It's official. I'm old and getting older, and it's scary as shit.
Have you ever noticed how we humans tend to look at milemarkers in our lives since we tend to have difficulty focusing on the totality of our existence? Well, a couple of weeks ago, I passed a huge milemarker and I'm now officially bound for scary uncharted waters ... old age.
You see, a couple of weeks ago, I filed for early Social Security benefits, and told my supervisors at work that I'm only going to work part-time, once the benefits arrive in June. Scary, right?
I always knew S.S. was there (for us Baby Boomers at least ... God knows what my kids are going to do if politicians don't grow a set and fix this.) But S.S. was something my grandparents relied upon. My mom lived on her benefits and a small pension from her job as a credit manager. Social Security checks are what we associate with widows and wizened elders, as they slowly make their way to the bank to cash their checks. For many, the monthly check means the difference between eating groceries and eating dog food.
OK ... I really hope it won't come down to that! With a Navy and a small City of Milwaukee pension, I ought to be OK if I keep working part-time, and if Kathy and I can carefully manage expenses. (crossing fingers, here)
But jeez, do I really want to go there? Do I really want to quit working full-time and depend on an unreliable government to take care of me and Kathy?
Quitting full-time work is committing myself to this new life. I officially surrender my status as "relevant" in this cash-and-credit-driven society. I officially become one of those old codgers I always used to pity whenever I saw them in the stores. I always hoped I'd never be one of those old guys who had "nothing to do."
I've already surrendered half my worklife identity by retiring from the Navy. No more can I tell people that I'm a Lieutenant Commander and a Combat Cameraman. Now I have to tell my customers I'm a "retired" Navy Combat Cameraman. But having a full-time job at least partially related to photography (selling cameras) entitles me to a certain amount of status in others' eyes, I think.
Now having only a part-time job officially makes me an old dodderer. Hell, what's next? Greeter at WalMart?
And yet, I am reminded of the quip that "No one, lying on their death bed, ever wished they'd spent more time at the office."
I remind myself that my "Bucket List" is calling to me. I really DO have places to go and less time to go there than I used to have.
I also am reminded, especially after watching my wife beat a life-threatening disease (You go, Girl!), that life and old-age won't wait for me to get over myself.
I also am reminded of the soreness and pain that comes from standing on a sales floor for eight hours a day. As my knees daily remind me, I'm simply not 26 anymore.
On a more positive note, I LOVE the fact that I'm going to have time to work on some of my long-back-burnered projects. (Kathy, Sweetie, I apologize in advance for doing things like putting up shelves in the mailbox, carpeting the ferret cage, and alphabetizing your sock drawer.)
Finally, I've always prided myself on facing scary shit and not letting it rule me.
For instance:
* I'm scared shitless of the deep, black water churned up by the ship's screws, as I imagine myself falling overboard and falling forever into the deep, cold blackness of the ocean. Always have been. So what did I go and do? Joined the Navy and learned SCUBA diving, 'natch.
* I've got a bad case of acrophobia. Being up in tall buildings weakens my knees. So what did I do? Asked for Aircrew training as an aerial photographer, whose job it is to literally hang out of helicopters on a gunner's belt and shoot aerial intel photos.
Come to think of it, as scary as old age and irrelevance are, maybe I can do this after all.
Right before his death at age 97, television show host Art Linkletter authored his last of several books, titled, "Old Age is not for Sissies."
Amen, Brother!
