I’ve been reminded, recently, of the challenge that many retirees face: a loss of activity and/or purpose after leaving a job and a well-established routine. No, I didn’t retire a second time, but I did move from a situation which demanded months of work and focus to one in which I have an abundance of leisure time.
January 1 to April 30 was, for me, a literal frenzy of physical and mental activity, as I prepared my house for sale and, once the sale was finalized, packed a home filled with 20 years of memories. I was often exhausted, but also exhilarated by the work. As the date of my move approached, I looked forward to the promise of a return to normal, i.e., days filled with the projects I enjoy, with reading, with free time. But I also felt a twinge of dread, which I pushed down: how would I fill all these hours, what could I do that would give me the same satisfaction that these daily chores had given me?
The dread became reality after the move was accomplished. I missed the constant motion, the need to make decisions, the creativity involved in determining how to make needed repairs. The projects that had been my focus before the move now seemed less important – writing these blog entries and learning to watercolor are mentally challenging, but physically neutral. Taking my daily walk requires physical effort but is not rewarding mentally.
I found myself slipping into lethargy (and had to remind myself of an earlier post when I discovered that lethargy begets lethargy). I tried to create situations that would require the same level of intensity – but was limited by the reality of living in a home which I am neither repairing nor selling. The possibilities of going into Olympic training or running marathons flashed through my mind and were, of course, quickly dismissed.
And then, a passage from a daily devotional guide alerted me to the errors of my thinking. I realized that my despair and my rejection of the activities that I enjoyed in the past were based in the belief – not that I need a salary to have worth — but that I need constant motion and chores imposed from outside. The activities that I created for myself somehow seemed irrelevant compared to deadlines set by realtors and moving companies, and the accomplishment of a goal – selling my house – seemed somehow more worthy and fulfilling than completing a blog post or a painting.
This is the passage that changed my focus from believing that only great, frantic activity could be rewarding: The author (Elizabeth Bern DeGear) points out that “God’s creation started with sitting around…that the cosmos began with a generative stillness. A brooding.” (“Mornings with Jesus,” Guideposts, Danbury CT. Friday, May 31). She goes on to suggest that creativity requires this “sitting around,” and observes that her (and my) problem with boredom is that “the emptiness will feel truly bottomless.” She encourages sitting still long enough for creativity to emerge.
I have begun practicing this stillness, and have found that it has rekindled my creativity – not only for writing and painting, but for problem solving. It has helped me recognize my anxieties and offered solutions. In the clarity that it has afforded, I have recognized that I was fighting more than boredom: I was fighting the fear of being nonproductive, of being worthless. I realized that, although the frantic activities were necessary for completing the sale and the move, they were not in themselves commendable. I saw that, having achieved those goals, I was seeking to recreate the activities — not because they were necessary, but because of this fear of lacking purpose.
The stillness has helped me forge new goals and interests, and renewed my joy in the freedoms and productivity of a successful retirement. Being still has refreshed and energized me beyond the satisfaction of daily activity. And I am grateful that, in retirement, there is space for stillness.
06/22/2019