Friends, I
retired.
It was the hardest
thing I've ever done.
31 years old and
retired.
Living the dream? Hmmm.
It's not like this
should have come as a shock to me, this whole retirement thing, but somehow it
still hit me like a tidal wave. Most unfortunately I was not wearing water
wings, nor was I prepared with an industrial strength pool noodle.
(Because obviously
those things would protect me from a tidal wave. Duh.)
I've always known that
my (former) county only held your spot for 24 months of long term disability,
but I never in my wildest dreams thought it would apply to me.
I mean, I knew the
details, because, um hello? I have an affinity for post-it notes and
highlighters. I do not miss details.
But I always disregarded those details because clearly they weren't going to apply to me! Everything is
turning around! I'll be back in no time! Go-go-gadget stomach!
Oops.
In January I got a call
that included two of the following:
A. Tears from me
B. Free puppies
C. A unicorn
D. A sternly worded
lecture
(I know it's a tough
one, take your time - I never liked multiple choice either)
So apparently when you
retire, you are supposed to apply for these things. Also you are
supposed to do this months in advance. In fact, at the exact moment that I went
out on short term disability, I was supposed to start applying for retirement,
ya know, just in case.
Just to review - when I
was 28 and lying in a hospital bed after someone jammed a hose through my
stomach, that's when I was supposed to think "hey, I should apply for
retirement!"
Good, now we are all on
the same page.
But all (somewhat jaded)
sarcasm aside, it was the furthest thing from my mind. For the entire duration
of short term disability, I was just busying myself with a few medical
catastrophes before I would return to teaching. Or at least that's how it felt
in my mind.
I never, in a million
years, thought I wouldn't be back in a week, a month, a year...ever?
It never even crossed
my mind. Not once.
Short term disability
turned into long term disability, and even when I decided to go back to school
and become a health coach, there was an eensy-weensy part of me that thought
how great it would be to use all that I had learned with my students and
colleagues, and health coach part time while I was teaching.
(Which hello, should
have been my first clue that my retirement was imminent. Clearly I've been out
of the classroom long enough to think for even a fraction of a second that I
could both health coach AND teach elementary school. Ha.)
As the most recent
months crept closer and closer to May 15th, it was always in the back of my
mind, but I kept it there on purpose.
Except when I
was filling out the 293,847 papers necessary for retirement. And doing things
like deciding who got my benefits upon my death, and if I wanted them to get
money all at once or in little “gifts” over the years --> ya know, like a little gold box that explodes with confetti upon opening it, "Surprise! Dead person money!"
Suuuuuper
uplifting.
Then it happened.
And instead of writing,
to heal and process, I fell off the face of the earth.
Yes, post-retirement
someone did secretly attach a high speed motor to my hamster wheel, and life
has been Chaos with a capital C, but mostly I've been hiding.
I won't lie about
it.
(But if you're
responsible for the wheel motor, we need to have some words. I'll bring cookies
if you play nice.)
No, I didn't write
because I was busy.
I didn't write because
writing made it real.
So very raw, and
authentically real.
I always imagined that
when I retired from teaching, it would be this big, festive celebration.
I would have a party, and my family, fellow colleagues and I would
lift our glasses to a successful career of teaching, while my husband and I
began dreaming about our retirement life of travel, grandchildren, and
excitement.
On the plus side, my
sweet husband brought me flowers and a retirement card.
(Sorry ladies, he’s all
mine!)
So no, this did not go
as planned.
And it has been
hard.
Really hard.
[I can neither confirm,
nor deny, an increase in Sweet Freedom baked good consumption...]
But now the shock is
starting to wear off, and I’m not hiding.
I want to swim back to
shore.
I'm ready to get back to
living.
My outer world has
changed, but not my inner world. I can’t let being a teacher solely define who
I am and what I believe in, for if it did, then this would destroy me.
And I won’t let it.
I have a lot more
living, and loving, and laughing to do.
[Also cookie
consumption. Equally ranking in importance]
So teaching was my
first try.
I gave it my all, and I
had big plans that went so severely off course.
But now I have big
plans for health coaching, and my business,
and although it’s not the road I planned, it is now the road I choose.
So I’m going to take a
big ol' gulp of green juice.
I’m going to put on my
big-kid pants.
I’m going to swim back
to shore.
And I’m going to try again.
