Tuesday, March 21, 2017

A Sentimental Journey


As we prepare to put our house on the market and get ready for an eventual move, I have begun a serious effort to de-clutter. I have read that getting rid of one's materialistic mountain of stuff and living a more minimalist life is a freeing experience.

And perhaps it is... for other people. But I am finding it very difficult.

I am not by nature a big consumer. I don't finding shopping to be an enjoyable pastime. I keep things and use them until they don't work anymore, and when possible, repair them. I have a 5-year-old cell phone, a 35-year-old blender, and a 50-year-old camp stove.

When we went on our 8-week camper trip last summer, I didn't miss any of the stuff left behind in our house. We have a storeroom full of boxes that haven't been opened since we moved here five years ago, and some of those boxes are from the move before that, 13 years ago.

Someone said to me, "If you haven't felt a need for anything in those boxes for years and can't even remember what is in them, why don't you just throw them out?" Why can't I do that, and why am I finding it so hard to throw things away?

Well, the answer is simple and complicated at the same time. Opening up those boxes and finding the items inside takes me on a sentimental journey. As I pick up and hold each item, I am immediately transported back to an earlier time in my life. The item, whatever it is, stimulates memories of people and experiences that, without the artifact, I would be unlikely to retrieve. And then I relive that memory.

In one box, I found a painting of the Battle of Salamis that I did when I was in Grade 4. Looking at that painting, I remembered my Grade 4 teacher, a wonderful woman who wanted to ensure that her students had their eyes opened to the wider world through music and art. Her art class was not an afterthought. Each student in the class was required to bring to school a two-foot by two-foot piece of plywood. To one side of it, we stapled a piece of vinyl cloth, with the fabric side out. Propped up on the chalk ledge of the blackboard, that board served as a painting easel as we stood to paint. Fifty-one years later, I still love to paint, and I still stand at an easel when I paint.

The teacher often tuned into CBC for a weekly radio program on art for children. The program began with a story of a historical event, such as Xerxes and the Battle of Salamis. At the end of the story, the narrator would instruct the students to paint a picture stimulated by the events in the story, and provide some tips. We would sit in our desks and listen to the program, and then stand at our easels and paint. For the Battle of Salamis, which was a naval battle between the Persians and Greek city-states, the narrator suggested creating the illusion of froth on the ocean waves by colouring on our papers with a white wax crayon before painting over it with our water colours. Looking at my childhood painting brought these memories flooding back.

 In another box, I came across the language diary that I kept for my middle daughter. I wrote down her first words by date, both phonetically and in standard orthography, and made note of the context in which they occurred. She began talking very early, and her first two words were "Mom" and "num-num" (she liked to eat). Her first two-word utterance, just as she turned one, was "Kate bye-bye." And I laughed to remember that one of her first fifty words was "beer." If we drank beer, we had to be careful to not to leave the bottles within reach or my baby would help herself to the dregs.

I also discovered some of the handmade literacy books that I made for my children. I used to staple blank pages together to make a book, then write simple stories for them, and illustrate each page. When they were just learning to read, they could read aloud from their own personalized books that were about themselves, their pets, and their adventures. My children loved the books, and as they became older, they also made and illustrated their own books.

One of the photos below is of a book that my middle daughter made and illustrated for her little brother. It is "The Adventures of Super Sumo!" The other is of a book my son made when he was just learning to write. The word says "Chaucer," which was the name of one of our cats.




My children also had several experiences of making or decorating pottery when they were growing up. Our city had a community arts day each spring when the public was welcomed for free into various art studios and could participate in art activities. One activity that we all loved was that of the Pottery Club. They would set up their raku pottery kiln outside on the lawn, and sell pieces of pottery that had been fired but not yet glazed. My kids and I would paint the pieces with glazes and then stand and watch as the potters fired the pieces for us. Once they cooled, we would proudly bring them home and display them in our house.

Both my daughters participated in various art camps and courses. The photo below shows some details of a beautiful planter that my older daughter made for me.


Although going through the boxes and trying to decide what to throw away has been emotionally exhausting, it also has been a wonderful, joyful experience. If I hadn't opened up those boxes to attempt to de-clutter, I would not have had the chance to take this sentimental journey. It is true that the things in the boxes are just objects, and to many people some of the items look like junk, but to me, they are saturated with meaning. My past life now has become memories, and those memories are springing back to life as I look at artifacts from my past.


