Tales of an Overachieving Retiree
(Article 3)
A series of articles about the challenges of bringing overachievement into retirement and finding pleasure in the process
By Peter
Primary English Teacher / Curriculum Advisor
Retired 2009
Since my second article, I have been meticulously “on track”, with not much time off for skiing in the bush. Of course, I can blame the weather, what with all the rain and ice. Today, however, with the freshly fallen snow, I could’ve gone out to make new trails. Instead, I chose to create … this article.
For the past three weeks I have been bogged down unscrambling my corporation’s financial figures, just another example of the scales of moderation being tipped the wrong way. As part of my efforts to get back to a better balance, I have been trying to do things for myself in shorter gaps, smaller gulps, not pushing for two hours of skiing, but rather taking a walk with Danielle for one or two kilometres. Or I’ve been standing more often outside on the deck, without shoveling the snow, just watching the birds, the sun (or clouds and snow) and breathing in the cold air.
It is easy for me to forget, if I’m stressed, that the pleasure is in the process. Such as right now – even though I’m stressed by the deadline that has long gone by, I am enjoying thinking about what I want to write. Besides, it is sunny outside, the birds are flittering happily around the sunflower feeders and spring is threatening my ski trails. But that’s alright.
The mountain of too much
Nonetheless, this month I said “J’en ai trop.” It’s too much. I have been stressed enough by the overload to accept that I have to change things. I’m still not choosing to paint a canvas or dabble at mixing colours. Those three film projects that I haven’t edited, I’m not getting to them. I’m not getting back to the dreams. What happened? I have to do something. So I went to find two unread books, one on breathing and another on stopping. It’s easier to read two at once!
No. I chose the second one, by Dr. David Kundtz. I bought it probably ten or twelve years ago and hadn’t taken time to read it completely. Got to page 40 back then. The title makes me laugh: Stopping: How to Be Still When You Have to Keep Going. My second look at the table of contents stared me down, and convinced me it was time to take a pause and choose inaction.
I may not have been at the right place twelve years ago when I never finished the book, but today I know that this is the place where I should be. Kundtz talks about the mountain of too much and how previous coping strategies – like cramming and cutting out – no longer work. He suggests that stopping is necessary, doing nothing as much as possible for a definite period of time for the purpose of becoming more fully awake and remembering who I am. Stopping ensures that when I start again I will be going in the direction that I want. I will not simply be reacting to the pace of my life, but choosing moment by moment what’s best.
Now that I’m on page 30, I realize that I’m accepting my mountain. I had already started the process as mentioned at the beginning (shorter gaps, smaller gulps). The pause for introspection has brought me to realize that part of the mountain is my commitment to my job as president of the provincial corporation of therapists. Although I am looking forward to November when my term ends, it is important for me to enjoy the process and constantly realign those moments when its demands push me towards a full paëlla.
Tapas instead of the full paëlla
To explain, here’s my analysis. I have always had a tendency to push leisure and pleasure to the back burner, to make sure that the work gets done. That is detrimental because it creates the impression that what I’m doing is work and not fun, especially when there’s no time left for the fun stuff. It’s means I’m not enjoying the process. So for me now, balance isn’t an “all in” thing. It’s about choosing tapas instead of a full-blown paëlla all the time. It’s being aware of my patterns of overdoing. I t means observing my Balance Wheel – eight aspects of my life which include: my health, self-development, and spirituality; my partner; my family; my friends, social activities, and leisure; my part-time work; and my house and home – and accepting to realign it constantly. It means being able to express what I am feeling, or finding difficult, by writing it in my morning pages or discussing it with someone. It means not trying to do everything alone. It means a humble willingness to say I’m sorry, first to myself, and then to my partner or my children or whomever my imbalance has affected.
Where did I not go wrong?
So while I’m sitting in the studio of the budding artist wondering why I haven’t pulled out a canvas, asking why this last month has turned into six weeks because I’m late with my article, my first reaction would be to get on my case. I’d tend to look at what went wrong and forget where I enjoyed the process of partial retirement. Okay, it’s true that I haven’t often taken time off to ski the back way home before sundown. But before I work myself into a state of pure self-loathing, let me get to the reality. My wife and I went to Montréal to see my son’s play. He’s a scenographer and designed the set, and his partner-in-life was assistant director and stage manager. So Danielle and I had fun going backstage afterwards to clean up and put all the strewn props back – bats of publicity flyers, wads of paper money – Deutsche marks to be exact, and piles of straw – before having poutine at home with the kids. We had a couple of babysitting stints and I enjoyed seeing the little ones, who recognized me at the daycare centre and toddled over with outstretched arms asking to be picked up. And we did some major cheerleading at a hockey game. We spent an evening with my other son at a presentation he was giving and yesterday we met in Montreal with family for breakfast and to celebrate my son-in-law’s birthday, before dawdling through stores looking for travel gear. I did, actually, on two or three occasions, get out in the bush to restore my ski trails in fresh snow. I wasn’t counting and I did say hello each time to my woodland gnome who no longer had a snowy toque.
Did I enjoy the process of getting “off track?” Of course. It has been quite hard to get to, hard also to accept that being a president requires a fair bit of work. I will avoid my tendency to spew off the list. The impact? It reduces time for the rest, including the dreams, cutting seriously into my hours. And I had to say no to skiing, pretending to blame the weather instead of acknowledging that I find it hard to be overdoing, to realize that is what I’m doing, and that I don’t like what I see. So I will stop.
Stopping … by the beach on a snowy evening
Oh, the travel gear reminds me, when I was recalling the good part of enjoying the process of semi-retirement, I forgot to mention that we also put real plans down to make sure we actually take the holiday we had committed to on our agendas six months ago. We now have tickets to Cuba, not to Spain. Without being totally aware at the moment we were buying them, this vacation has really become, for me, one about stopping. We had planned to spend three weeks in Spain and then changed plans. I can blame the weather, again, because it’s still too cool there. Yet it is clear to me now that in some way that trip would not have satisfied my need to stop, to avoid major tourism, rabid picture taking, delving into travel guides, overdoing to see all of the history and culture that I want to absorb, that remains part of my dreams. I accepted that I had to put that off for the moment, hopefully only till the fall. Having actually chosen isolated vacation beaches with little to do but stop is – my uncle would say – copacetic. My word-loving siblings might come up with serendipitous or coincidental or fortuitous. I’ll just go for hunky-dory and enjoy the process. Stopping at the speed of light.
Good for you, Peter! You seem to be allowing yourself to relax more often, and not have to be Super-Peter all the time. If you do nothing else in your lifetime, you will have accomplished enough already. Sometimes the small things, the moments between the planned activities, are where the treasure lies.
Thank-you, Pauline, for the appreciation. I knew when I retired I had done an awful lot and didn’t have to prove anything really. But now I have to take a better look at flowers … and try to be like them, not much planning where the treasure grows.
What a lovely article. Especially for all of us retired workaholics! Thank you.
Hello Amy.
I’m glad that it speaks to you. I have to reread it myself sometimes.
Thank-you for the comments.
Stopping is good, Peter. So hard to remember in the rush and crush, though. I keep reminding myself that every bit of these moments counts; nothing is just to be gotten through. I’ve spent too many years, like you I suspect, doggedly doing hard (and yes, important) work for an imaginary future reward. Too many years treating precious bits of my life as something to endure to get to the eventual good bits. (I did learn to treat boring departmental meetings as a precious time of just being alive, and aware–a good start for future practices.)