For some time, I wondered what I would do and how I’d feel on my last day of work; ditto for the following day, my first official day of (gulp!) retirement.
Well, now I know, because I’ve been there, done that.
Honestly, in the aftermath, I’m not sure I have it all figured out. And, that’s okay, I think.
It definitely was an emotional roller coaster – and I like roller coasters as long as I’m securely strapped in – but perhaps I was expecting some things to happen that didn’t, and some things I didn’t expect did occur.
I picked June 30 for my farewell because it’s the last day of my workplace’s fiscal year, and my work patterns year after year followed that schedule; so, why not stick with it to the end.
However, I wish I had a dollar for each time someone came up and asked, “So, how you enjoying retirement?” This question began surfacing around commencement, two months before I left active duty, and accelerated each passing week. Not sure what that says.
It reminded me of the other question that came my way year after year following graduation: “So what do you do all the time now that the students are gone?” My stock answer, “Oh, I play Solitaire on my computer and wait for someone to call asking me to write another news release.”
I’ve told many people that what has caught me up short – other than reminders that the regular income spigot will be turned off and not reopened – is how quickly this retirement stage of life has arrived. While we’ve been grateful for the financial counsel and other advice from professional quarters and from persons already knee-deep into retirement, nothing quite adequately prepared me psychologically for this transition.
So how was “the last day?” It started by writing and distributing one last public service announcement to area radio stations and other outlets, followed by an “exit interview” with a human resources representative in which I was informed that I would receive some remuneration for a number of vacation days not taken. I surrendered my faculty ID and was issued a “retiree pass” that will provide free admission to public and sports events. One must gather his token perks wherever he may.
I was assigned a retiree mailbox, tried the new combination several times and was unable to open it. Postmistress Betty Hertzler came out nonchalantly opened it in one try and went back inside. I tried again to open it, unsuccessfully.
Betty came back out and watched me try to open the box – “I’m loving this,” she chortled – and told me what I was doing wrong. I tried once more and, voila, the door swung open to reveal absolutely nothing inside.
I had lunch at a downtown bistro with another EMU person who was retiring from EMU’s development office, Art Borden. Only at age 83, he had retired several times from a variety of positions, each one different than what he left college expecting to do. It felt good to reflect on our respective experiences, to be able to honestly say that we had done what we felt called to do, were leaving with multiple satisfactions and looked forward to whatever lies ahead.
I felt under the gun to have my office completely empty by the end of the day with someone else planning to move in the next morning. By early afternoon, I knew I wouldn’t meet that deadline, so I hastily piled files and other materials into boxes, promising myself that I would come back and review each one methodically and make more careful, realistic decisions about what gets pitched and what should be forwarded to the school’s archives.
It was rather unnerving to watch box after box of old files, news releases, clippings, catalogues, magazines and photographs that had been removed earlier being transported down the stairs and out the door, essentially my life’s work now departing for a “new” home. I hope and pray that much of this accumulated material will prove valuable to those who will be charged with writing the centennial history and other narratives of the noble institution I was privileged to work for these four decades.
My employee health care and other fringe benefits expired at midnight, and my Medicare and supplemental health insurance cards, now tucked into my wallet, kicked in.
The next morning, July 1, I didn’t set my radio alarm, but awakened just 10 minutes later than my usual 5:30 wakeup call. I wonder how long it will be before my sleep habits change. I have no desire to start watching late night television – or daytime TV for that matter – or revert to my teenage days of sleeping half the day away, especially Saturdays. I look forward to nursing that third cup of robust coffee on pleasant mornings on our patio, listening to parakeet Ozzie’s energetic serenade, reading the newspaper slowly, and thinking, “Hey, I don’t have to rush in to work and crank out that feature article that I keep putting off.”
Wife Anna is about two weeks into her retirement and is already adjusting to new patterns and schedules. Me, I won’t feel like I’ve actually entered this new phase until all those wretched boxes have been analyzed and their contents properly distributed.
Then, perhaps, I can begin reinventing myself.
Jim Bishop retired June 30, 2011, after 40 years as public information officer at Eastern Mennonite University. He is retaining an email account at [email protected].
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