Cheryl, Nancy, Stu, Ron, Robin, Carol, Lenny, Larry (from left to right)
"They talked in the shorthand of old friends and shared memories."
― Dee Henderson
Larry and I should really have some regulations around our morning conversations.
It's early. I've only had a few sips of coffee when Larry feels compelled to share his thoughts on none other than the NFL, which is not of particular interest to me, but obviously associated with our ancestral proclivity for conflict.
Larry says, "Do you know the most-watched NFL game last year was on Christmas day?"
Without giving him a single verbal acknowledgment, he continues unabated, "In fact, they're going to do something they have never done before, which is play on a Wednesday because that's when Christmas falls this year."
He says this with the enthusiasm of a child about to unwrap a present.
I say, "Clearly, men are still influencing the world with their primitive interests."
"Women watch too."
"Really? Then who's cooking Christmas Dinner?"
I get the look.
These are the kinds of conversations we have during the week when we're having our ritual coffee, listening to the news, and browsing our social media accounts.
It is neither inspirational nor conducive to our well-being.
Interestingly, I was just spewing something important about retirement and how difficult it is to reallocate our time after an active working life. And to complicate matters, if you happen to have a partner, you're also adjusting to their questionable usage of time.
You might ask, how's that going for you two?
Not well. Thank you for asking.
Larry has the classic type A personality. He's active and absolutely despises sitting around twiddling his thumbs, engaging in deep conversations, or rubbing my feet.
I am a type B, which means I'm nore creative, patient, and rarely feel the need to rush. In fact, my favorite pastime is deep philosophical conversations and having my feet rubbed. Bahaha.
Brewery Art
We are polar opposites in terms of lifestyle, personality, and interests.
This was all well and good when we spent most of our time pursuing our own interests, were inundated with kids, and locked in a suburban lifestyle. Now we've been set to pasture—I mean retired—and it's been shockingly illuminating as if our field of dreams has been electrified.
I make what I consider an astute observation after his NFL fiasco and share, "I could easily slip into the sloth lifestyle."
Larry looks up from his iPad, squints his eyes at me as if he's trying to rectify his vision, and says, "I don't think so."
"I love to write, which means my interior sloth is driving my interests instead of the other way around."
"You also like to move."
"Only when forced."
"Or you're out of coffee."
Now I'm squinting at him. Okay, glaring might be more honest, but in my defense, they are similar.
We just returned from a weekend with friends who are all retired except one of the women, and what was interesting to me is that all of us are essentially dealing with the same damn issues.
We've become ridiculously judgmental about how our partners have chosen to spend their surplus time.
It's tricky because there are no absolutes anymore. I don't have to be anywhere at any given time, and neither does my partner, which is total mayhem for those of us who have been driven by schedules for most of our marriage.
Maybe it's instinctual for humans to judge what others do, a survival skill that has evolved over time, especially if what he does differs significantly from what I do. The whole hunters and gatherers enigma.
Finding your tribe is essential.
Speaking of tribes, this particular group of friends is unusual in that our husbands have been riding (cycling) together for decades, but the wives also enjoy each other's company, which is imperative if you want to hang out together.
Right?
We used to live within a mile of each other when our kids attended the same elementary school, and in a way, we all grew up together, along with our kids.
Ron and Carol's yard
One of the couples recently sold their home in the Bay Area and moved to a beautiful community on the outskirts of Sacramento to be near family. They invited us for the weekend, a chance to show off their new home and enjoy some meals together. The men had plans to ride the trails along the American River, while the women would consume excessive amounts of coffee and catch up on each other's lives.
Fortunately, their home is huge, with five bedrooms and lots of land, and it is located near charming shops, restaurants, and wineries, all of which we took full advantage of.
And yes, our morning discussions were quite juicy.
What was interesting to me was how similar our experiences with unemployment have been.
For example, sleep issues become more pronounced after retirement. Larry and I have been sleeping together for forty years, and suddenly who snores, sleeps in, and/or hogs the covers has become a pertinent issue. Who's a restless sleeper, browses their social media at night, or gets up to use the facilities repeatedly is also under intense scrutiny.
These are disruptive issues, no doubt, and left unaddressed, can lead to meaningless feuds and other shenanigans (like someone leaving snore guards on their partner's pillow, unscrewing the light bulb in the bathroom, or hiding your partner's cell phone—of course, these were all derived from market research and NOT personal experience).
At this age, we're all set in our ways, and when you're forced to spend most of your time together because there is no job to hide behind, it's as if we have to start courting each other again.
And believe me, no one wants to date a cantankerous old lady narrowly defined by her own self-interests and a passion for sitting on her ass for hours so she can write. When did this happen?
The transition is difficult, humorous on some level, and it happens in a blink.
One of the best ways to overcome this conundrum is to maintain your social connections, plan activities that you both look forward to and create routines that are mutually satisfying.
Initially, it was easy. When Larry went out for a ride, I wrote. We juggled our social commitments when possible and tried to slip in a few weekends at the lake. We're a work in progress, making some headway and adjusting as we go.
I try and write every day, walk the hood with my girlfriends, have coffee with Nancy, and tandem cycle when it fits Larry's schedule (okay when forced). Larry attends Boot Camp every morning, cycles with his friends a few times a week, deals with the rentals, and writes when forced. See how that works.
To complicate matters, Larry is on a new diet, and we can not seem to coordinate our divergent needs around food, which frustrates me to no end. Eating is our thing—or used to be—since we started dating at fifteen, and now that Larry has retired from food, what is left for me to look forward to?
Here's the lesson I've been slow to glean and quick to reject: What we think we understand about each other might be different from what is actually happening. Maybe Larry is not trying to avoid breaking bread with me; maybe he's becoming more health-conscious. Maybe I'm just being stubborn because I do not adjust easily to change, and it feels that is all we've been doing lately.
And this, maybe I've forgotten how to live for someone else now that the kids are grown and on their own, but doing so is what makes life worth living.
So here's my belabored conclusion.
"Often when you think you're at the end of something, you're at the beginning of something else," as Fred Rogers wisely noted. Retirement is the beginning of something new; it requires a lot of creativity and the agility to make frequent adjustments. The thing is, living has to be an act of love, and therefore, a fair amount of generosity is needed in our mutual pursuits and interactions. It's complicated because we're not only influenced by our predecessors and how they managed this stage of life, but we're dependent on a limited amount of resources and our physical abilities. It means practicing generosity, taking turns, and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all because this life—is over in a blink!
I'm Living in the Gap, figuring it our as we go, happens in a blink. How's your week going?
Larry, the bartender? We're all trying to Grow Damn It!
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