The Very Good Thing

My friend stays by my side even when I am in an inconvenient place requiring her to be in an inconvenient position.  She’s passionate about being with me, not wanting me to go out at night alone or drive somewhere by myself.

My friend loves when I share things with her, either experiences or food.  As long as we walk together in silent companionship, she does not get bored.

My friend believes in eating on time every day.  She never wants to arrive late for a meal.  I can count on her this way.

My friend is not keen on strangers.  She first wants to know if they will hurt me.  Once she determines they will treat me with suitable kindness and deference, she will consider letting them be her friend also.  She gets irritated if the proper niceties are not followed.

If my friend isn’t able to go out and about with me, she will not forget I am out, waiting for my return for hours.  She greets me the first thing as I walk through the door.

I caress my friend unconsciously.  She doesn’t mind when I reach out to touch her even if I just touched her a few minutes ago or an hour ago.  I told her recently that even one’s partner is not so tolerant.  She told me in not so many words that tolerance for me is her watchword.  She intimated she was committed to me as long as we could continue living together.  I frequently reassure her that we can stay together as long as we are both alive.  She’s relieved to know this.  My friend lost her family at a young age.  Enough years have passed that she only remembers our family.

When we experience a new place, my friend’s perceptions are different than mine.  If I pay attention, I can learn a lot about the way of the world from her.  She is a being of few words.  I learn much by simply watching.  I get the feeling she does the same with me.  We’ve both pledged to be tolerant of each other’s differing learning styles.

I’m certain if my mind were open enough there is no limit to the things she can teach me.  Because of our different backgrounds, I don’t think I can ever be open enough or learn enough from my wise friend.  When I’m with her, her acceptance keeps me from even thinking about her judging me for what I wear, how I look, or where I grew up. In her quiet ways, I only feel acceptance. 

I fear for the day that one of us will pass.  It will feel like a part of me has been cut away and left open to heal without any cure or medicine.  She would feel the same, though she hasn’t said so in so many words.

A wise friend knows not to say too much.  A wise friend knows the importance of a gentle press of comfort. A wise friend knows that much of what I need to learn I must figure out for myself.  A wise friend knows there is no forever in our physical bodies.  Though she is wise, she can do nothing for the gash in my soul made by her leaving.  Because she is wise, she knows I will take what I’ve learned from her and apply it to another wise friend.  

My friend lives in the here and now.  She’s implied not in so many words that it would be beneficial for me to live that way too.  In her wisdom, she is patient.  She is an angel in a dog suit.  Upon her death, she will be given wings to fly to new places.  

She knows my path will continue without her.  She insists not in so many words that I feel the grief in the here and now and that in doing so my resilience will be strengthened.  I wish she weren’t quite so wise in this regard.  I try to tell her not in so many words that this kind of resilience is over rated.  She insists in her own quiet way that resilience is never over rated.  Indeed, she states in not so many words that the earth’s success is based on resilience.

Looking at her calm eyes and slightly goofy tongue sticking out, I am forced to agree that our resilience reflects the earth’s resilience and that is a Very Good Thing.

Joceile

6.28.21

[Picture of my friend, Sheba, a long haired, large brindle dog leaning against my leg with my hand on her head with her eyes closed. 2019]

On My Retirement

Recently, I met on a pier with a long ago friend.  We hadn’t seen each other in 30 years.  Diane said she retired after 20 something years with the city two and a half years ago at 62 1/2.  She said she probably should have stayed another couple years until 65 to get a better retirement rate.  I gave a "What're ya gonna do" shrug.

She asked when I planned to retire.  I looked over at the water stalling for time, contemplating my answer.  I get asked this often.  I said I didn’t.  She asked how long I’d worked for the state.  I said sheepishly, “Forty-three years.”

“How old are you?  When did you start?”

I was 20 when I started.  I'm 63 now.  She said, “You’d be eligible for 100%.”

“Maybe.”

“You would.”

“Whatever.  I don't care.”

“You haven't found out?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?”

“No, look, I still enjoy my job.  I like what I’m doing and the people I work with.  I work four hours a day.  I’ll keep working as long as I want.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said belying this by slightly shaking her head.

I’ve been thinking about this exchange today imagining other conversations when people said, “I figured out what I’d get if I retired.  I’m only working for 25% of my wage, so I figure I should just retire."  I wouldn't get 100% if I retired now.  But, I try to imagine deciding to retire simply because I would get 100% and someone saying, "You could get your paycheck without working.  Why would you work for free?"  Because, there is a qualitative difference between working and retiring.  Why should I retire before I'm ready?

If I'm lucky enough to work part-time, enjoy my work, and am paid a good wage, why should I give that up?  In any case, I'm 63.  I've got another two years before I get another series of looks like, "Why are you still here?  If I was 65, I'd be out like a shot."  That's the difference between you and me, bub.  Still, I don't forget that other people work 40 hours a week.  Doing that at 65, a body gets tired.

When I was younger, I had coworkers seriously tell me, “I only have 17 years until I can retire.”  I thought, “Do you realize you are wishing your life away?  Do you know how crazy that is?”  I was younger then, easily intimidated, and didn’t speak up. Now, I know there are lots of people who never make it to retirement or those who die after the first year or two.  One coworker died of a heart attack two weeks before his last day!  If there’s no quality to my life now, how is it going to be miraculously better in 17 years?  

Remarkably, I’ve long since passed retirement eligibility and continue to thrive.  However, I’ve learned to consider the situation before I tell people the whole truth about how long I've worked for the state.  For most people, over 30 years is sufficient.  My seniority has always been a point of pride for me.  My high numbers now require more consideration.

Two years ago, I attended a case law update on employment accommodation in Seattle.  During a break, another participant asked me a question about a comment I'd made.  We hit it off and were starting to talk about ways we could collaborate on projects.  She asked me about my government work history followed by how long I'd worked for the state.  Without thinking, I said 41 years.

The woman froze.  Apparently, it made me so much older than she expected she couldn't even comprehend it.  I don't know if it was my lack of gender clarity or if I just looked much younger to her in general.  Regardless, our connection was broken.  It was as though I'd violated a trust.  She quickly disengaged and never made eye contact with me again.  It was as if either she'd grossly misjudged my age which made her uncomfortable or I must be a crazy person because my reporting of years was not only inconceivable but also unbelievable.  It was a cautionary tale for me in the power of age assumptions.  Depending on the audience, I just stay with over 30 years experience.  This works for most situations.

My long time coworker who has become my boss at various levels has told me many times there's no need to retire.  His reframe is, "Clint Eastwood is still directing in his 90's."  I'm not sure this is the best role model but I take his meaning.

A few coworkers and I were once talking about a long time manager who was no longer innovative and basically phoning it in. I said, “She’s passed her pull date.”  Everyone thought that very funny, though it’s stuck with me. I don’t want to be passed my pull date. Fortunately, I have the luxury of making a different choice. 

Even today, I told a coworker the answer with my strongest conviction.  "As long as I am enjoying my work and adding value to my employer, I'll keep working.  I don't want to be here when people are asking…" I looked at my watch for affect. "'When is she gonna retire?' If that's the case, I've stayed too long."

My coworker nodded agreement.  I sighed as I successfully traversed this minefield question again.

Joceile 

6.17.21 

[Picture of me speaking at work in pink shirt with black tie. 2019]