Chrysalis

The dust is beginning to settle. I landed with a Whump last week, back in Vancouver, and raised a dust storm of things to do as I thudded into the unknown. Three months into retirement and the pension cheque still hasn’t arrived. Airbnb needs a little more nudging to provide the refund they promised. My car engine seized, it was towed to the dealership two weeks ago and they’re still trying to decide if the warranty is valid. What do you mean we’ve paid full cable, internet and phones while we were away? And on and on. 

Putting out fires has filled the void where work once engaged me but I’m not a fireman, I’m a nurse. I thought a lot about retirement beforehand but think I thought more about what I wouldn’t be doing than what I would be doing. Not getting up in the dark and sucking chocolate/sipping coffee to wake up then joining the morning river of angst to work. The week has passed, the fires are dying and I’m finding time to write, time to think of who I am now. The early part of retirement will be finding a new identity. 

We don’t change identities every day, some people never do. But I’ve done it. Identity isn’t just what you do for a living, though it’s a major part. Identity is all the roles you play - father friend husband - as well as how you see yourself and how others see you. In my late thirties I went on an existential ride and started questioning what I’d done, who I was and was I happy? If not, the time for change was running out; the classic mid-life crisis but ridden over a span of years like an curiously long wave to a surfer. Precariously balancing myself on a board of family and work I peered ahead, not knowing what was coming but looking for new possibilities. I was a full blown adult in an unhappy marriage, a realtor scraping by in a soft market, missing my kids and full time fatherhood. 

I started reading newspaper ads for employment just to see what other people were doing for a living and to see where I might fit. I realized almost immediately that anything worthwhile needed a few years of training so I needed to set criteria. How much time could I invest? How much debt could I take on to get there? What were the job prospects when I finish? I’ve been self-employed my whole life which can be wonderfully free while incredibly restricting;  showing houses took precedence over seeing soccer games but I could see a mid-week xmas pageant. I wanted a feel-good job, something warm and fuzzy that made me feel good about what I did and I wanted a paycheque at the end of the day. Sometimes I shared a client’s joy when they bought or sold property but mostly it was just business with overhead and being on the make all the time. The first criteria I set was: I don’t want to be self-employed. The second was I was willing to invest 2 years of fulltime study to launch a new career.

Not surprisingly, my equally unhappy wife said “Not on my watch”. So the first step in renewal was departure. She was pretty happy when we met, when the market was strong and money was plentiful. But the market turned south in the mid 90’s and my income was cut by half. She was particularly unhappy whenever my kids were around and always felt she played second fiddle, that I was happier with my kids than with her and that their needs came first. How sad if it wasn’t true. My youngest daughter was now on a waitlist for a lung transplant and as her health failed, her mother felt a need to spend more time with her boyfriend. I know, it didn’t make any sense to me either but here was the opening I needed to move in another direction. I told wife #2 that wife #1 was struggling with three teenage kids and that I needed to take custody of the older two (15 & 17 years) so that she could focus on the well-being of the youngest. With them as leverage, I avoided the whole discussion around our mutual unhappiness and we parted (mostly) amicably. It was November 1996.

And thus began the most difficult period of my life. I’d taken a 2nd job to make sure the bills were paid so started at 6am M-F and went til noon delivering packages for UPS. Then it was put on a suit and tie to play Realtor until 9pm, the unofficial shutdown time for cold calls though actual contract writing and negotiations went until after midnight. Saturdays and Sundays were Open Houses or driving prospective buyers around so there was little time for a social life though there was a huge gap to fill. I was lonely. And busy and worried and frustrated at not being able to move ahead being so weighed down in the present. The present was meeting the needs and enduring the hostility of teenagers while watching my daughter wither. I have a strong memory of that time: I was kneeling on the living room floor, exhausted physically and emotionally. I wrapped my arms around myself for comfort and sank back. My head dropped forward and I slowly curled myself into a ball. I fell to my side and brought my knees up as high as I could. I wanted to be as small as possible, to compress myself into insignificance, to disappear just for a moment and wallow in the weightlessness of my pity pool.

Then the call came; a boy had been hit by a car while riding his bike home from school. He was dead but his organs breathed new life into other children including mine but it didn’t come easy. Rachel was the youngest lung transplant they’d done and a first at Children’s hospital. I could (and probably will) write pages about that experience but not now, this is about transforming myself.

I kept putting one foot in front of the other hoping I was headed towards somewhere I wanted to be. Leaving #2 was a self imposed catalyst but it didn’t have the impact of, say, a meteor hitting the earth and wiping out the dinosaurs. That pushed change into another direction

Whoa! Those words were written 10 days ago and then the ‘puter crashed. Kinda. Turns out the charging cord wasn’t uptodate so battery died, laptop shop shrugged, nephew in law says get a new cord, Amazon delivered and here I am. I also put a new (used) engine in my car.

So where was I… Right, single dad, struggling, hoping for change. And waiting for that spark, that something, that person that could ignite the desire-fuel I’d stockpiled. I know, kinda cheesy but there I was and then she came. She told me straight off she wanted a baby. I said “I had a vasectomy”. And “I already had 4”. “That’s ok”, says she, “I’m going to a clinic”, “Every month”.

Gimme a couple of days. I’ll tell you more…