Monday, March 13, 2017

Re-imagining a Life

Dog and Tree Shadows

During the past two years, I have been on a journey of change. Unlike the kind of change emphasized throughout my career, when I facilitated external changes such as institutional change, theoretical advancement, system innovations, and learner change and development, now I am undergoing a transition that involves self-change. Of course, within my career, I experienced self-change through personal reflection, learning, and growth; however, I see in hindsight that those changes were in a narrow sphere. It was the sphere shaped by work requirements. I grew in areas that helped me to do my job better.

Now as I prepare to leave my career, those matters and daily concerns that so engaged me have fallen away. My mind is no longer buzzing with job-related worries all of my waking hours. And what "me" is left after work goes away? Or, to put it another way, what kind of person will I grow into and become once my career has been subtracted as the dominant element of every day?

Recognition: The First Step

I suppose the first step of self-change began well before I left my administrative role or made the decision to retire. The first step was recognizing that something was missing in my life. Although I had a vibrant successful career, and was so very, very busy, that busyness was simply papering over a yawning emptiness that I did not have time to examine. The harder I worked, the less fulfilled I felt. The busier I became, the more I felt my self dwindling and disappearing. And as I became less present, my job became less satisfying and meaningful. But, conscientious person that I am, I flogged myself to work harder, even as I felt less and less happy in the job.

Gradually, I realized that I had to make a change. Bit by bit, I admitted to myself that the job was no longer right for me. I analyzed what the issues were, exploring factors such as the long hours, relationships at work, value mismatches, which aspects of work fed my soul and which crushed it, and so on. I had critical moments of insight, such as in one particular meeting where my hands were tied on a budgeting matter that would have a negative and serious impact on a number of staff; and another when I broke a bone in my foot and it failed to heal, in part due to my extremely long hours of work.

I am not one who gives up on anything easily. I came to an awareness over a period of a couple of years that I needed to leave that administrator position. It took another year to decide to retire and leave my career altogether. Although, at this point, I believe that there still are some aspects of my work that I will continue to engage in after retirement out of interest rather than for pay.

The Open Space

Presently, I am on a sabbatical leave from work. Initially, the leave was to serve as a period of time to make the transition from one work role to another. However, now that I have given notice of my upcoming retirement, it is serving as a transition to retirement. While on leave, I am still involved in some work-related projects; however, my time requirement for them is moderate and flexible.

What this has meant is that I have gone from long exhausting days crowded with obligations to wide open uncommitted days. There is a lot of open space in my calendar, and few external requirements to structure my days.

Always in the past, when I had flexible periods of time, I set goals and objectives and held myself to them. I created a structure to shape my time. I governed myself by the law of productivity.

But in this voyage of discovery that I'm currently on, I am letting myself become comfortable with the wide open space. I am letting time be, rather than dicing it up into "to do" lists. But this does not mean that I am doing nothing. Rather, I am doing things that invite the lost and battered aspects of my self to re-emerge, and that allow me to re-engage with non-work (e.g., creative, social, and health) aspects of life. With Rob, I'm also doing the planning and practical things necessary for us to move away and move on.

Health

The first step as I started my leave was to rest and recover from a state of burnout. I was exhausted. I slept 9-10 hours a night. I had no energy for mental tasks and no physical stamina. For example, I struggled to make even simple decisions, like which restaurant to go out to for dinner, and to form logical arguments, and with word-finding. Recently, I was thinking back on that time, and an image came into my mind. It was a small stick figure of myself, crouched down in an angular pose, made of burnt matchsticks. Literally burnt out, expended, nothing but a blackened carbon skeleton of myself.

Gradually I have added physical exercise into every day. I walk, ski, hike, bike, or do yoga almost daily. I have time now to focus on healthier eating, and take more pleasure in planning and preparing nutritious meals. I have taken the time to follow up on medical concerns. Yoga is new for me, and I enjoy it very much. Recently, I have begun to explore meditation as a practice.

Social

During my leave, we have done some travelling within western Canada, and have been able to spend large chunks of time with our kids and grandkids, other family, and friends. We also keep in touch by phone and through social media. It has become clear to us that living closer to family and friends is a high priority for both of us. We have keenly felt the absence of a strong social network in our current location.

Creative

I have spent time writing. I have started a new novel and written about half of the first draft of it. I have begun writing poetry again. And I have written more regular posts on this blog.

