Retiremint

Don’t know if the policy is still intact, or if it ever existed in any of the other states, but years ago when I had the occasion to apply for unemployment, I discovered among the enumerated eligibility conditions, one very surprising one.

Unemployment benefits were available to older employees who stepped forward to voluntarily surrender their jobs precisely so that younger employees targeted for being RIF’d could keep theirs.

Going through papers this week as part of retirement catharsis, I found a letter, never delivered, that caught me off-guard, since I don’t remember writing it, triggering a remembrance of that eligibility stipulation.

Being retirement-eligible (though not full-retirement age eligible) at the time the letter was written, I clearly remember the context.

Someone in our department, the least senior member, was being RIF’d, and I felt a terrible sadness since in the very short time she had been with us, she had made a lasting impact. She was feeling devastated at the news of her RIF’ing, and I was sharing those sentiments.

Remembering what I had learned a few years earlier, for days and weeks, I searched my mind and heart. Could I give up my job for her?

At moments such as the decision-times whether to make the kind of sacrifice I considered, the words of a heroic character in Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities often come to mind, “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done…”

In the end, I just “couldn’t do it.” Apologizing, I told my colleague that if I had had the intestinal fortitude, I would have resigned; instead I conducted job searches on her behalf.

(I don’t know if my admission made her feel better or worse. In retrospect, I suspect probably worse. Throughout the process, she remained gracious, which I know made me feel even worse.)

No one—not even I, I suppose, could ever fully understand all the reasons, conscious and subconscious, why I didn’t go through with delivering the letter I found—a signed resignation letter written to my employer, asking for my colleague’s employment to be spared in place of mine.

A month or so ago, as I wrestled with whether the time to retire had arrived, how grateful I was to learn that my formerly RIF’d colleague recently was featured on the front page of her work-town newspaper, being held up and applauded for her exemplary contributions.

Getting RIF’d, apparently, has been a good thing for her…

Rather than beating myself up for lack of generosity or guts, I like to think that both of us had destinies to fulfill…Someday, we’ll know for sure…Sometimes, I think, we can’t be savior to someone else, even if we’d like to be…

Whether in a retirement situation or not, I admire and gratefully salute those individuals who have been able to make the sacrifice that the undelivered letter of mine evidences that I couldn’t make.

May the second half of Dickens’ quote be theirs, too: “..it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.”

…And most importantly, in the “doing” and the “going,” let there be no perversion of the goodness Dickens was describing.

Do you know any individuals whose workplace sacrifices saved the jobs of others?

If you are one of those sacrificing individuals, please share your story so that others may be helped in discerning what might be the “far, far better thing” for them to do for themselves and others when facing a sacrificial workplace decision.

God bless you!

As someone whose work career included a number of involuntary stints of being un-employed or under-employed, what I am about to reveal, I hope, will not be viewed as being insensitive to or minimizing of the emotional, social, economic, and spiritual plight of those two groups of blessing-needy and deserving workers.

Nonetheless, I would like to suggest that there is an oft-time invisible third member of the blessing-needy and deserving workers to which I also have belonged.

Know who I have in mind?

During the “worst of times” when I was decidedly overworked, I willingly prayed with the rest of the congregation for the “unemployed” and “underemployed.”

At the same time—as grateful as I was for having a job, under my breath—and sometimes even marginally audibly, I prayed without guilt for the “overemployed”… like me.

Was I alone in this?

What about you? Have you prayed for the over-employed? If not, please consider including them.

I suspect being “over-employed” is a predisposing factor leading to retirement. I know it was for me! Prayer strength to stay became strength to go. Here I am…on my way to going!

Not to contradict what I said yesterday about the paucity of remembered dreams, two work-related ones come to mind.

One happened about a decade ago; the other one, recently. Both involved horses.

