Does anyone know if there is a support group for retirees?
If there isn't, there should be. Maybe I'll start one.
I think I need help.
My name is Lori and I don't know what to do with myself.
It's been more than three months since I tore down my paper palm tree and packed up all my beach gear from my classroom. On the last day of school, The No-Longer-A-Coach (not by choice) and I walked out of Riverside Academy hand-in-hand with no idea what would come next. We just kind of threw "retirement" out there in case nothing else came along.
And I spent the summer months like most teachers do -- relaxing in my pool, reading, staying up too late, and watching TV.
I also had a fun little summer gig covering a collegiate league baseball team called the Baton Rouge Rougarou. I didn't have to go to the games. Every night I'd watch them on a livestream then write a little account of how they won or lost. Once a week the owner suggested a player to do a feature on. I got to dust off my rusty sportswriting gears and earned a little extra paycheck to help pay for my upcoming cataract surgery.
I made my annual summer vacation trek to Natchitoches, Louisiana, home of the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame for this year's induction ceremony. The first thing I did was check to make sure my name was still on the wall from my induction last year. It was.
We were all very excited that former Saints quarterback Drew Brees would be joining us for his induction, but alas, he punted at the last moment to go to Japan. Or Alaska. Or wherever he went that wasn't Natchitoches. We had fun without him and he'll never know what cool people he missed out on.
I still had fun because one of my local coaches, Frank Monica, was inducted for his extraordinary career. He showed up and had a blast.
And we've found out that just about any opportunity to get out of the house is worth taking.
We went to the grand opening of the new funeral home that just opened across the street from our house.
Sadly, we also went to two funerals for people who left us much much too soon.
And I've done my 6,482 hours of online training to become a substitute teacher again.
But sometimes I don't know what day it is. I barely can keep track of the time. It doesn't really matter anymore. Fridays mean nothing anymore and I no longer dread Mondays on Sundays. Hump days are just another day after Tuesday.
But I can't shake this overwhelming feeling of guilt! I always feel like I'm playing hooky from something, like there's something I should be doing instead of whatever it is I am doing.
I need someone to tell me that it's OK to not have anything to do or any place to go for days at a time.
I need someone to tell me that I've earned this right to not have to get up, get dressed and go to work -- like I've done for most of my life.
I need someone to tell me that it's OK to stay up until 4 a.m. watching all the old movies I've never seen and reading all the books I've been meaning to read. And it's OK to stay up all night if the inspiration hits me to work on that book I always said I would write.
That it's OK if I want or need to take a nap in the afternoon because I stayed up too late the night before.
I need someone to tell me that all these things are OK because I'm having a really hard time believing it, even though there are a lot of t-shirts telling me otherwise.
"Retirement is wonderful. It's doing nothing without worrying about getting caught at it."
Yep.
"Retirement sounds like fun until you realize you're too old, too broke and too tired to leave the couch."
This is true too.
But after only two weeks, I'm getting kind of antsy.
"The trouble with retirement is that you never get a day off."
Maybe I need one.
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