Oops, I totally forgot to blog this year.

Oh wow you guys, I totally forgot to blog this year. 

Jeezus, how is it two three months since I posted anything to this dumb blog? For that matter, how is it 2024? How am I already 62...? Sixty-fucking-TWO. I'm drawing my first Social Security check next month, something which, in my beautiful, youthful mind always felt vaguely future-fictional, something that only happens "later, when you're ready," like a peaceful death, or the Second Coming. 

Shut up, I mean it this time. 

How is it possible then that I've washed up on this distant shore, et cetera. It's six months now since I retired, and it still doesn't seem entirely real. Aren't I supposed to be somewhere? Shouldn't the phone be ringing? Those first few weeks sseemed wrong  somehow, like skipping school. 

For weeks I haunted the old jobplace, but eventually I had to face the cold, lonely truth: the love was gone. I had become that old guy in the basement office, mumbling to himself about how we did it back in my day.

Ain't gonna lie, tho: That last gig was the absolute worst. It was hands-down the most horrific professional, white collar, "dress code" type job I had ever held my nose and taken (because they begged me to). And, despite all serious misgivings, it lived up to every horrible outcome I had imagined. There was absolutely no good outcome to be had. Taking that gig was the worst professional decision of my life. And after a 40-year roller coaster of "professional careering," that's sayin somethin. 

No, fuck that. I really quit.

Shortly before the New Year ticked over, I finally, irreversibly, conclusively slammed that door shut forever. Pulled the plug. Dropped off the key, Lee. We are no longer on speaking terms. Goodbye, and good riddance to all of that. They should have invited me to their holiday party. 

If there's a silver lining in the way it ended, it's that I've realized a fundamental and irreversible truth: My jobbing days are over, bitchez.   

*    *    *

Don't believe a word from those who claim that retirement is boring. It isn't. In fact, I have this theory that people who claim to be endlessly board are, in fact, rather lazy and boring themselves. Feeling bored? Do something. Anything, really. Take a walk. Read a book. Ride a bike. Act up in some small, subversive way: Say something unexpected, surprise a stranger with kindness, rearrange your living room. There are a million ways, large and small, to stay engaged. Boredom? Don't come at me with your boredom. I scoff at boredom. Boredom is a lazy choice made by lazy, unimaginative people. 

What is this boredom you speak of? 

Still, boredom has its uses. If you've been through a difficult or exhausting period in your life (and who hasn't?) boredom can be your friend. If you're healing in some way, it's boredom that taps you on the shoulder and says "Psssst! It's a new day. The sun is out. Let's go do something." 

I, for one, can appreciate a little boredom in this crazy world. Aside from the fact that this last job damn near killed me was more than a little challenging, I can feel gratitude that I don't live in a war zone and that my basic needs are met. The rest (ambiguously gesturing around at all of this) is gravy. 

*    *    *

If there were any actual readers of this dumb blog, they would know that I'm heavily into beads. All the beads, the glass ones and stone ones and wooden ones, the big, the small, the goofy, the old the new. I have a particular hard-on for very old, ancient beads, the older (and often, the "uglier") the better. I've curated a rather tidy collection of beads at this point, which I string up into necklaces, and re-sell on Etsy. 

Lately, I've become obsessed with second-hand jewelry that I find in the flea markets and antique malls that dot Florida's Federal Highway. Most of it is just fun costume jewelry junk (I'm not being judgy, I love the costume "junk" too) but sometimes I find real treasures. 

Antique silver & turquoise, only $20!!!

My new thing is refurbishing and updating some of this antique bling, restringing it, maybe adding some elements to it, and then reselling it in my shop. I got the idea after finding this outrageous necklace set with antique silver, mother-of-pearl, and real turquoise in a junk shop not far from my house. It was sitting there for $20, so I did a quick smash & grab bought it and have been wearing it ever since. But it's old, and I don't trust the wiring or the clasp, and it could use a little polishing. Not too much rubbing though, because the patina on the old silver beads is gorgeous and takes forever to come back. 

But it occurred to me that it's very much on brand for the items I make myself; eventually, I'll list it and it can find a new forever home in my shop.  

*    *    *

It used to be I had a job to keep me awake at night, but here’s something new I can torture myself with: Am I Doing Enough? 

• Is it enough to retire quietly and disappear from public life? Am I required to stay in touch with my former “work family?” 

• Am I producing any deliverables? Do I contribute anything of value? Am I goal oriented enough? 

• Am I in the way at home? Am I occupying too much space in the living room? Should I run more errands? Have more destinations? 

• Can I still answer the question, “What do you do?” Is writing a book that'll probably never see the light of day actually a thing? Can beads on a string be considered “output?” Is tai chi an actual calling? 

• Am I engaging with enough people? Am I isolated? Am I going to enough places, seeing enough faces, doing enough of all the expected retirement things? Am I squeezing every last drop of personal enrichment out of my Golden Years? 

Who cares. Today I have nothing pressing me, nowhere I have to be, nothing I’m required to do. If this is all there is to retirement, I’m entirely here for it. 

(okay now, that's just a damn lie.)