In the former dream, a carriage horse—romantic figure, albeit an elderly one, slowed and then dropped to the curb, exhausted. At that a small crowd gathered and were beating the poor creature with riding sticks, insisting it get up; get back to work.

An onlooker, at first I thought, upset by the sight, but also somewhat clinically detached: so this is what the expression “beating a dead horse” looks like.

Then, sickened by what I saw, I thought: Why are the people being so cruel? The horse is exhausted, not lazy. It can’t get up.

As I bent down, kneeling in the gutter to take a closer look at the pathetic-looking creature, who seemed plaintively to be looking directly at me for help, I was startled to see that the horse’s face looked remarkably familiar—as if looking into a mirror, at which point I woke up from the dream. Trembling. (I still can see the pained, plaintive look on that horse’s my-face, if I allow myself.)

At the time of the dream, I was at early retirement age, but not ready to retire. Feeling decidedly overburdened by work, I sought relief to no avail. My solution: to actively look for a different kind of work.

Fast forward to a recent dream.

A confident horse, neither young nor old, whether work or race, I do not know, with no resemblance whatsoever to me, fully, independently, proudly, triumphantly itself, was set free to move at its own pace in the fields, bright green grassy fields that despite borders seemed freely expansive.

And when I awoke from that dream, I smiled, happy to think that soon I would be sharing the horse’s unbridled freedom.

(In case you’re wondering, except for one summer’s solitary horse ride, horses have never been part of my work or leisure experience, although as a young girl I fantasized about owning a horse, and as an adult, when asked to pick an animal to describe myself, I named a carousel horse; ergo, my avatar image.)

Affectionately (at least I hope it was affectionately) called a “work horse” by one of my last supervisors, both allegories speak to me.

And this work horse has put herself out to pasture—but in a good way, I hope, to be more fully me, to confidently run free within boundaries, and hopefully not to end up as glue or meat because I am no longer daily workplace productive.

What animal is it–or would it be–that speaks or stands for you in your retirement allegory?

Hardly ever remember my dreams, but often find myself waking up–oft even from daydreams–to a telling tune.

Wondered yesterday if there were such a thing as a retirement anthem.

Before I could investigate or ponder, I immediately found myself humming an old Brenda Lee hit.

Guesses–before you read on?

Title and a duo of lyric-phrases rapidly followed…“I’m Sitting on Top of the World…”… “…just rolling along…” “…just singing a song.”

Naive?

Roll with the punches, sing a happy song…sounds like a good retirement plan, whether sitting on top of the world or not.

For now, with 55 days to go in anticipation of the big R Day, naïve or not, why not imagine the best, and be grateful for the ultimate experience, however it unfolds?

Expectation or reality. What’s your nomination for a Retiree Anthem?

With 56 days till my retirement, I’ve decided to celebrate my impending independence (and profitably utilize my interim increased “free” time, now that the school year has ended and I don’t need to prepare for next year’s lessons) by learning--albeit, even some things trivial, about my anticipated new state.

To that end, I brainstormed a list of curiosity questions, and jotted down some things I already know–or think I know–about retirement. (Yes! like a daily retirement K-W-L chart, of sorts, for any retired educators who were thinking that’s what I was doing.)

Here’s something I know. Deriter Club.

(Although the first time I tried wrapping my head around the name “Deriter,” I strained my brain back to when I took a foreign language, and chastised myself for not having paid closer attention, since I couldn’t come up with a translation to what obviously appeared to be a French word. I wondered who belonged and what kind of club it was…)

The mystery was solved when someone told me the secret.

Read backwards.

I did; then I knew. …Now you know the secret, too.

So here’s today’s curiosity question. Besides “Deriter” and “39’ers,” with which I am familiar (and soon will be eligible to join), by what other names do local groups of retirees call themselves, and do any retirees actually boldly, proudly, simply call themselves the “Retiree Club”?

Thanks for sharing your firsthand knowledge! I’m hoping to smile and to rejoice in our Retiree cleverness!