I Am Like My Dog

For the past couple of years, my husband and I have been watching our beloved dog age. She is close to 17 years old.

I have not had this experience before. I’ve had animals who were getting up in years, and then suddenly became ill and I had to let them go. I did it. It hurt, but from it I thought I learned to be tough. I thought I was prepared. I am not. This is hard.

It’s hard for two reasons. I worry every time she seems not quite herself. I wonder when the time will come, and on a not-so-good day, I think, with my heart in my throat, “Is this it?” I hover over her, gauging her daily activities and mood to make sure she’s ok. I am apprehensive when I leave home for a trip. I pray for her to make it through until I return. I’m concerned that she’s in pain, or that she’s troubled and anxious because she can’t hear us anymore and her sight is failing rapidly.

And (second reason), I see her as the touchstone for my future. Who would have thought I would have a window into my progression into old age through my dog? But I do. I know I have many, many good years ahead of me. And she might too. But I can see the similarities between us already. We’re stiff in the morning, we sometimes forget things (she will go in and out of the house over and over again -- and the irony is I have to set a timer when she goes out because I will forget about her) and I can see her frailty escalating. Because she can’t hear and barely see us anymore, she nips at our hands as they come close to her face. I too, currently nursing a sore shoulder that’s not healing as fast as it would have a few years ago, am feeling more vulnerable in the world.

But there is another side to her aging I also find I can relate to. She has a sense of abandon she never had before. This part I like. She used to be very wary of confined spaces. Now she will traverse anything -- be it the space between the truck and the garage door, a ridiculous threaded path through the outdoor furniture, or most recently, a head long plunge between a living room armchair and my cello on its stand -- even though I provided ample space in the living room for her to walk through. Yes, she is losing her sight, but there is more to it than that. She is unafraid. When I load her in the car, she no longer cowers and trembles. Tail up, she is ready to go. She is less interested in challenging other dogs (she has always been particular about who her dog friends are) and more interested in who they are.

As I enter the second half of my life, I find I have a similar outlook. I care way less about expertise and way more about the experience. Though I'm a cello novice, I’m planning to accompany on my cello two friends who play violin and viola in an upcoming Christmas concert at our favorite wine shop. It is a joy to play with them. If I flub up, I don’t care. I apply for jobs online regularly -- “selling” myself and happy if a company or agency “buys”, but equally OK if they don’t. So far I’ve garnered two freelance writing jobs from this “what the hell, give it a shot” attitude. What do I have to lose? I am much more friendly with store clerks, strangers in elevators and whoever else wants to strike up a conversation than I have ever been before. And I’m often the initiator of these conversations. Why not? Much like my dog, who doesn’t pick fights with other dogs anymore -- she just offers a friendly nose (when she realizes they are there) -- I am opening myself to life and other people in a way I didn’t when I was younger.

I have learned a lot from my dog over the years: live in the moment, take all the love you can get, be loyal. I am now learning how to age gracefully. Though she sleeps through most of the day, she is full of puppy energy for a walk. If she can stay bouncy through the aches and pains, so can I.

It will be a sad day when she goes, but it will be one more lesson from her. Live life to the fullest, hang on as long as you can and know that love is what counts the most.

Click -- Pick Me!

When I applied for the job I held for almost two decades until I retired this summer, I didn't yet have email or even an Internet connection. At least I had a computer for creating a master cover letter to revise with each application, an easily refreshed resume and even a way to "type" addresses on an envelope.

As for the job search? I did it the old fashioned way -- reading ads in the newspaper and sending hopeful snail mails to bricks and mortar offices. Tedious. Time-consuming. Not very rewarding. And once sent...the applications often drifted off into obscurity. Did they even receive it? Did I address it correctly? Don't they want me?

It's a whole new world in this second half -- and I mean that figuratively and literally. With a few simple clicks of my mouse I'm shooting applications off here, there and everywhere (which can include around the world, and certainly to prospective employers with a global presence). You gotta love that. It's so easy -- upload my resume, customize a brief online cover letter, include links to my website and voila! I've applied.

And they respond with a confirmation. "Hi Ginny, we received your application. Thank you!" Heck, I'm almost there! We're already on a first name basis.

Then there's the plethora of online job consolidators like Indeed.com, SimplyHired.com and CareerBuilder.com -- and that's just a tiny scratch in the surface. Pages and pages of employment possibilities shining away at me from my computer screen.

