When I told Sarah I was thinking of titling this post Embracing Life Before Retirement, I could practically hear the pearl-clutching. Let me say right here at the start: I’m not counting down the days to stop working. I’m not slacking off. I don’t have too much time on my hands. In fact, I’m working hard — joyfully so. This isn’t about stepping back; it’s about growing into myself. At my age, the question of who am I becoming? carries a certain urgency.
Sarah, who can always “find me something to do,” sent me a link to the Spartanburg Community Band. I dusted off my French horn, loaded it into the Mini, and showed up. I played as softly as I could, listening to my neighbor for the pitch while I re-learned fingerings and remembered how to breathe as I buzzed the mouthpiece. Not long after, I joined the choir at the neighborhood Trinity United Methodist Church. Which, of course, meant I was also drafted into the handbell choir. (It’s funny how the choir members who double as bell-ringers, plus the music director, all grinned and said, “Well, handbells on Monday, choir on Wednesday!”) So, I guess I’m in handbells now too.
And then came the start of the new semester. I walked into the cafeteria for the back-to-school breakfast the university provides. I sat with colleagues, caught up on life, and we laughed together as we talked about classes we’re teaching. There was such positive energy around our table! Later, I listened to our chancellor give the State of the University address — which, by the way, is good. Then the deans introduced new faculty.
I took a moment to reflect on the dean who had taken my place. She is kind and thoughtful, already working to build community in our college. I felt warmth and satisfaction, a kind of peace. Like sitting on the porch listening to cicadas at dusk, when the heat of the day has finally lifted. She has a quiet confidence, the kind that signals she knows what she’s doing. That she’s got this. The kind of confidence I now have too — as faculty.
As if the universe were reaffirming that I am in the right role — that I am where I’m supposed to be — two invitations arrived that same day. One colleague invited me to do a book talk with their curriculum theory class, reconnecting me with scholarship and teaching I had missed during my years in administration. Another asked me to consider contributing a chapter to an upcoming Handbook of Ignorance Studies in Education. Now, I know that ignorance studies is a highly serious matter, but me being me, I can’t help chuckling at the title. It feels like the perfect opportunity to bring a little folksy charm and sense of irony to the subject. Both invitations humbled and inspired me. Coming just one day before the semester began, they reinforced my professional identity as teacher, scholar, and service colleague (and yes, committee assignments also arrived that day).
So what do I mean when I say embracing life before retirement? When I imagine retirement, I hear the people who, whenever asked “How’s retirement?” say, “I don’t know how I ever got everything done when I worked. There just aren’t enough hours in the day!” Almost everybody says that when asked. Retirement, for many, is a season of busy leisure, where the biggest problem is deciding what leisure looks like. If you want to take a nap, you can take a nap. If you want to read, you can read. Because nothing is pressing you to be somewhere else.
And yet, I’m tasting a version of that right now — a freedom to choose what matters most, even while working. Music. Teaching. Writing. E-triking. Monthly Breakfast Club with Sarah and a couple of colleague friends. Nourishment for mind, body, and spirit. Life still has its hiccups and valleys — I’m not pretending otherwise. I know they are sometimes filled with loss and grief, unfulfilled dreams, guilt, and yes, fear. And when those valleys come, I still get low and afraid, just as I always have. Sarah is right: I need ways to pull myself out of them. And honestly? An e-trike ride with my French horn slung over my shoulder feels just about right.
Even when I was younger, I used to (half) joke: I’ll never be able to retire — they’ll have to roll me out of school in my coffin. Now that I’m within six to eight years of retirement, that gnawing fear still tugs at me. I’m close. A decade ago, when I entered administration, I even set a countdown timer app on my phone. That should have been the clue right there that I wasn’t where I needed to be. I don’t look at that timer anymore.
The difference now is that I think about the last days, and the blessings God has knocked me over the head with. Yes, there will still be valleys — loss and grief, unfulfilled dreams, guilt, and fear. But alongside them, there is also laughter, music, students, writing, dogs, cats, and Sarah. And I realize that if this is my life for another decade while I work — teaching, music, writing, laughter, valleys and all — not only will I “make it” to retirement, I can embrace the mindset now.
Almost like retirement. But better.
The Front Porch Professor 