As well, I have continued with my oil painting, and currently am taking a watercolour class.

Intellectual

I have done a great deal of reading in areas related to my career and those work projects. I spend quite a few hours every week on the projects. I also have had more time to attend local talks and workshops in areas of interest.

Practical Steps

The practical steps leading to a new life have revolved around discussing, planning, and taking actions to move back to our home province. As I wrote last week, we are in the middle of a renovation project and after that is done, we plan to put our house on the market. This process also involves decluttering, winding up things here, renewing my financial plan, and setting meetings with realtors and so on.

A New Life

I think that I am just at the beginning of re-imaging a new life. I don't know what shape that life will take. Rather than making a bunch of plans and implementing them, instead I am looking at it as a discovery. I am preparing the soil, throwing out a few seeds, and waiting to nurture whatever pops up.







Friday, March 3, 2017

Dust is Us

We are living in the land of dust. Dust in the air, dust settled on every flat surface -- kitchen counters, appliances, window sills. Dust in the nose; dust in the mouth. We try to wipe it up, and there it is again the next day.

We are having the main bathroom in our house renovated. We have hired a contractor who did some work for the neighbour next door. It turns out that he is also the brother of the neighbour across the street. We are surrounded by neighbours in our own age demographic who grew up on this street, and now have moved back into their childhood homes, either with their aged parents, or after their parents have passed away.

The previous owners of our house had done some significant renovations before we bought the place: in particular, the kitchen and the ensuite bathroom, and repainting throughout. The house has a huge  contemporary kitchen with stainless steel appliances, island, and breakfast bar. It is a joy to work in, and certainly caught our eye when we were house hunting. The four-piece ensuite also is very attractive, with a huge shower, and also a soaker tub (great for apr├Ęs ski).

But the main bathroom was very dated and rather grotty. The shower tile was chipped and cracked, and looked like it was from the 1970's. The bathtub and faucets might have been an original installation from when the house was built in 1959.
A Very Dated Bathroom

So we took the plunge a couple of weeks ago. Our timing was perfect, as this is a slow time for trades in our area. We have had a steady parade of tradesmen traipsing through the house, knocking out the walls and removing the fixtures from the old bathroom, and doing electrical work and plumbing.

Whenever you do reno's on an older house, you can expect some surprises. It turned out that the walls in our bathroom were lath and plaster -- much harder to remove than the gyp-rock of today's houses. The plumber replaced a sink drain pipe of galvanized steel that was 80% plugged (which involved some reconstruction in the basement). And the bathtub faucet had been leaking into a pony wall, which required replacement of a two-by-four. We decided to put in a second light above the tub. Today the drywallers are here, putting in the walls.
Demolition Underway

Everything has gone along very well. While we are having this work done, we decided to have top end dual flush toilets installed in all the bathrooms. As well, we asked the painter to do some repainting of some of the other rooms. So we now have a freshly painted master bedroom, my son's bedroom, and kitchen. I have never hired a painter before, but rather have always taken the do it yourself route. He is so fast and proficient! He completes in two or three hours what would have taken me two or three days. And it's all done with far less angst and no splatters.
A Pile of Construction Garbage in the Carport

Yesterday, we went and chose the tile for the new bathroom. That was a fun part. So far, I am very happy with this renovation experience. Although I had forgotten about renovation dust, at least it is going to be for just a short period. I think sometimes it is worth spending the money to get skilled tradespeople to do the work.

Monday, February 20, 2017

In the Studio

I think I am beginning to get a little glimpse of what retirement is (or could be) like. In this, Rob has been a model and an inspiration for me.

Up until now, I have been preoccupied with planning for retirement, and taking the actual practical steps to make it happen. In my case, the practical steps have included making sure that my financial situation is secure, deciding on the date, negotiating exit conditions, telling people, and beginning to prepare to put our house on the market and then to move.

I also have been caught up in the emotional work of determining whether and accepting that I am ready to leave the paid workforce. I have enjoyed my career, and I have a satisfying and well-paying job. For so many years I have been striving upwards on the career ladder, and so deciding to retire has meant coming to terms with the idea that this is as far as I am going in this career. It has meant, to a certain extent, grieving what I will lose by stepping away from my job and career, and knowing that I will have to address the big chasm of empty time in front of me once I no longer have the excuse of a busy schedule to distract me from the question of who I am apart from work.

