A Letter to the Next Chapter
Embracing a new day and a new friend
It’s 4:00 a.m. and I’m in the basement of my home, sitting on the couch, waiting for the heater in the shed where I usually write to warm things up. It’s an unusually cold stretch of spring in the Midwest. Why so early? Lately I have been waking at this crazy hour fully refreshed or, as for this morning, shaking off an anxiety dream. Nothing over the top, just a frequent one I have about preparing to do my radio work and not having things ready to go—no plan, no music to play, no stories to tell, no copy to read, and the clock is ticking down to airtime. I’ve had this dream for many years. I probably should have it analyzed by a professional.
Still, despite my disquiet, I’m smiling.
In short time, I will be leaving for good my position at the college where I teach. The world we live in calls this “retirement.” I hate that word, yet I accept it. It’s what people say, what society calls this next part of a life, born out of the days of pensions and gold watches and a 1950s mentality. Can’t we give it another name? The word suggests you will lie prone, staring at the sky, waiting to see how many beats your heart has left. It’s a terrible word.
Still, I smile.
Over the last eighteen years my work at the college has helped me find the person I had been looking for all my life. It has given me time, space, joy, and triumphs, and even a few failures that have helped me understand who I am. These years have allowed me to finally fit into myself. It wasn’t just the classroom, or the students, but more so about the freedom, the autonomy it has afforded me to explore the self. It has given me an organic life, one filled with parts of me that had laid dormant, parts I could then share with students. I am incredibly grateful for that.
But it’s time to say goodbye.
So, here in the dark of an early morning, as the sun rises on something new, I am writing a letter to the chapter that awaits.
Dear Retirement,
Do us all a favor. Go to the office where they permit these things, and change your name. Retirement no longer fits who you really are or who you should be. It’s like a Jack being called a Chad. A Zoe going by Sally. It’s inauthentic. Not of the day. It’s not who you really are. So, do that for me, will you? I know it’s an unusual request, but it will do all of us some good.
Now, about you becoming my new best friend.
I like this idea. I hope you feel the same. But it’s really not changing our relationship much. I’m still going to do a lot of what I had been doing before I met you—writing, conducting some workshops, walking the dog, playing and writing music, playing golf, reading, meditating when I can and should. Now, however, I’ll be doing this with more time for you and me to talk, to get to know each other a bit, to find out how to develop and nurture this new chapter in our relationship. We can go to lunch.
Some things will be different when you and I are together. I won’t have as many places I have to be at a certain time. The clock won’t matter much for you and me. I’m going to like that. But I agree it’s going to take a little getting used to. I’ll have to learn to be less obsessively punctual, less concerned about a calendar or my watch. I’m sure you can help me with that. It’ll be a good thing. You’ll see.
You can also help me rekindle some neglected friendships. The ones I made before you. Life swallows us sometimes and we ignore—not on purpose, of course—the people we have held dear. We’ll need to work on remedying this.
I wonder, too, if you can help me change some of things I don’t particularly like about myself. I have the time now, as they say, to workout more, ride my bike more, lose a few more pounds, eat better, be more patient, be more present, I’ve always tried to be good at these things, and sometimes I’m really on it, but, you know, time gets in the way, you lose focus, obligations strain the promises one makes to oneself. I don’t want to waste time. Even though, a part of me wants to waste time, you know what I mean? We can work on this together, okay?
People often say when they begin their friendship with you that they hope to travel more. That sounds so cliche, doesn’t it? But maybe you can help me get over that and embrace all the journeys to come—to the home of ancestors in County Wexford in Ireland, to the Isle of Wight in England, to Dylan Thomas’ shed in Wales, back to Spain to re-embrace the beauty of life, to the West and the mountains and the sea. You can help me pack. Pack light, of course.
One last thing, my friend. Long before we met, I always intuitively knew what really mattered in this life—friends, family, the spirit, the glory of nature, finding what gives one joy, creating something artful with passion, believing in the inherent goodness of others. But maybe you can remind me more often, maybe help me not just know this but live it. That would be great.
We’re not going to have a lot of time together. I’ve lived a much longer life without you than I will with you, but I think we can be good together as long as we stay true to who we are, always be honest with one another, care, nurture this relationship, and promise that we’ll forever have each other’s backs.
Still. If you don’t mind. The name thing. Would you?
I did some research this morning. The first step is to file a formal petition with your local court. You can find the forms to fill out online. You’ll then have to get official fingerprints and authorities will have to do a background check. The FBI might also have to be involved. But don’t worry. It’s just a formality. The next step is a little weird, but some states require you to set up a formal advertisement in the local newspaper, announcing your name change. This is to inform your creditors of what you’re doing. Are there some bills you haven’t paid? Might want to look into that. Meantime, while getting all this together, you’ll have to consider what your new name will be. I have some ideas. Freedom. Independence. Next Act. My Time. Or maybe you just want go with something less, I don’t know, pretentious? Something simple, gender-neutral. Morgan. Jessie. Skyler. Or go the Prince route and just use a symbol. Remember when he did that? You know, on second thought, don’t do that. What would I call you when we meet on the street? All of this, of course, is up to you. Still, the old name has really got to go. Thanks for considering this.
So, see you soon. Text me when you have time to grab a coffee. We can talk about what’s next for the two of us. I’d really like that.
Cheers.
Your friend,
David
Photo by Johannes Plenio