Breaking the Silence

Writer's block.  Even a casual blogger like myself can succumb to it.  It's not that my life is boring; actually it is far from it. But, who cares?  Lately, each time I sit down to write, my thoughts seem irrelevant or the words on the page look like bragging.  For example, last week, we  "crossed the pond" to spend a week in London with the primary purpose to celebrate our friend Martyn's 80th birthday. Why? Because Martyn is special -- he lives life to the fullest, refusing to sit back and let it all cave in on him.  He gives me hope.

John and I are very lucky, but certainly not without care and caution as I approach the end of working as I know it.  We did the trip with our frequent flyer and hotel points so it certainly did not break the budget. But, the Midwestern in me always wants to apologize for spending money.  I should not do this. It is silly.  If I've got it, I should have the courage to spend it or keep my mouth shut about it. I remind myself of my mother who always checked the seams of store bought clothes.  She was sure they were not made as well as she could make them and it pained her to spend "good money" on clothes when she could do better sewing them herself.  Me, the child for whom she was shopping hated not having store bought clothes.  My rebellion as an adult was to throw away my sewing machine after I caught myself making clothes for my daughter.

Like a mosquito bite that itches the more you scratch it, negative feelings have been gnawing at my brain, eating my positive thoughts.  Some of the feeling is sadness, a realization that life is a infinite adventure.  Around me several friends are battling cancer and more than a few high school colleagues won't make our 50th class reunion next year.  The trend will only increase as I age.  All this makes me anxious and impatient.  With less than a year before I stop daily work in the office, my feeling is that I just want it to be over, so John and I can get on with our lives.  I want to escape the work now, but if I don't stay, we won't have the finances arranged to move to the future.

I don't see retirement as the end of a "life's work".  I have plans.  I have a passion.  To me, a whole new way of living is just before me, teasing me with snippets of lusty freedom.  As my 68th birthday approaches, I want to get on with it before something bad happens. The mental pressure of waiting makes me feel like I did at 12, waiting to become a "teenager" when that year seemed to take forever.  Again, time passes too slowly for me and I'm feeling afraid that the dream will never be realized. But, as Martyn showed me, no matter what happens, there is hope and joy to me had just around the corner.