I have been letting it be, letting that question gradually form, and making empty time for the gestation of the self that I will become in retirement. It goes beyond the question of how I will fill my time. Sometimes I get a fleeting sense of a possible future. For a great read, look at Karen Hume's post on this topic.

Last Friday morning, I puttered about doing little tasks around home. I said to Rob, "I am thinking of doing either X or Y this afternoon," with X being a tedious and time-consuming household task and Y being a trip to the art studio.

"Oh, go to the studio!" he said. And after diddling around a little longer (my typical creativity avoidance procrastination*), I did.

I signed myself into the 2D studio of the amazing community arts building that recently opened in our city. I was the only artist in the studio space that afternoon. I set up an easel and laid out my oil paints on a table with the big north-facing windows behind me. Then I went to the storage area and retrieved my current painting. I had not worked on it for a month.

I started the way I always start -- by setting it up on the easel and contemplating it for ten or fifteen minutes. And then I set to work.

It was a wonderful couple of hours. I was totally focused on the work at hand. The studio was quiet. From time to time, I would wander over to the windows and look out over the cityscape, and then turn back to my painting. At the end of my painting session, I felt a sense of deep peace.

Throughout most of my life, I have had to struggle to make time for painting or any other creative work. These last four years, I have participated in a Thursday night painting class. To get there, I had to leave work by 5:30, much earlier than usual, race home, gobble down supper, change, grab my gear, then drive downtown. I was typically half an hour late, stressed, and exhausted from the week at work. Often I was unable to attend because of evening work events or work-related travel.

How different Friday's painting session was! I wandered in at a time of my own choosing and had full access to the beautiful space. I stayed as long as I wanted. I felt like a kid in a candy shop!

I am working on a composition that involves figures. This is a departure for me; I usually paint landscapes. For me, the human body presents a great challenge.

This is my painting in progress. On Friday, I laid in the background.

I also have challenged myself creatively in another way. I recently started taking an art class in something new to me. I am taking a line and wash class. It involves working with watercolour and ink. It is something that I have come to with great trepidation. You see, one of the other consequences of having little personal time for creative pursuits throughout my adult life is that I have devoted the tiny bits of art time that I have to a genre and medium that I already feel fairly comfortable with -- landscapes and oil paints. So this has been another aspect of the shutting down of my creative life; I have not had the courage or the energy to explore and branch out.

After frowning my way through my first line and wash class ("Why is she spending so much time talking about basics like the colour wheel? Why are we just making marks instead of producing something?"), I have settled into the class and am greatly enjoying it. It turns out that it is tremendously liberating to just explore the new materials and techniques without the expectation that I should instantly be able to produce a credible painting. It's fun!

So, back to Rob. What kind of amazing person encourages his wife to go to the studio instead of doing the tedious overdue household task? Well, a creative person who is comfortable with himself and retirement.

Rob's creativity manifests itself in a completely different realm than mine. He is an audiophile who designs and builds audio speakers. He currently is working on building a tall narrow set out of bamboo plywood.

Here he is working in his shop, sanding.

In his previous project before this one, he designed and built a pair of speakers that he calls "The Octopi." They currently are in our living room and they produce beautiful sound.

An Octopus

So you can see why Rob is an inspiration to me. Seeing him full of enthusiasm about a new project and working down in his shop putting in many hours to realize his vision reminds me that retirement is going to be okay. And also, by the way, it is time for me to get down to the studio, or to sit down at my computer and write.
________
*If you have ever struggled with procrastination (and most artists and writers do), I highly recommend reading Tim Urban's Wait But Why blog. His posts on procrastination are funny, insightful, and actually kind of painful. But don't read it right now if you are doing so to procrastinate from your creative project; just bookmark it for later.

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Taking Steps

Source: ShapeSense.com

Taking Steps

working hard at megacorp
so I can buy some shiny things
step tracker, fitness wear

duped again, focused inward
eager to believe
it’s all about me
a seductive topic
nothing closer to home than me

me, me, me
I hum it in the shower
I’ve just completed a walk
5.4 kilometers
post a status update
such discipline

tracking my steps
for big brother
big data la la la
not thinking about that

aerobic workout five days a week
my health is up to me
I have the moral edge
inside the bubble
echoing the echo

they know where I am
my route, time of day
how long it took
if I met the goal
whoever they are

docile me
oblivious me
my head is full of me
I deserve it

too focused to think about
climate change
child brides
poverty
potable water
sexual violence
genital mutilation
bitumen
living wage
equity
social determinants of health

I’m busy with my body project
managing my risk
I walked 10,000 steps today
gold star for me

Source: Getty Images

About this Poem

I recently had the opportunity to attend a lecture by Dr. Mary Louise Adams from Queen's University. Adams spoke about risk discourse, and how the individual pursuit of health has become a central cultural theme in our society. In particular, she spoke about the current craze for step counting, and how fitness trackers redirect one's attention to oneself, and to one's body as an object.