Much like surfing the Internet, surfing for job prospects is a little addicting. Who knows what might be out there tomorrow, tonight, or a few minutes from now?

I gotta get a grip, because job surfing is not the same as working and the amount of time I spend doing it might be better spent, say, writing a book -- that I'll publish on the Internet! Or playing cello. Or baking cookies for my husband. And there is that laundry....

Technology. Love it.

"How Does it Feel to be Retired?"

My husband asked me that question recently. And my answer was something along the lines of, "Not very different from how it's felt for the past few months working."

That's because my days didn't dramatically change on retirement Day One, when many retirees instantly transition from full and demanding days on the job to luxuriously abundant-with-free-time days where they get up in the morning whenever they want to and indulge themselves in spontaneous activites all day. Over the past several months, prior to my last day at work, my work load had dwindled to almost nothing -- other than a weekly blog post and checking email every day. I've worked from home for more than ten years, so being where I love to be and having a varied and flexible schedule is nothing new. In fact, officially retiring was a tiny bit disappointing because I didn't get to experience that major shift in routine.

However, as the time passes I am feeling other subtle shifts -- and that's where the difference between working full time because I have to and defining my life more on my own terms is starting to sink in. Some of it's good. Some of it's not so good.

The not so good comes from the root of all evil -- money. No matter how much I prepared by working the figures, discussing our finances with my husband and reassuring myself we'll be fine, getting a grip on having less money -- significantly less money -- is an adjustment. I may have retired from one job, but that doesn't mean I've stepped out of the work world -- because I don't want to have significantly less money for long. Money is power. Money is freedom. Money is nice. It's what you exchange for the things you want -- whether that be home improvements, vacations or the ability to "hold your own" with your children and indulge them with gifts and opportunities. You don't necessarily realize how important these things are until you no longer have the ability or control to provide them.

Control. That's another tricky element that has waned with "retirement." For the first time in more than 20 years I do not have absolute control over my finances. I am dependent on someone else now. And with that dependency comes a loss of control. That hit home hard when I was trying to convert my life insurance over to my husband's flexible benefits -- and doing it from a distance because I was 500 miles away from home visiting family. He was having to do the "leg work" of making this change because I no longer had access to the electronic systems in the company where we both worked and which I retired from. The people he was working with didn't understand the process we needed to go through and kept giving him what I knew were wrong answers -- as I was in a special class of retirees, having taken a company-proposed early retirement. And because there are such strict rules and timing in all of this, I was feeling especially vulnerable in trying to manage this a couple of steps removed and hundreds of miles away -- though I eventually found the key to regaining at least some control was simply having all his personal information in my hands and feeding it to the benefits representatives (a good lesson for others in similar situations). The final blow was to learn I had no influence over beneficiary designations. Even though we're married and our finances are now combined, I don't own this life insurance. It's all his, and that means he gets all the money. There is no option to provide for my other heirs -- as I could with my own life insurance. I have never been in this position before.

At one point in this process I broke down sobbing over the phone to my husband, "I have nothing, I am nothing, I'm nobody and I can't do anything." I know I shocked (and probably scared) him with this outburst, but I really surprised myself too. It seemed I'd been holding in -- and maybe hiding from myself -- the crux of what it meant to make such a dramatic life change. I didn't truly mean I had no value as a person. What I meant was I'd lost my power, and I was now invisible in a system in which I had recently had a very strong presence. I got over it (and it helped to unlock the secret to working the system), but there's definitely a lesson in letting go when it comes to retiring.

Now for the upside...though my daily routine is not dramatically different from what it was before retirement, what I am noticing is a significant and very liberating absence of pressure -- the pressure to continually meet ongoing deadlines, the pressure of planning my work out weeks ahead, the pressure of being responsible to multiple constituents on an ongoing basis, the pressure to "grow and develop" in a job where it was often a challenge to overcome complacency, the pressure to perform well and with enthusiasm at tasks I really didn't enjoy. That absence of pressure feels great. Where I may have lost some financial freedom, I have greatly gained personal freedom -- to explore, go forth and be myself in the world, whatever I'm defining my self to be.

In my case, "retirement" is a bit of a misnomer. I haven't completely let go. Though I've retired from my job of 18 years, I haven't retired from the work world. What I'm hoping for is to find work on my own terms as a freelance writer -- because I love to write and I'm pretty fond of the money (and the power and freedom) part time freelance writing will bring. I can't afford to completely leave the work world yet, and that's OK.

