The decision to retire was not simple. A quick survey of friends and family showed diverse attitudes towards retirement. For those who deeply enjoyed their work, or whose finances dictated the necessity of working longer, it was a difficult decision. My 80-year-old aunt still enjoys volunteer and paid professional work in statistics, while her 74-year-old ‘baby’ brother thrives on work in education. One friend was ready long before she retired, and another believes she should have left five years earlier.
As a primary school teacher, recess was a time to quickly consume coffee and healthy snacks (while eyeing the constant supply of sugary treats), consult with colleagues, and catch up on our home lives. Chat themes varied, depending on their status as single, married, with or without children, the age of their children, their own ages, and length of career.
One teacher complained about feeling old. Although I had noticed my creative energy dipping, I still loved teaching little learners. When I brought my bike to school on the sky train and stored it in class, it provided many learning opportunities for students on topics such as safety, active hobbies, the environment, and energy. After a challenging day, I cycled home via city bike routes, through Stanley Park and over the Lion’s Gate Bridge, until I arrived home physically exhausted, yet rejuvenated.
To aid in decision-making, I attended workshops offered by my employer on financial planning and emotional readiness. This, and knowing I could always return as a Teacher on Call, helped me make the decision to retire. The last weeks were exciting and heartbreaking, especially when one tiny child threw her arms around me and cried, “Don’t go!”
My husband and I had booked a week-long trip to stay with friends in Stockholm, Sweden, followed by our first-ever Baltic Sea cruise. That summer was filled with fun activities, but I knew I would miss the excitement of a new school year. So, always a planner, a cycle tour to Sooke via Victoria kept me happily distracted. Friends, hubby and I followed the Lochside, E & N, and Galloping Goose Trails to the Arbutus Cove Bed & Breakfast. It was only after that trip that the TRUE test began.
Local community centres offer many leisure options. One area of interest I had never pursued was woodworking. Though my daughters had learned how to make treasures with wood in high school, I had been discouraged from such ‘dangerous’ activities by my father. While I was grateful for the sewing, cooking, and typing skills learned in the ’70s, I decided to look back at earlier interests to fuel my fire.
My local community centre offered a beginner’s course with all the basics. It seemed perfect, but there was one problem: it was only offered to 55+ individuals at the Senior’s Centre.
I had a serious dialogue with my ego:
“You’re over 55, right?”
“Yes, but…!”
“You want to learn the basic skills of woodworking, right?”
“Yes, but I’m not a senior!”
“What is a senior anyway?”
Fast forward to Day 1 of class. Toting eye goggles and a dust mask, I passed by stuffed knitted bunnies and quilts, the busy registration desk, cappuccino bar, and a fully occupied pool room. It was only 8:45 a.m. and the place was humming!
Still feeling hesitant, the sound of power tools drew me to the last room. At several stations, people were focused on cutting, sanding, and gluing their projects. I joined the others who seemed to be waiting.
“Hello!” shouted Jim, the volunteer instructor, over the roar of machines. “Are you here for the beginner’s class?” I nodded over the din.
Lesson No. 1, safety. Jim repeatedly emphasized the importance of safety. He regaled us with tales from his days teaching high school and adults in woodwork shops: foolish mistakes, pieces of wood flying, body parts missing. I had already heard my daughter’s story of having to turn off the machine for a classmate in an emergency, and really didn’t want to hear any more. There were so many distractions from non-classmates who were working on personal projects…. But then I noticed one of my new classmates was wearing flip flops! She looked down at her feet, shrugged, and said “Oops.”
Monday was woodwork day, and I began to look forward to starting my week learning new skills and meeting new people. There wasn’t much time to chat but, eventually, I learned that several of the other similarly-aged women were also recently retired. It was apparent that two of them had a lot of woodwork knowledge; they followed instructions quickly then stood around waiting for the next steps. I was embarrassed to often be one of the last to finish, but a helpful norm developed where fast-finishers helped others, so they could also move on. Once or twice, I was even able to help others!
Some of us began to meet for coffee after class. We came from completely different careers and life circumstances, but our bond was wood. After we finished our little stool and corner table, where would it lead us? Who would sign up for the carving class? Women’s’ Only Class? Intermediate?
Sadly, one woman had to withdraw from class; she had fallen off a ladder at home and broken her collar bone, returning only once for a GENTLE hug and to tell her story.
Like so many other plans, the pandemic altered everyone’s priorities. We lost contact as woodwork goals changed to knitting, recovering from surgery and home renovations. Cornelia and I began to volunteer at a food bank; we still enjoy exchanging stories about growing veggies in wooden planters, and her entrepreneurial ventures.
As for me, these days, I avoid noisy power tools, and have a new passion for transforming wood back to its former beauty. At first, I wasn’t too sure about retirement. Now I am.
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