Who Said Retirement Was Easy?

I think I miscalculated. I thought retirement was going to be easy. The first month of my new world has been full of chaos. First, our boat trailer had a major structural failure, resulting in a bit of a logistics nightmare. After several weeks, I think I finally have it all sorted. It’s only costing me a few trips to Tacoma, the rest of the summer without a boat, a new trailer and yet another upcoming tow bill.

Then there’s social security. Five years ago, I made the mistake of signing up for Medicare after getting out of my aerospace business. After 18 months of that, I decided I needed to go back to work for another three years. I was told, incorrectly, that I couldn’t have group employer insurance and Medicare, so for those three years I opted out. Signing back up again has been, well, I’d say another nightmare, but I’ve already used that adjective. Let’s call it a major challenge. I enlisted a SSA/Medicare agent to help me, but that hasn’t kept me from having to call SSA/Medicare multiple times and yes, even having to visit the dreaded local SSA Office.

That was a nightmare! Standing in line 30 minutes before the office opened followed by seven hours of waiting, followed by 15 minutes to resolve the whole thing – or so I thought. Now I’m getting letters from SSA saying I owe Late Enrollment Penalties as well as back premiums, which my seven hour visit determined I did not. So now I guess I get to prove it to them all over again. I hate bureaucracy.

In April I had my right knee replacement redone because the tibial implant turned out to be defective. Two years of pain and limited activity, then rehab. I’m searching for a law firm to possibly sue the implant device manufacturer, but that’s not looking very positive. The rehab has thankfully gone very well, but I still have another 6 months of it so I can be ready for ski season. Now there’s two positives with that – one, I will be able to ski again and two, I’m eligible for the super senior lift ticket discount! Yes! Still, knee replacement rehab is a long, arduous road. It starts out being very painful and ends with several months of disciplined boredom interspersed with searing physical challenges. This is my third one and I’m more than tired of it. Beyond all that, however, I’m grateful for the promise I can be active again!

Beyond all that there’s the simple challenge of figuring out how to have fun every day, and to stay active. I’ve been able to up my reading time, but I’m still fighting to find more time to devote to this blog. I have the first draft of a book to edit and re-draft. That might be a winter project. With all those annoying bureaucratic things I’m having a hard time resetting my mental outlook to a more leisurely pace. We still have a couple of big decisions to make in the next 6 – 9 months. The biggest is where will we live next. We are considering senior communities, something I never thought I’d say. We have some pretty specific items to check off, but I guess the moral behind that is never say never.

Then there’s the appointments, phone calls and emails with our financial advisor to revamp our investment profile, and next month’s with the lawyer to update our will, trust and such. I’m starting to wonder if there’s an end to this!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying the time. A few fun things have happened along these last few weeks as well. For one, I’m really love not having to get up at 5am every morning to go to the gym before work. And I’m very happy I got out of the company before the consequences of recession and parent company investment changes started to hit home.

I have really had fun tooling around in our little 2002 Honda S2000 convertible. But even more than that, I’ve had a great time reuniting with a car I originally bought 16 years ago. I may have already told this story, but it started when I sold the car to a former business partner in 2013. Janice really wanted to keep that car, so I’ve more or less been in the doghouse ever since. Anyhow, a few weeks ago I took our other sports car in for service at Park Place. PP always has lots of expensive and fascinating cars in their service lot so, as I usually do, I make a requisite tour around the lot looking at all the wonderful cars. I see one car that reminds me of a car I bought new 16 years ago. I begin examining it, and start to realize every detail I’m looking at is the same as my old car. I’m thinking, ‘that’s interesting – there can’t be too many of these cars like that.’ I start looking further and I get to the point where I’m pretty sure this is my old car.

I ask the service manager about it. He says, “Yeah, the car came in yesterday and it has a service history here.”

Now I’m convinced. I text Janice and ask her if she wants the car back. Two seconds later I get, “Yes.” I call the sales manager and tell him it’s my old car and I want to buy it back. After some haggling and a few fixes, I trade the S2000 and some cash for my old car. So now I’m in the garage almost every day since fixing niggly wear and tear items.

I know. It’s because I’m a perfectionist. I can’t help it. I want those cars to remain beautiful. That takes work. But it’s a gorgeous jet black convertible with black and red interior. When I signed the papers I was still asking myself, “What the hell are you doing?!” I was second-guessing myself even as I was doing the dirty deed. Now, I’m glad I did it. And so, thankfully, is my wife.

There are unusual nights where I wake up wondering what I need to do tomorrow. Then, as darkness tends to do, I revert to thinking of all the things that can go wrong, of how I’ve messed it all up. In retirement, there is much time for reflection and consternation. I work hard to avoid those moments. Working hard during the day to tire yourself out and get in a couple laughs helps. I sleep better that way.

It’s so much better to stay active. Sitting and thinking about anything but the present is not a good tactic for growing older gracefully. The past is full of potholes, the future full of anxiety and the promise of mortality. It’s tough enough dealing with the inevitable downturn of one’s physical capabilities, much less dwelling on the endless string of health concerns from your growing cadre of doctors. Surrounding one’s self with happy remembrances and active, enjoyable people is where it’s at. A digital picture frame with a never-ending slide show helps me do the former; working to engage with other people the latter. I’ve always told myself the secret is to keep moving. No great secret there, but telling yourself doesn’t make it any easier.

I’d like to back off and completely relax, just be that lazy old guy. A little paranoia and a touch of vanity won’t let me. Ultimately, I tell myself that’s a good thing. So, it’s to the gym five days a week, more golf, some pickleball, maybe the occasional bike ride. It’s my wife who really makes me look bad. She’s the one who’s always riding her bike, going for walks, getting to the gym, taking the occasional yoga class.

What is it about women? Why do they have to be so damn active? It’s like every waking moment they’re plotting about what they’re going to do next and with whom. It’s disgusting. Here I think I’m doing pretty well and they’re just all over it, all the time. There’s no winning against them! Hell, I have a hard time just keeping up. Where did all this come from? Is it part of that social butterfly thing they all seem to be so good at? There’s one part of that I can do without – all the jibberjabber they all seem to be experts at. Don’t even want to try and keep up with that. Just head to the other room and a good book.

Okay, sounds like I’m getting distracted. Maybe it’s best I sign off and as my Mom used to say, “Go outside and blow the stink off.” Ok, Mom. I’m on it.