What I AM enjoying is the opportunity to create work I want to do, and only work I want to do, rather than plunging right into work I have to do because I have to make a living. That's a huge change. And that's taken some getting used to too -- the art of simply giving myself permission to do this and making sure I don't grab at something I don't want. While I may not be luxuriating in a dramatic shift in my daily life, I am luxuriating in the gifts of defining my own work, being free to work when I want to and exploring a new world of connecting with people in a creative way rather than being at the mercy of a job description. This is the beauty and excitement of retirement -- whether you are working for money or working for the enjoyment of doing something you love to do. In retirement, these two things can (and should) be one and the same.

Lastly, though you might say I'm semi-retired, there is one thing I think I share with all retirees....when you're "retired" it is REALLY hard to remember what day it is. And I don't think that has anything to do with age ;-).

Job Hunting When You Don't Really Need a Job

I have worked since I was eleven....if you count babysitting. My first job was helping a neighbor in her in-home daycare center. As a teenager I made a little more money babysitting, I nannied after high school, at nineteen had my first "real" job working as a clerk for a bank, cleaned houses during my college years and over the next almost forty years accumulated a very eclectic mix of career choices that included legal secretary, benefits administrator, childcare provider, optician, bass player and writer -- the career I was always destined for.

Though my job choices have been varied, they were driven by the need to earn a living. That's probably why there's so much variety. I never felt the luxury of taking my time, being choosy and not accepting a job if it wasn't the perfect one for me. I always did what I had to do with what was available in order to support myself and my family.

In this second half, for the first time in my life I don't have to do that. It's a new feeling that I'm discovering is a little hard to get used to. I could choose to not work at all, but I can't see creating that kind of financial hardship for my family. I like having enough money and I prefer to have more than enough money, because to me money means freedom -- to do the things you want to do, to help others who don't have money and to not have to do the things you don't want to do (like take just any job).

So -- I'm out there in the online world of freelance writing opportunities, looking to make money so I can spoil my grandchildren and play unlimited golf, but realizing that this time it gets to be on my terms. I don't have to jump at anything that comes along. I don't have to accept pay that is below what I deserve for the work I deliver. I don't have to modify my schedule to accommodate someone else's.

For anyone else who's in the second half, these are things you need to remind yourself of. Because I found myself jumping a time or two, considering a lower wage and even stressing that I wouldn't be available for one job in particular because I'm currently traveling. But I'm training myself to say "no" to any of the auto-responses I would have made in the past and "yes" to what works for me to make the most of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I have living here in my second half.

That's a luxury money can't buy.

The Best Time

All of my life on every birthday I’ve been excited about turning another year older. Of course, we expect this with children -- who mark each year as a badge of their budding personhood. Turning 5 is a big deal -- you get to start school. Then 10 -- because you’re almost not a kid anymore. At 13 you’re now a teenager. Hit 16 and wow, you can drive! And of course, 21 is the entry into full adulthood.

But after that landmark, many people begin to deny their age. As the “big 3-0” looms, some decide to be 29 forever. Turning 40 is celebrated with black balloons and black humor. You’re over the hill. As the decades build, fewer and fewer people seem to find cause to celebrate.

Not me.

When I turned 50 I had a “Fabulous Fifties” party complete with hula hoops and poodle skirts, and on my last birthday my husband and I hosted my daughters and one son-in-law to a “Sensational Sixty” weekend commemorating this important turning point in my life.

I’ve never lied about my age. Why would I? When I hear people bemoaning getting older, I wonder why. I’m happy I made it so successfully to 60. I didn’t die young. I raised a family. I developed a career. I had many successes -- and a few failures -- along the way. I’ve stayed healthy. I didn’t end up broke and on the streets. I remember both the struggles and the triumphs of going from zero to 60 -- and I wouldn’t want to go back. I’m glad to be here. Those were the learning years.

I’m not unaware that there could be trials in the second half too. My biggest concern is health, so I’m paying a lot of attention to staying healthy. I’m blessed with some very good genes, a natural inclination to eat what’s good for me, a commitment to exercise and an optimistic outlook that I think keeps me young and healthy no matter how many years I’m logging behind me. It also seems there’s a new issue we baby boomers have to be concerned about-- outliving our money. While I don’t want to run out of cash (and I’m taking steps to make sure that doesn’t happen), I’m thrilled to know the actuarial tables are starting to catch up with my optimism.