Although I do not own a fitness tracker such as a fit bit, I do have a couple of fitness tracker apps on my phone. I confess that there have been times that I have become rather obsessed about tracking and keeping stats on distance, time, speed, and calories burned when I go out for a walk, bike ride, or cross-country ski. Adams' talk made me think more deeply about fitness tracking and inspired me to write this poem.



Thursday, February 2, 2017

Bye Bye Books



The day after I submitted my letter stating my retirement date, I made a list. Actually, it was two lists in one. The first column listed small renovations and repairs that we might consider doing before putting the house on the market. We have already done a number of things that add value to the house in the five years that we have been here, such as replace the roof, adding a range hood and fan in the kitchen, and so on. (Shout out to Rob!) The house had been newly renovated when we bought it, and the inspection showed that it was a solid house with no issues. So this list is mostly focused on "spit and polish" items that will help it show well.

The other column listed things that we could do to declutter and tidy things up. There are just two of us rattling around in a great big house, but we have a lot of stuff. This is in spite of giving away heaps of stuff (furniture, wood stove, tools, canoe), and throwing away lots of other stuff (old ski equipment, broken toys) when we moved last time. While neither of us is a hoarder, we are very fond of our stuff. Although we have not set a date to put the house on the market or to start looking to buy, we want to give ourselves lots of time for the transition process.

So far, Rob has been the true hero in this endeavour. He already has gone off to the recycling depot with five boxes of old computer parts and cords. He also has climbed into the attic of the storage shed and begun rooting through the old sports equipment (I'd thought we had already gotten rid of that stuff???) and has begun throwing things out (e.g., ancient tents with broken zippers). He also moved a pile of his totes out of the basement storage room, revealing the awful truth that most of the boxes in that room are mine. My stuff that needs sorting comes in four categories: things that belong to my kids that I have been storing for them; boxes from previous moves that I never unpacked; boxes of career related materials (about 25 bankers' boxes in our basement), and books.

I decided to start with the books. Specifically, there was a stack of twelve boxes of books in the spare bedroom, still never unpacked since we moved here. I began unpacking them and sorting through the books, all the while muttering that it seemed ridiculous to be unpacking boxes, knowing that soon enough the books would just have to be packed up again when we move.

It is very hard for me to get rid of books. I have always viewed my books as precious. In the seven frugal years when I lived the life of a poverty-stricken student, books were one of the few luxuries that I allowed myself to purchase. Although I am happy to give books to my kids, or to friends who love to read, or to students, I abhor the thought of books going to the landfill. So, I have a lot of books.

As I unpacked each book, I held it in my hands and thought about who had given me the book, or who had owned it before me, or how that book had shaped my thinking decades ago. And then I asked myself whether I would ever read it again, or if I really needed a book of lists from the 1990's, or a book from the 1980's about pregnancy. I considered whether anyone close to me might want the book. And then, ruthlessly, I sorted many of them into good-bye piles. I have taken two boxes of books to the university to put on the "free books" table for students. I have stuffed the Little Free Library with novels. I have taken four boxes of books to the secondhand bookstore. The bookstore owner took about half of them and said he would give the rest to charities. He tried to pay me for them, but I talked him into letting me take two books from his shelves in exchange. (Uhoh! I'm supposed to be getting rid of books, not acquiring more books!) And, sadly, four boxes of books are going to recycling.

The rest of the books, old friends, have found space on my bookshelves. I have finally found my art books, my poetry books, my gardening books, and my outdoor books! I still have way too many books. I now have three shelves of books, mostly fiction, in my den. There are books in the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, and the basement. At least fifty of them are books that I have bought or been given but have not yet read. There are about twenty boxes of children's books in the storage room, and I am not throwing out any of those. I have been transporting them, a few each time, to my grandchildren when I go for visits. And then there are three floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books in my office at my workplace. My heroic book decluttering has eliminated just a small fraction of our collection.

