My husband’s first day of retirement is today. After 50 years almost to the day in the same career, he’s decided to start his vacation. That’s what he calls it, anyway. The word retirement doesn’t roll that easily off the tongue yet.
Retirement used to scare the wits out of him. For years, he’d ponder aloud how anyone who suited up and showed up every single day of the week–he had perfect attendance at work, by the way–could just stop doing it one day.
Now he knows. And this morning, at least, he’s found it quite easy. Much of the ease of this transition he’s embracing has occurred thanks to his transformation over the last several months. It’s required letting go. A job, afterall, like a marriage, is a nontangible possession, but a possession nonetheless. And it has to be let go in order to move on.
And that can be a scary thing, especially when it has defined you for almost your entire life. Especially when you’ve been the boss for nearly all that time, too. He jokes that since he no longer has a staff, he will have to be the boss of me. I sort of feel sorry for him because I am a terrible employee, which is why I work for myself. So in that regard, I already have a boss. But I’m open to a change in management if I get a longer lunch break.
My husband is officially retired. And I couldn’t be happier or prouder of him. But as he starts his vacation today, I have to remind him. I’m still working.