I never expected to have this inchoate career as a poet and blogger two years after retiring, and comfortably well into my sixties. I expected to be wrapping things up by now… basking in the fruits of my lifelong labors… but instead, I find myself just getting started, looking for new directions, exploring new venues and possibilities, and flushed with a fresh zeal for life.
The work that I did in my years of employment no longer defines me. I am no one’s underling, no one’s trainer, no one’s agent, no one’s supervisor, no one’s copywriter, no one’s problem. I no longer select my words to reflect the voice of a corporation, or the style of an executive too important to write for himself. I am no longer a pale reflection of an institution, but a flourishing new incarnation of myself.
I no longer feel like a prostitute, selling my mind and my hours in order to bring home a laughable paycheck. The moments I spend at my computer now are those dictated by my muses, and they’re not bosses… they’re playmates.
Of course, I’m not making any money, and I couldn’t exist without the uncomplaining and loving support of my beloved and hard-working husband. Thank God he’s right here with me, encouraging me to explore this new venture.
This new life I’m loving is his gift to me, and I hope he’s getting something in return.
He’s still married to an old lady, of course, but at least he’s not saddled with someone who is tired of everything she does, and devoid of hope for meaningful change. He now comes home to a giddy biddy who can’t wait to show him her latest haiku or newest essay. He lives with a woman who has recovered her mind, and can be a companion worthy of his wit.
Isn’t it funny to experience an intellectual and spiritual rebirth even as my body slows down becomes uncooperative? If it were in sync with my mind it would run and dance; it would fly like a leaf in the breeze.
Someday I will leave it behind, like I did the desks where I worked.
The liberation will be fine.