Playing with ideas and honoring my gifts … sharing the retirement experience.
I will probably have to make this the introduction to any memoir I write.
As I go about the process of living, I turn my life into stories. Individuals in these stories tend to be recognizable and some of them dislike that, even though I try to show all their facets, not just the bad and not just the good. Consequently, I will probably have published under a pseudonym. They will still be able to recognize one another, but they’ll likely remain anonymous to the rest of the world.
I’m feeling light-hearted today. I and two friends from childhood have maintained our relationships for more than fifty years. One lives relatively close. We keep in touch but visit infrequently.
The other is steadfast. She’s one of the few people that I don’t censor myself with (much). We see one another’s strengths and one another’s weaknesses and all that’s in-between. We make time for one another: visiting, planning events, taking trips together, and we don’t judge.
When she lived near the ocean on the Oregon coast, I had “my own” bedroom. When she needs tech support or employment advice, I’m available. Discouragement and venting stays in the friendship vault. Late in our lives, my mom is her second mom.
We choose our friends and, with luck and some work, they form the family that lasts. As my birth family grows smaller and more contentious, I value old friends all the more.
Over time, societal assumptions strongly influence family dynamics.
The underlying social premises are that self-employment is harder and deserves more consideration than working for someone else. Working while raising a family deserves more respect and accommodation than does a child free couple or individual. Money is the best measure of status. Living without drama is considered cold at worst and reserved at best.
This, of course, is the perspective of the divorced child free oldest sister (me) who actually lived away from home for nearly 20 years. With no family and only new friends and acquaintances available, an inclination toward reserved self-reliance was adaptive. When coupled with my independent egalitarian attitudes and a compulsion to ask “why,” my company is less than comfortable. And, I get tired of censoring myself just to keep the peace. (Probably why I’m divorced and contentedly single!) I also get tired of having the same arguments over and over again.
Fortunately, I usually find a few coworkers and friends who are interested in ideas: talking about them, comparing them, evaluating them. The trick is finding people who remain civil when their viewpoints are challenged. I enjoy a good discussion and have been known to argue against my own viewpoint just for the fun of it.
Since I don’t ask for help often, I’m taken seriously when I do. When asking for that help, I try to prioritize the other person’s circumstances. When I’m asked for my opinion, I give it. I try to do it gently and may even confirm it’s really wanted, but then I express it. I’m good at problem solving, at finding common ground and at establishing the parameters of a situation. I’ve gotten better at doing what I feel is right and letting go of the outcome. I am happy to express compassion and offer reasonable support. I will not offer platitudes or accept faulty reasoning. I don’t think assigning guilt or engendering it is helpful in relationships, especially among family. Hear both sides of the issue and then move on.
Within my family, this means I’ve assumed the roles of rebel, negotiator, advocate, critic and outcast … sometimes concurrently. I play caretaker judiciously. Since I’ve given family members persona designations, I’ve given myself one to be fair. As the family Ice Princess, I value logic over emotion and fairness over winning.
I implement my beliefs imperfectly. I slip back into consumerism. I avoid confrontation and procrastinate. I question the value of life. At bedrock though, I believe that everyone’s (and everything’s) life has value. And that includes mine.
From childhood, we start apologizing. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Teacher. Sorry, World. At some point though, boys get a pass and girls just get habituated.
This conspiracy is built on a lie. The lie is that staying small (apologizing, not taking up too much space) will keep girls safe. In reality, this makes girls less safe because they don’t learn how to fight for themselves without also taking steps to ensure everyone else has had their needs met. That everyone else stays happy. Their power is muted. They try to keep the peace and minimize the danger. Staying small and saying “sorry” becomes a dangerous habit.
I find the current idiom of “sorry, not sorry” a useful transition. The recipient is disarmed. On the other hand, passive aggressive isn’t the best coping skill. I’ve learned to use disengagement. In a few memorable instances, I’ve said, “I’d only have this argument if I cared about your (fill in the blank). And I don’t.”
When my marriage was ending, criticism and control was so common that I slipped back into the automatic “sorry” habit to avoid constant conflict. The incident that made me realize it was:
My spouse was on overnight duty one summer weekend. Our duplex had no air conditioning and retained heat. We used fans to create air currents by pulling from the coolest side. We commonly left windows and doors open with screens only. I left the front door open and double locked the security screen door. I went to bed.
I was awakened early the next morning by banging and shouting. He was waiting at the door with a bunch of military gear. He wasn’t happy. He wanted to know why I’d locked up when I knew he’d have all his stuff with him. Still groggy, I started with “sorry” and began to explain. Then I stopped myself and asked, “Would you want to sleep alone in a house way out here with unlocked doors?” I got only an,”Oh, yeah.” I realized I’d been making myself smaller and letting him take up more and more space.
Habits are hard to break, especially when they are being reinforced. Trying to replace them with something else, like a question, helps.
How do you know when a relationship has ended? There are obvious moments: When one of you asks for a divorce. When you realize that you are happier when you arrive home to an empty house. When you stop caring about his opinion because it is always so negative, or critical, or judgemental.
But a hundred tiny moments come before those big moments. Some are identifiable landmarks. Others are cumulative.
In my case, I began by putting the other person first. Every time I chose myself instead, the relationship developed a crack. Those small cracks waited for the bigger events to fissure and spread.
The first cracks and the first landmark evolved together. While he was away at basic training, he wrote and sent a “Dear Jane” letter which he followed with a request to destroy it without reading it. I did. A few months later, he proposed by phone. I planned the wedding. When he got home, he visited a childhood friend and cancelled the wedding – also by phone. At the time, I was unaware of any connection. I called it cold feet and panic. We were young.
A few days passed. Driving home with my parents, I simply knew he was at the house waiting. I told them and, when we got there, he was. My grandfather had refused to talk to him, so he was napping in his car. I talked to him. I was 21 years old. I agreed to wear his ring and to keep talking. All this resulted in the wedding he planned and I flew to Louisiana for. He forgot a bouquet and none of my family or friends could attend.
He shaped the circumstances, but I was always the one who chose and acted. I wound up with the responsibility.
I didn’t have to forgive. I didn’t have to say, “Yes.” I didn’t have to leave home.
The Practical Bohemian 