To me the second half is the time to reap the rewards from the first half. With the responsibilities of childrearing and working-for-a-living-whatever-that-requires behind me, it’s time to indulge: to put my wisdom and experience to work finding work to do that I truly love; to appreciate and enjoy every single day; to fill my days with new passions and interests; to savor life, because one thing is true -- in the second half you can see the reality of the end. That’s a vision that’s often lost on the young.

I come from a long line of long-lived women. My aunt still spends her days tending her abundant garden. She is 92. Her mother was still in her own home and tending to her garden on the day she died, in her mid-90’s. These two women have paved the way for me to live into my hundreds -- robust, healthy, full of energy and still enjoying new adventures.

I won’t take up skydiving in the second half. I don’t want to press the odds or tease the gods. But I will take advantage of every opportunity to do what I most want to do and to live life to its fullest. It’s my time, it’s the last time, it’s the best time.

Who Is That Woman in the Mirror?

It's a funny thing -- aging. I don't feel it on the inside, except to say that the 20-something year-old who is sometimes a 6 year-old in spirit who lives here in my mind is certainly blessed to have the wisdom and experience of an almost 61 year-old. That's about how I'd sum up my "real age". And bodywise, I am starting to tune into the "I wouldn't do that if I were you" messages I get when I try to stretch too far, pick up something too heavy, or sit cross-legged on the floor -- not to mention my occasional fantasies about taking up roller blading.

But when I look in the mirror I wonder who the hell that is! And photos...wow, not what I thought I looked like when they were taken. Damn...the camera doesn't lie. I'm even ok with any extra photo-induced pounds, but could they go on my collar bone please? And maybe fill out that stuff under my chin?! I find I'm having a little bit of a hard time adjusting to that budding "old lady" in the mirror. The image doesn't fit with who I expect to see.

Vanity...I will never dye my hair. I love my grey. I'm proud of my age. And I think denial by dyeing is just silly. You're not fooling anyone -- the dye job doesn't match the wrinkles. Even the wrinkles -- I didn't mind them at first, but I can see the shape of my face changing, the ghost of my mother (which I like seeing) and the ghosts of my grandmothers (those make me gulp a little bit because they mean I'm really teetering on the edge of old ladiness).

And vanity aside -- because ultimately I can come to grips with fading youthful looks -- what I really worry about is how looking like an old lady on the outside is going to affect my life on the inside because of how people will respond to seeing this old lady. In this country, there is an incipient ageism that is almost infused into our American DNA that discounts, discredits and sometimes "disappears" the elderly. I've even perpetrated it at times myself -- of course, when I was much younger.

I don't want that to happen to me.

I think I will go forth in this second half as an ambassador for all the old ladies -- all the old people -- of the world. I will break through that mindset that thinks old people are fine sitting in the corner, don't have much to say, have even less to contribute, and can be easily dismissed. And while I'm at it, I'm going to tell that old woman in the mirror, "Old is beautiful!"

At the Click of a Mouse...

Yesterday I clicked an online button to trigger an early retirement option and officially enter the second half of my life -- beyond 60. I’m thumbing my nose at the actuarial tables and looking forward to getting more-than- planned-for from my pension fund by defying the odds and living to 120. Hence, what you read on this blog will be stories from the second half, not the final third.

As I rode my bicycle around the neighborhood last evening to celebrate -- enjoying beautiful garden views, balmy weather and the glorious fact that I’m healthy enough for a hearty bike ride (part of my longevity plan) -- I realized I was feeling kind of giddy, and totally enjoying it. Rather than seeing the decline of my life stretching out in front of me, I am instead filled with exuberance, excitement and a sense of abandon that I’ve never felt before. After all, what have I got to lose?

Entering the second half is like being 20 again, with a huge span of life ahead, but WAY better. In the second half I have experience, knowledge, skills -- and yes, some talents -- plus a little wisdom to draw from, now fueled by a new-found sense of adventure. It certainly helps that this second half is somewhat cushioned and subsidized by an albeit small but steady guaranteed income bolstered by a supportive and younger husband committed to working for the next 6+ years. Lucky me!

This second half is my last chance to totally “self-actualize”, to enjoy, to appreciate, to contribute and to give my “last hurrah” -- without fear of consequences or dependencies to influence my choices -- before I’m just a memory to those who love me. And maybe in the second half I can even create a little footprint in the collective consciousness to leave behind as well.

Whatever this second half holds, I’m going to make the most of it.