The other day, I opened and sorted a box from the basement storage room. It contained, not surprisingly, books, and also a lot of my children's art. For example, I found calendars from twenty years ago that my kids had made me for Mother's Day, and stories they had written. I found the travel diary we had kept when we took a six week trip down the west coast of Canada and the USA in 2001. It took me two hours to sort through one little box because I had to read the diary and every one of their stories, and look at every picture. It sure is a good thing that I move every once in a awhile because I get to rediscover these treasures and take a sentimental walk down memory lane! 



Friday, January 27, 2017

Wrote the Letter; Set the Date


Here's my news of a lifetime. I have decided to retire!

Not only have I made the decision but I have met with my supervisor, set the date, and submitted my letter of retirement/resignation. My retirement date is June 30, 2017, and now that I have put it into writing, it is irrevocable according to the human resources rules at my workplace.

Drum roll.

You know how sometimes you don't know if you have made the right choice until after the thing has happened? Like when I left my leadership role in June 2016 after many months of agonizing over whether I should; it wasn't until after I stepped out the door and began my leave from work that I truly knew I had made the right decision. I wrote about it here.

So how do I feel about retiring now that the irrevocable decision has been made?

Well, the first and most overwhelming emotion was relief. I felt tremendous relief that my decision was finally made. The process of making this decision has been grueling and it has taken a long time. The uncertainty was hard to live with.

I also felt a huge sense of relief that I wouldn't have to go back to work. As I would have been starting in quite a different role, it would have required a lot of hard work and a significant time commitment to do the new job well. (And it is my nature that I must throw myself into every job and excel at it. I have never learned moderation.) I finally realized that I do not have the energy and passion for it anymore. I just don't want to have to work that hard. (In my mind, I can hear everyone who knows me laughing their heads off at this statement!)

I felt light, as though my head and shoulders were floating way above the ground. A huge weight has been taken off my shoulders.

My supervisor, lovely man that he is, made the whole process so much easier. I will have an honorary title and be able to maintain an affiliation with my institution after I retire. There is the potential for me to take on short-term contracts. He even suggested that I could request keeping my office and some professional development funds for a time-limited period after retirement. These things go a long way toward addressing the identity issue that has been such a big factor in my anxiety about retiring. I might never take on a contract, and if we move I will not need to keep my office, but just having these possibilities in the background in case, you know, it turns out that I can't figure out what to do with myself in retirement, puts my mind at ease.

I felt that time suddenly sped up. There are other decisions that hinge on this one, so making the decision to retire has created a domino effect initiating other decisions and actions. Now we will begin getting the house ready to put on the market, selling it, deciding where and when to move, buying a house somewhere else, and moving.

I felt released to act again. While I was in the purgatory of indecision, it was hard to focus on things or to take any steps because I couldn't see my way forward. I was wandering in circles. Since submitting my letter, I have suddenly thrown myself into a couple of projects that I committed to do during my leave.

I felt surprised that once the decision was made, it seemed so obvious. Why had I been fretting about it for so long?

I felt tremendous gratitude toward Rob for being so patient with me and letting the process play out without pressuring me.

In terms of the responses of others close to me, Rob is so happy that I have made the decision, finally, to retire. In fact, I feel a certain degree of guilt for having been so focused on MY decision all this time. This decision will have a huge impact on both of our lives, not just on me.

Our kids responded with a range of responses. To one, it was no surprise at all. It was obvious that I had been moving in this direction for a long time. Another was completely thrilled and joyful. Another was pleased that I had made a choice that would enhance my own well-being, finally stepping away from the workaholic choices that have characterized my past. And another was cautiously optimistic, knowing how much my work identity has always been so important to me. One hasn't heard the news yet.

However, it was no surprise to anyone. To them, it was obvious that I was moving toward retirement and they all clearly thought that it was a good idea. Even my supervisor at work said he was kind of anticipating it. In a sense, I was the last to know that I was ready to retire!

I still haven't had a chance to phone my friends and family to discuss my exciting news. But I sure am grateful for all their support, and the many long conversations over the past year helping to talk me through the decision.

As a funny postscript, I submitted the letter late last Friday afternoon. That way, I had the whole weekend to "test" the decision. Knowing that my supervisor would be unlikely look in his mail slot until Monday, I had a whole weekend to contemplate the possibility of racing to my workplace and removing the irrevocable letter before he saw it. I didn't do it, of course, but I sure do like to torture myself!

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