Today is the first day of my sixth year of retirement. I get a bit frustrated with upscale definitions of thriving in this phase of my life. That implies something that few have the resources to emulate.
I'm most inspired by folks I've met at the Accordion Club. These are more (senior than I am) men and women who are beginners on their instruments than advanced or professional musicians. They place themselves in front of others -however joyously, proficiently, or hesitantly- courageously and bring forth music. In September, a grandmother introduced her severely disabled grandson (brain-damaged with very little muscle coordination) who mashed a few keys until "Jingle Bells" emerged. A few mashes more and he played March of the Gladiators (what most of us hear as the introduction to the main attraction in a circus).
A woman I met crafting (a bit younger than I) had a heart transplant 11 months ago. On a disability income she spends dozens of hours each week making items for charity. Since her transplant she's taken up contra-dancing. A member of MENSA, she labeled her left hand when she started going to dances because she doesn't immediately process "right hand forward" when it's called in motion.
A woman who regularly attends the monthly acoustic jam to sing along has finally consented to use her oxygen supply. Partially, that's because she'll lose her place on the lung transplant list if she doesn't follow her protocols, but also because the transplanted heart came to the jam to play recorder and spoke with her about how intensely anxious waiting can be and how extraordinary it is to realize you can breathe, walk, sing, and play after years of exhaustion.
One of the guitarists who regularly attends both the craft group and the jam sessions is a former middle school music teacher. She "stalked" me online before we met in person because she realized we had two friends in common. Her husband asked me when he met me, "Do black lives matter?" That opened a dialogue around our shared experiences in communities where we were the minority. They were with me -and the mutual friend who plays flute- when I walked into a room full of accordions in June 2016. Late in August, their 30-something multiracial son was found dead in his bedroom. One row at the memorial service was filled with silver haired folks who never met their son. We left thanking his friends for sharing their stories about his adventurous, fun-loving spirit. Weeks passed before the coroner's report determined he'd accidentally overdosed. The last time we were together crafting, she smiled tearfully, saying she thought she'd healed enough to return to a place where others were enjoying playing and singing.
Not long after I retired, a dear friend of mine suffered a massive stroke. He astounded his medical care team, because even though his traumatized cerebellum couldn't retain the past 30 seconds, he remained cogent. He communicated effectively and demonstrated a sense of humor. A week or two later, he had recovered beyond all expectations. Since then, he's returned to work, mostly out of a sincere understanding that shifting one paragraph in a document full of jargon could make a difference for a child who needs resources to support his educational development; or because that paragraph advanced a connection with a parent, teacher, or accountant who'll make that happen. He also reminds his youthful colleagues that life experiences call forth as much delight as devastation, maybe more.
When I first retired, I repeatedly stated that what I would miss most was the incredible diversity of personalities and expressions of culture I encountered every day. I missed the voices of people starting every day in the same way, creating rituals they didn't realize were sacred. It took months for me to say "yes" to invitations to groups of old (many of whom are younger than I) ladies knitting; to say "so what?" when I step into a new group of people whose daily routine centers around a mushy free lunch in the senior center. Somehow, that's how my understanding of "thrive" began changing. It opened my heart to doing what would inspire me: tap dancing, coordinating a musical activity, a back-stretching, pretzel-twisting "gentle" yoga class. If all I do is bear witness to these amazing ordinary men and women, I'm grateful.
Whatever we do in retirement that's different, we can't cast off what is most essential to our wellbeing. Some are ahead of the learning curve that defines how to thrive outside the "work," "income," and "evidence of effectiveness" that structured our lives for more than 40 years. We all thrive because our next adventure will stem from any invitation we receive, the ones we decline, the ones we hesitate to accept, and the ones we leap toward without a second thought about which foot is dancing off the cliff. You've been doing that long before your read this, and you will continue doing what you do best because it always works. You may even become audacious enough to change what hasn't worked the way you wanted.
DonnaMarie Fekete
1 November 2017