Farewell, My Responsibility

After the cake and the goodbyes, how do you replace the old with the new?

IT’S 8.30 IN THE MORNING. I put on my fine high-heeled shoes and a ‘nice’ outfit and then think of somewhere to go. I head to the shops and buy another pair of casual three-quarter length trousers; sometimes I go to the coffee shop and order a large cappuccino, a triple-choc chip muffin and sit there and read the paper trying to appear important.

So, what am I talking about? I hear you ask. Retirement. As of November 1, 2019.

“Wonderful!” my work colleagues exclaimed. “What will you do now? Are you going to travel? Catch up on all those novels? Loaf around in your pyjamas?”

“Oh yes!” I said enthusiastically. After all, isn’t that what retirement is all about? What I didn’t count on was the following facts (and I call them facts because for me they are

immutable): all the people I know are people I have met through work or because of work, and they are still at work, they have not yet retired; the novels I wanted to read over the years no longer hold any interest for me; travel is unrealistic at the moment as I have some health challenges to overcome and as for my pyjamas, well … I don’t actually own any. Pretty sure I could find a passion-killing flannel nightgown somewhere, though.

Back in September last year, I suffered two minor strokes which, after further tests and a pot load of money, revealed that I have a faulty mitral valve in my heart causing my blood flow to regurgitate – I like to think of it as my heart farting.

So I had to re-evaluate my lifestyle and working hours and make the life-changing decision to opt for early retirement. It seemed like an obvious decision – I wanted to be able to live long enough to enjoy the benefits of my retirement savings.

So, I put in the paperwork to the human resources team and another voluminous amount of paperwork to the pension fund, then submitted my resignation. The office threw me a great morning tea and gave me some presents. I cleaned out my desk, then passed all my projects onto someone we’ll call ‘Miss Replacement’.

I live with my eldest daughter, Kathleen, and her son, Wyatt, who knows everything about anything. My daughter is currently renovating her house and, in my glee to be free of the work noose, I willingly tossed myself into sanding, scrubbing, painting and polishing. The walls have all been repainted and look fantastic. The downstairs wooden chairs and table have been revamped. The rumpus area is just stunning – now with every wall a different vibrant colour, it looks like a Mexican cantina.

Then, one day, it was all done. No more painting was needed, no more garden to dig, no more chairs to sand. And I found myself at a loose end.

Kathleen decided that I should do some study and collected some wonderful information for me, before then suggesting a direct-selling opportunity that

“WONDERFUL!” MY COLLEAGUES EXCLAIMED. “WHAT WILL YOU DO NOW?”

I could do from home. Next, she found some brochures on cruises to the Antarctic and Egypt and other places that have fascinated me for years.

She also decided that as I was no longer working, I could do the school run in the morning and the afternoon and volunteer at the school canteen. Oh, and also collect her from work and do the laundry and the housework.

Oh dear! I began to think. None of this is what I expected from retirement. Where is my happy-ever-after fairy tale where I suddenly have all the money I need and can go line-dancing around the countryside in my new Reebok trainers, and meet some devilishly handsome man to spend my sunset years with? Where is the bingo game and the fancy tea set with Earl Grey tea and cucumber sandwiches? Where are the friends?

My get-up-and-go got up and left. Without me. And so I continued in this state for about five weeks until one day something dawned on me. I am not missing work. Or the people and friends. I am not in need of retraining my mind or a new hobby. I am suffering from the demise of My Responsibility.

I am no longer a responsible person – I’m a retiree. I no longer have 24 staff, two apprentices, four program lines and a boss clambering for my attention. I no longer have to squeeze my social life in around my job, or arrange hair appointments on Saturdays. And I realised I am missing all that Responsibility. Not the job, or the people or the stress. But My Responsibility. The being valued. The being important. The being needed.

So, I have packed up all those ancient novels, cleaned out the wardrobe of all the ‘office attire’, though not all my shoes, and I have joined a craft group run by our local cultural centre – I am learning watercolour painting. I’m not very good, but I am having fun. I am getting out of the house and I am being challenged by something new and different.

I still miss My Responsibility, and I’ll probably end up joining the committee for the craft group, but not just yet – right now I am enjoying rediscovering who

I am and, so far, I like what I see.

WHERE IS THE BINGO GAME AND THE FANCY TEA SET WITH EARL GREY TEA?

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