What to Think About When There's Nothing to Think About

It's a wave. Humanity is a fixed number of bodies within a confined space. An ocean of humans with ripples made by those with stature and resources to see a little further but generally it's just a large pool of us. Through it all run regular swells, generations of us, every 20 years or so. But because it's a confined space we get to the end, the edge of our existence. And that's when the undercurrent forces the swell up, to reach up as high as it can get and to look around before it crashes into the future. I'm there. I'm at the crest, excited at the view because I'm seeing things I've never seen before and I'm fully aware of why I'm here; the end is near. Admittedly, the end has been a little nearer every day but I never thought about that, there was work and a growing family to think about.

Not working creates a vacuum, and you know how nature feels about that. The word 'abhors' comes to mind. I'm not thinking about my job, I'm not thinking about my union work or its members. I'm not thinking about anything a person swimming through life's ascending years would think about. Which leaves a lot of time to think, so where to direct one's thoughts? The most common response I hear from people when I ask "How you enjoying retirement?" is "I don't know how I found time for work." An empty vessel is quickly filled by the mundane. Stuff you could put off til the weekend becomes urgent. A friend's request becomes a mission. A curiousity becomes an investigation. Nature loves that.

I'm still new at deciding how to spend my thoughtful hours. The first 2 1/2 months were spent travelling so lots to think about there and it's a mindful, in-the-moment experience. In the 2 months since I've been back I've kept my hands busy as fulltime caretaker for this old house but other than writing this, my mind has been put out to pasture. I don't think binge watching series on tv during my previous work hours qualifies as quality use of my brain, as fun as it is. You can have too much fun, ask any addict. I'm approaching the point where I'll need to bring my mind back out of the pasture - while it's still in good enough shape to be of use - and resume how I spent my working years; seeking success as the result of effort. But where?

I'm renewing my nursing license in January - it'll take a third of my pension cheque - so some p/t or casual work will fill a few brain hours and if I enjoy the work it could continue into 2020. I doubt it. I retired because I could. Because my dad died at 69. Because I wanted change. I wanted to see what else I could do and I'd already been a paperboy, a janitor, bar owner, bartender, realtor, musician and nurse. I've been getting some positive feedback from people about my writing (thank you) and I enjoy the challenge so I've fantasized about writing a book. There's lots of fodder from my various 'careers' that I could fictionalize with a little effort and there's the rub.

My sister wrote a book. She told me how she had to impose a schedule on herself that mimicked her working day. She would start at 9:00 and take recess at 10:30 (she was a teacher). Lunch was a full hour followed by an afternoon of pecking. She would challenge herself to put down x number of pages in a day and if she did it early rewarded herself with a get-out-of-the-office card. Other days she'd stay late. I've been most successful when I've had the framework imposed on me. I shambled out of bed in a stupor, railed against the traffic on the way in but loved what I did and the day flew by. I know from having been my own boss that I can be way too lax with my only employee.

In the series that began with Chrysalis I wrote about my previous transformation in the hope it would guide me to a new dynamic change but ended it with the realization that there was desperation behind the motivation that fuelled that change. Desperation and unhappiness are fantastic fuel for change but I haven't felt either in many years so I need a new source. Maybe this is why publishers give an advance to authors; it forces them out of bed to complete their part of the bargain. But no-one's sending cheques my way so I need a new motivator and as I type it's becoming clearer.

Ego. Freud would have a shitload to say about this, about how well you like yourself determines how happy you are. A weak ego needs lots of affirmations to stay happy. A strong one, not so much. Both are ugly in the extreme; needyism vs narcissism. We're all on that continuum and form a bell curve that looks much like the swell of humanity rolling through. My habit has been to not stay fixed in one spot but to move around within the swell, staying aware of what my ego needs are and adjusting my choices accordingly. Just as I know when to trust my judgement and when to lend an ear, I know when I need positive feedback to keep working and when to just get the job done.

I'm not playing softball next summer. I play most every year but last year I had switched over to a men's over-50 league. These are guys who had been pretty fair athlete's as youngsters and continue to play into old age. Their bodies are softening but their self-image is still weekend warrior come to do battle. I've always been healthy but rarely athletic. I think it's a timing thing and on the athletic intelligence continuum I'm just barely in the top half. I got a lot of negative feedback which I pushed through but at the end of the season I looked back and said "Well that wasn't very much fun". A stronger ego might ignore other's displeasure and focus on enjoying playing. I'm not that strong and if I'm not having fun it's time to do something I'd enjoy more.

So you, Dear Reader, are my fuel. The most energizing moment in my writing came when someone who had tripped over my blog (Fine Young Weasel),  read a piece I wrote, "Talking About Grief" (April 11, 2008) and liked it so much asked my permission to submit it to Post of the Week competition. It won and I suddenly had high octane fuel in my tank. I wrote with a vengeance, I tried poetry, fiction, op/ed; anything that came to mind. Those ageing warriors have trophy cases at home to stroke their egos and keep them playing, I go back and read comments.