It doesn't feel like I'm retired. It feels like I'm committing wage theft even though I no longer get any money from anyone. 100% expense, zero income—and I feel guilty about it. So weird.
This is the beginning of week three, and I still have the "Sunday Blues" thinking about going back to work today, even though... I'm not going back to work.
I'm not going to try to figure it out. People are telling me that I'll adjust. I don't know what that adjustment will be like. Will I become carefree Greg, who frolicks with a rhythmic gymnastics ribbon in the park across the street? Will I begin skipping up and down the sidewalk singing 80's pop lyrics and making finger guns at everyone I pass?
There seems to be an expectation (both external and internal) that Debbie and I should mark the occasion with a big trip or start building a boat in our basement. So far, we haven't done anything like that. We've just been doing our normal stuff and noticing out loud to one another how things were different just two weeks ago.
Things are different with new patterns of behavior emerging. I'm also being reassured that labeling activities as "unproductive" isn't accurate. Although I'm not sure how a nap is productive. But I did finish a book this weekend. Not exactly productive either, but it's something new I'd like to sustain.
I've also noticed that my attitude of gratitude has bloomed. I am spending time thinking about the people and things that bring me joy. It's an exercise that comes easily and feels like taking a deep breath in a cool breeze. Ugh... sorry about that line. Cheesy. Although I guess I can use retirement as an excuse to be self-indulgent. That means you may have to endure some extra cheese in this space now and then.
I'd better not overdo things for this first post in a new age, so I'll stop here. Plus, I have some shopping to do:
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