My still working friends often ask me “so how do you keep busy now that you are retired?” The question really is a cascade of unspoken questions “are you bored, do you miss your career, how are you doing on your bucket list, do you even have a bucket list, you are not suicidal yet, are you?” I suspect the one question they don’t ask, but I know are on their minds, is not about me at all, but their own fears. “Can you tell me what retirement might bring for me? So, I usually talk about my travels. People like to hear “on the road stories“. People love a good adventure story; a bit of discovery, a bit of unexpected perspective. A good story always puts a smile on their faces. I have a new travel story for you to contemplate, it’s more like a travel guide. It’s called “knowing your shit”. I have organized this travel guide into easy-to-follow sections.
Everyone has way too much shit:
Our lives are cluttered with too much shit. Here up in the northern mountain lake region of New Hampshire, where I am traveling at the moment, sits our family shared home overlooking a serene vista of Lake Winnipesaukee. Fifty years of memories, four family generations and with all the love, all the goodness, came the clutter and declining use as well. The five sibling families are now scattered across the country. Sadly it’s time to keep the good and part with the rest. Luckily retirement has rejuvenated the long dormant construction skills my father taught me, reawakening both the memories and the motor skills of my youth far better than idle armchair reminiscing. Spent many long hours of fixing what is broken and making it good for the next family. Up before dawn, coffee cup in hand, watching the lake and sky turn from pink to blue, the far off call of a loon, gives it all reason and a bit of regret frankly. Sadly some things can neither be fixed or kept. In those cases, I can’t say strong enough how therapeutic is a trip to the local dump. Everyone reading this should visit their local dump and make sure you bring something with you. It will cleanse the mind and soul to give that old thing hiding in dark corner of your basement “the heave ho”. Watch it bounce away to the big pile down below. Hear it clanging out of your life. A dump in a small New England town is a community gathering spot too. You just might make a new friend. And that is a pretty good trade for what you just tossed out. Probably more people regularly come together at a dump than churches these days. Certainly dumps allow for a more tangible way to cast away your sins.
Keep your septic tank clean:
If you have a septic tank you know exactly where your shit goes, it stays in your own backyard. Unlike when you live in a city, when living in the country, there is no illusion that it magically disappears in a porcelain swirl to a faraway never-land. Nope. It’s right outside where the grass grows greenest. And you better take care of your shit or it will literally come back to haunt you. The best part of taking care of your septic tank is you get to meet the most informed person in town, the one who comes to pump it out. He has literally been to everyone’s home. He helps you find where you buried that trap door to your forgotten shit and drops down a nasty hose to siphon it out of your worries. While gurgles and twitches, you both stand there watching and waiting. Which leads to talking. Talking is what leads to him knowing what’s going on in every home and neighborhood in town. By the time the pump was done I got a lesson in town politics, a five generation genealogy summary of the guy and even an update on the condition of my neighbor’s bad back. Years ago, I once had a guy come to another country home I had own. We got to talking. Me, proud and smug to brag about my high tech job and the name of the company. “Well, you do know that company is going to have a big layoff next week, don’t you?” he said in reply. Flabbergasted. “How do you know that?” I asked. It turned out he pumped out the CEO’s shit as well. Everyone likes to talk to the guy who takes care of their shit. So all you city folks out there, who don’t have a septic guy, maybe find a person who just likes to talk to strangers. Someone willing to help pump out the shit from your mental septic tank. Just saying.
You only can carry so much shit:
You can’t take everything with you, whether you travel by car, or in my case a big-ass truck, or by plane, or just carrying something in your hands. But even with a big-ass truck, you can only carry so much. Let the rest go, put it down or give it away. Close the door to that old house ( or that old job, if you have been catching my analogical drift ) and just leave it and all the rest in your rearview mirror. Move on down the road to your next adventure.
Pass it on to your kids:
If all of the above fails, there is still the age old tradition of parents giving their old shit to their kids and letting them deal with it. No, Just kidding. Seemed like a good joke. I know I will catch shit from my wife for writing that one. Just go visit them. The good news is there is no retiring from being a parent. Something there probably needs fixing.
P.S.
What? Wait? No kids? No problem. Go get a dog! One from a shelter. Honestly. They will need and love you more than you can imagine or hope. And they definitely like to ride shotgun in big-ass trucks.
Let Me Tell You a Story 