I am reading the book Transitions: Making Sense of Life’s Changes by William Bridges. Every time I would think about retiring from teaching, the career that I love, I would go into full throttle anxiety. My good friend, Carol gave me the book after we talked about whether or not I was going to “pull the trigger” this year. I am sure my nervousness was palpable.
In reading this book, I took Bridges’ advice and listed the transitions that I had experienced since adolescence as he suggested. I came up with 17 shifts in my life since I graduated from high school. Some of the shifts were developmental. Graduating from high school, graduating from college are examples of developmental turns of my life. He then asks to compare your transitions with your parents.
Mine has very little in common with my mother or father. No guidance or clues there. Both my mom and dad lost one of their parents early in their adult lives. I, luckily, lost my parents later in my adult life. Mom didn’t work outside the home as a career. They moved to Columbus when both were about 50. It was a significant move for both. They had children earlier. Nope, nothing there. I had Jackie at 31. They had no divorces, no betrayal. They seemed to love retirement, moving to their choice of place: Florida. One thing I do remember that I have resolved not to do is The Death Count. Seriously. When we would go to visit, we inevitably would go on a ride in their complex, and they would go street by street and tell us who used to live there and when they died. Happy Ride. At this point, I would not think I would move to Florida. No, not because of hurricanes. My daughter, Jackie and I were visiting my Dad and his wife, Bea. We all went for a walk, and we were talking about the weather and how great it was. (We were coming from wet and cold Ohio.) Dad’s comment is still clear in my mind. “Yes, not bad for The Waiting Room.” Both Jackie and I stopped. And turned. “What?”
He said, “That’s what we call here. The Waiting Room!”
They laughed.
We didn’t.
I.. just..can’t.
The struggle that I have been having is visceral. I am a teacher. I have loved teaching since I first graduated and had my first job. What I didn’t like the first time around was the treatment of being a second-class citizen. Everyone knew about being a teacher because everyone has been to school. Everyone has memories, good and bad, about being in school. Teachers were paid really low (and some still are). I once visited the Clerk of Courts in Cleveland and found the people who wrote the numbers in the court dockets were paid more than I was as a teacher. When I left teaching the first time, I was encouraged to do so by my father, who I worshipped, and my newly-married, recently-elected-to-mayor husband. They did not have sabbaticals at that time. I didn’t realize it would be the start of uncertain security. Without going into detail, it was the beginning of the worst financial and emotional roller-coaster time of my life. It took ten years to regain my footing and feel secure. Now somehow, I am associating that early decision with the decision to retire.
Others have stories about the pause to retire. I would love to hear them.
Sandra… Joe Crea here. It’s too easy to be glib and toss advice, so Instead, here’s my most succinct first-hand experience. When my cancer diagnosis hit three years ago it coalesced knowledge I’d had since an epiphanal moment I’d had back in 1965: to quite that most poignant line from the song “Cabaret,” “it isn’t that long a stay.” And though I’ve known since age 12 I’d be a writer, I knew it wasn’t going to be only in newsprint; I had/have more to say. And that’s when I recognized that… the waiting room awaited.
So. That’s when I knew It Was Time – for me, anyway. And gradually, I’ve begun to do more and more of “the stuff” that matters most to me. Admittedly, I’m still resisting – because I’m still scared if I actually have “The Stuff.” But with (God willing) maybe ten or 15 years left on the meter, it really IS now-or-never. And… it’s time.
Okay, I’ll tender this much advice. If teaching remains your one great passion my heart says embrace that calling to the very last. But if you’ve got much, much more beyond the classroom left to pursue and explore? Well, hopefully you’ve got more time left ahead of you to experience. So why not do it while you have the health and strength and mobility at your disposal?
Because, again to quote from the liveliest song I will ever hear… “there’s such a lot of world to see….”
With affection and respect ///
Part of the challenge I find in writing is the learning. Teaching, if you are doing it right, is all consuming. It is creative, emotional, and intellectual. There are people’s stories to tell. I am where I was once before, where I want to go out and experience what I tell the kids to do.
As you say, I want to do this when I am healthy. Thanks for your wisdom and to us – slainte.
Not sure what I would do in retirement. Lots of volunteerism, I am sure.
Yes, making this leap is a big deal! As William Bridges points out in his book, this is a huge shift of identity. But what an exciting adventure!
Thanks for the note. I appreciate you helping me with this transition. See you Monday?
Sandra–I fully retired in 2012–the helpful part of being a social worker was that I could taper down…essentially wean myself from a career that I truly loved. I love my retired life. It helps to have a partner who is a dear friend and who makes me laugh. I miss my people. I miss the relationships. I miss their courage. But…I do not miss the responsibility, the schedule and the pain some days brought me.
I love the freedom to do what I want when I want. I love waking up whenever….I love being able to travel for extended periods of time. I have no desire to go back to my professional life. But I am always a social worker in spirit and I find many ways to share my experience, talent and skill. You will ALWAYS be a teacher. I have no doubt that that will continue to gratify you–just in new ways. Good luck with this!
I really support your efforts