited me once a month, at the most, suited me fine. But when I left, I shed the mantle without difficulty. No looking back. No identity crisis. I have no hankering to return to a 37-hour week of salaried employment. None. It seems not two years but a lifetime away.
But retirement hasn’t been easy. I imagined it differently. Not because of any issues that are integral to retirement, but because of events, dear boy, events (quoth Harold Macmillan…
