Personal essays
Thoughts on not retiring
Ba-dee-ya
September was quite a month.
I’ve been on the road since late August. I was only home four days in September and that was mainly because Maggie was home for her high school reunion and I wanted to see her.
I love being places - I’m not so crazy about getting there.
After saying good-bye to Maggie on her gotcha day, Gary drove me to the airport. I flew to Washington DC, boarded the next flight, and sat on the tarmac while we were delayed.
On landing I needed to make my way to the bus terminal. I asked one of the flight attendants if he knew the best way to get to the bus terminal.
He told me we were landing in Terminal 1 and it was right there.
I knew that wasn’t true. Why don’t people say, “I don’t know.”
To his credit, he checked with another crew member who said I’d have to go to Terminal 4. This sounded familiar and turned out to be right.
I got to the bus and boarded and four-plus hours later I was in Logroño. I walked the mile to the hotel and arrived 22 hours after leaving my house.
I love being places.
In my head
I ran into one of the sponsors and we’d discussed my memories of first meeting him.
I was introducing him at an online version of this same conference and he cautioned me that he had a big stutter.
After his session I told him that if I hadn’t known he had a stutter I wouldn’t have known.
This year he told me that he’s only recently come to realize that most of his issue is in his own head. Other people generally don’t hear him stutter as much as he perceives his issue.
“Whoah,” I said.
He looked at me and I told him that he’d just taught me something really important. Something I learn over and over again in different situations. This time it was about my age.
I feel really old at these conferences.
Generally, the attendees are in their twenties and thirties. Now and then there are folks who are older but the majority of attendees are probably between 25 and 35.
I’m the same age or older than their parents.
I’m sure they see me as old.
For the most part, it is much worse in my head than in theirs.
They certainly know I’m not their age - but most of them don’t dismiss me as being their parents’ ages either.
On September first I started receiving my Medicare benefits. If you are eligible and register correctly, this begins on the first of the month in which you turn 65.
It’s a marker of age in the US. The ones that remain are Social Security and retirement.
I’m not ready for either of those. I don’t yet qualify for Social Security and I’m not ready to retire.
Retire to do what? Travel? Do things I’m interested in?
I do all that now.
The onward journey
I left Logroño Friday morning on a bus to Bilbao. From there I took another bus to the airport. We boarded the plane about twenty minutes late and then the pilot announced there was a delay and we’d sit on the plane ninety minutes before taking off.
This meant that I would likely miss my train. I had to rebook it now because if it left and I hadn’t rebooked I would lose the money for that ticket.
So I booked on a train that left an hour later. It was the cheapest ticket remaining but it was twice the price of my original ticket.
Wait. There’s more.
When I landed I got a notification on my phone that this new train had been cancelled. They were sorry but I needed to book another trip.
I was going from Gatwick Airport to Penzance in Cornwall. The new journey took me into London Victoria on one train and then I had to take the underground to Paddington to catch the train to Cornwall.
Wait. There’s more.
I got to Paddington in time to see that the 7:04 pm train to Penzance was delayed.
The driver and train manager were coming in on a different train that was, itself, delayed.
No matter, they boarded us about 7:15 because the driver arrived and announced that it might be an hour before the manager got there.
At about eight they announced that we were still waiting for the train manager and that if you had one of the stops before Plymouth you could take a train that would leave in about an hour.
More than half of the passengers got off and then the train departed without a warning. The manager was there.
The manager announced that there would be a further delay getting to the next stop but they’d try to make up time later.
It was 1:27 am when we pulled into Penzance. My first train was scheduled to arrive before 11 and the train I was on was scheduled to arrive at 12:34.
I got to my hotel just before 2 am. 17 hours from the hotel in Logroño to the hotel in Penzance.
Wait. There’s more.
Getting back
This next part will blow American’s minds.
I was sitting next to a couple the next day at a performance of “Pirates of Penzance”.
My friend Mark had just sent me an Earth Wind & Fire text as it was the 21st of September (Ba-dee-ya).
The couple said their train was late as well so they went online to get a refund.
What?
Because my train was between 30 and 59 minutes late, I was entitled to a 50% refund. Another seven minutes and the journey would have been free.
I went to the web site and entered my information and got a confirmation within hours that my refund is in process.
Unbelievable.
A visit to Cornwall and then on to London for another conference.
One last train ride later and I was in Edinburgh for my 65th birthday.
I can’t say why, but I always feel rooted when I’m here.
I also always feel Kim while I’m here. We visited Scotland many times together and always had a great time.
September was Maggie’s birthday, Kim’s birthday, Maggie’s gotcha day, and my birthday.
This one feels different.
Growing up, 65 was when you’re supposed to retire.
For me, 65, like 60 and 50 before it felt different.
I spent the weekend with friends, I prepared for my next talks and workshops, I looked at the books I need to update and rewrite, and I booked hotels and trains for my next trip - to Italy.
I’m not retiring. It doesn’t even feel like I’m slowing down.
I smile as I write this newsletter and think:
Wait. There’s more.
Essay from Dim Sum Thinking Newsletter 236. Read the rest of the Newsletter or subscribe