Broken in, not distressed

When I changed into my “chores” jeans, I paused for a moment to consider how many years it had been since I purchased this particular pair of Levi’s. I did the math, thinking back to that long ago trip anniversary to Maine and our visit to the outlets in Freeport. My first and last, so far, trip to Maine.

These worn and paint stained jeans were 23 years old, making them older than my youngest son.

That trip to Maine was memorable, beyond my long lived denim souvenir. I distinctly recall thinking that the state license plates should be edited from stating “Vacationland” to the more accurate “It’s really f’n far to drive there.”

We visited Camden, Portland and Rockland, where we had reservations for a special dinner at Primo, an occasion we had both anticipated with excitement. Unfortunately, after my recent, post-thyroid cancer radioactive iodine treatment, I was unable to taste anything.

Consuming that celebratory meal was like swallowing air.

I never would have predicted all those years ago that I’d still be wearing that same pair of Levi’s decades later.

I’ve never really been a person with a long term end game or an impulse to be deeply self reflective. Surely you remember when the Stinky Cheeseman cast me aside because I wasn’t inclined to engage in deep and philosophical topics? (And for that chef friend in a bathing suit he had mistakenly sent me a picture of, bien sur.)

For me, the future has been something to prepare for in a more general fashion. Not a “where I want to be” as much as a putting myself in a position to be able to get where I want to be when the time comes.

And that previously unimagined time is rapidly approaching.

Less than 12 weeks from today, I will be wrapping up my 30+ year career as a school librarian.

It seems that I’ve been thinking (and writing) about retirement for the better part of 2025. I guess I’m trying to work out what it might look like because, the unknown quantity that defines retirement directly opposes the security of a professional position in the field in which I was educated.

It’s scary exciting.

I had no idea about the head space where I’d find myself at this time of my life. While there have been brief fantasies about packing a bag and boarding a flight to what’s next, I find myself somewhat cautious. I’m beginning to realize that part of what makes this stage of life so potentially interesting is that it might just be the first time in my life when I’m not working to achieve something tangible – an education, a relationship, a family, a career.

Instead, I have no idea what comes next. And while, yes, that is kind of disconcerting, more than that, it is elating.

This time is mine.

A recently retired friend told me she entered her new chapter with a promise to herself to not commit to anything for the first year. She simply wants to own her time and enjoy the freedom of leaving the academic calendar behind.

When I think about what tethers me to Albany, and this country, at this terrible time in history, my most honest admission is Jeter. Everything else is portable or transferable, but my soon to be 12 year old (remarkably healthy), Labrador retriever is not.

Sidebar: I flew with a dog once (Cleo) and it was a horrible experience for both of us. I couldn’t do that to my old boy.

So, I can’t really do some of what I hope to experience in the immediate future. That feels ok for me. I’m thinking about household projects to tackle (wearing my vintage Levi’s), working more often at my favorite neighborhood spot, Nicole’s and walking the dog. Yes, there are some plane tickets in my virtual wallet, and some space in my brain considering how I might want to spend my first fall off from school since 1992, but I’m fine with a slow launch to chapter next.

Like my old jeans, I’m feeling broken in, but not even a little distressed. And – whatever comes next, I want to taste every bite.