Friday, May 17, 2013

The Void





Perhaps one of the greatest fears of retiring is THE VOID. What do we go to next? Some definitions of the void contain the words useless, ineffectual, devoid, destitute--perhaps we imagine ourselves with no money pushing a shopping cart--though "There but for fortune" sometimes plays in my brain. We do the best we can at planning. We are grateful for our health.

But in reality, there are no voids. Ask my husband who recently said he has so many house projects to do(from dry rot to the garden which has become his kingdom) that these tasks—could go on ad infinitum—or maybe ad nauseum(which ever suits the moment). People do fill up their time—whether it’s house projects, family, friends, community work, or plunging into something—like drawing or writing—that was started eons ago and can now surface and blossom.


For teachers/writers like me—who always wanted to write more and teach less—retiring was more about losing the company of colleagues and the company of my precious students—and less about what I would do. I joined the San Francisco Writer’s Grotto, walked five blocks from my house to the BART(the subway), carrying my backpack filled with computer, computer chord and a few hearty snacks, and now I’m there two days a week—writing. I did miss my colleagues though, especially at first. Sometimes I would look at new faces—the eyes, the smiles, the lines-- and search for the old. Sometimes I would imagine all the “hellos” echoing through the City College of San Francisco campus where I worked for 27 years. But the void was filled up with writing and now, also, part-time teaching—more of the teaching I want to do—memoir workshops—a women’s lit. class with NO PAPERS to grade(which spares my aching neck). There are still students in my life. And I also get together with colleagues that I still do miss. But I must say, that when you leave—and many of us who retire leave after feeling very, very tired and after so many years—those little chats along the serpentine road that surround City College—or the small moments you have with co-workers—will now be filed into memories. If you planned somewhat, you won’t be destitute—pushing a shopping cart. But perhaps it’s an empty shopping cart that you see before you. What do you fill it with?

My advice would be to take some time if you don’t know what to do. Something will appear—a stray cat in your doorway who needs to be cared for—a young person who needs a tutor after school—a call from a dear old friend who wants to visit and now you have some time to show her around—and maybe a practice—yoga, walks, and reading. And for me—besides my writing and teaching--well my husband has been leaving the middle deck up to me to care for: he even got me some herbs and even planted them for me.(Hint, hint). I would take care of them—we would have fresh herbs for our meals.(See the use of “would”) “I have the back garden to care for,” he said. “This is yours.”
Today, finally, a New York City transplant who would rather be reading than watering— now I think I will finally water those herbs—fill my void with something new.


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