Today’s post is the sort I used to write more often but have moved away from lately — partly because they can take so much to write (and I’ve tended to hive that energy off for my memoir draft this past year or so). As well, while I love the conversations that can develop around these more instrospective, sustained (and more vulnerable), I’m also aware that the navel-gazing and the longer word counts require some patience on your part. . .
That said, though, after a busy few months — a trip in October, another in November, all the preparation for and enjoyment of the Christmas season, numerous baby-sitting adventures and grandchildren sleepovers — I’m beginning to weave the various strands of my ongoing personal interests and goals, creative and physical and social, into a cohesive fabric again. I’m not quite sure yet what I’ll make of it, but I’m pleased to be back at the loom, to have the necessary materials close at hand. (And, since I’m not a weaver, that’s probably as far as I should venture with that particular analogy.)
But two and a half years into what was a challenging and disruptive move, what I want to write something about is the sense of contentment I’ve been recognizing recently — which I think has been highlighted by that recent cycle of busy-ness to fatigue to rest to resumption of activity. A movement from regularity to disruption and back to regularity. A going away and a coming home. . .
In fact, I remarked to my husband just last week that I feel as if the tough part of the relocation might be behind me (I’d say “behind us,” except that I think he was there already by Month Three. Or earlier). I have tried not to refer too much to unhappy periods over these past two-and-a-half years (although I’ve posted about them occasionally, in the interest of honest representation and also to de-stigmatizing depression). I will tell you now, though, that up until this past fall, I would spend a day in tears, a follow-up day still feeling very low but moving slowly back to “normal,” approximately once every two or three months.
The triggers for these periods were not always clear, and perhaps they were cumulative and over-lapping — fatigue, the political climate/state of the world, marital stresses occasioned or exacerbated by the gender politics of #MeToo as well as by the changes retirement has wrought to our domestic patterns. . . But I suspect the biggest factors were my renegotiation of a sense of self post-retirement and the losses I felt at moving from my island home (read this post, and the linked earlier post, to understand why we chose to leave that house).
Loss of the physical home, and of our geographic location on island waterfront (hard to explain how the rhythms of the sea and the seasons inflect and regulate our moods). Perhaps most of all the loss of community, the close-knit island community of 300 or 400 neighbours, but also the larger community in the nearby city where I’d taught for so many years and was often greeted happily by former students who would catch me up on their lives.
Top of the list, though? Friendships. The physical separation from close friends. Living in a new community where I have family and where I’m developing many acquaintances, but where I’m still very short of the kinds of friendships that sustain and nourish and inspire, the kind that operate as the best mirrors in times of self-doubt.
I’m still missing the proximity of good friends. Full disclosure: the day before I began writing this piece, I hit a serious patch of Sad, that bio-chemical trough that won’t be ignored, and the trigger or focus was how long it’s taking to make new, significant friends at this time, in this place. Close friendships were a gift I enjoyed for most of my adult life. We’ve made several significant geographical moves, and I was confident about my ability to make friends in new places. Turns out, though, it’s much more difficult to meet/make friends when you’re neither accompanying young kids to their many activities nor discussing cultural theory with fellow grad students nor commiserating over end-of-term marking in the faculty lounge. . .
Still, I’ve had wonderful visits with friends I’ve met through Social Media — visits in Zagreb, San Francisco, and Edinburgh, just to cite the last six months or so. And I’m seeing my island friends at least every other month — and having some surprisingly sustaining and entertaining conversations with them via text and email. I’ve got one close friend in the city, a friend who’s known me since high school, and it’s been lovely to re-connect with her.
Plus family, of course. A notable benefit of the move has been that it’s so much easier to spend time with family, especially with the three grandchildren (and their parents) who live here in the city. Don’t think I’m not ever so cognizant of and grateful for that benefit. It’s just that sometimes I like the validation friends can offer that I’m more than what my family sees. More than Mom or Nana or Wife or Older Sister or Aunt. . .
I didn’t finish this post when I began it on the weekend — had to put it aside for a visit to a Hammam Spa with my daughters, the best Christmas gift my husband has ever given me. And, come to think of it, another benefit of urban life. . .
Now, though, as I try to finish the post, I’m typing with a very tender right hand. Not sure if it was the plank step-ups (I hate them!) in Sunday’s work-out or a bit too much knitting or one text conversation on my too-heavy iPhone. But I do know that I’m going to have to baby it for a few days, so this post will have to be truncated. Let’s see if I can sum up quickly though and round off into some kind of conclusion that you can turn into a bit of a chat as we share wisdom and experience. . .
Despite my lingering sadness and/or impatience about not yet having the friends I’d like to have right nearby, I’m relieved — even delighted?! — to find myself increasingly content with life here in the city. We’re finding how to make the smaller space work for us; we’ve found caregivers (dentist, GP, physio, massage therapist, personal trainer) and service providers (mechanic, cobbler, electrician) at least equal to what we had before; we’ve got favourite plant nurseries; a choice of micro-breweries; so many restaurants; numerous art galleries; a gym we love right in our building. . .
I will probably never stop wanting more time closer to the natural world, and we’re figuring out how to manage that. And the noise of the city is still a problem regularly (and with two big condo-construction projects just underway within a block, it’s only going to increase). But I’m thinking that finally, I’m over the worst of it. Not just that, but I think I’m experiencing more and more of the best of it. . . When we decided to move, we deliberately chose to do so while we were young enough to control a move that we knew was going to be really tough, especially given the logistics of island life. It has been. We were, though, able to control it and manage it ourselves as we would not have been able to do, I suspect, if we’d left it to late 70s or even into our 80s.
And I thought you’d like to know that — two and a half years later — I’m even more convinced that it was the right move to make, and I’m content in my new home (well, most of the time — I’m allowed to whine occasionally, please?;-)
My right arm is really protesting now, thumb-wrist-shoulder, so I’m going to hand the mic over to you. Comments always welcome. I’d love to read a conversation about retirement, about mid-to-late-life moves, about friendships old and new — and making them later in life in new places. . .
Hey – it's your blog. You get to whine whenever you want!! I find this post really fascinating because, while I have lived in the same (large) city for most of my life, it feels (in many ways) like the small island you came from. Of course, natural life is a non-starter here. But please know, the city is just a village surrounded by a lot of other stuff you don't need to think about – unless you're looking for some extra fun. Also, as a person who is not in any way depressive by nature (I have other things to occupy me :-)), I cry all the fucking time. I don't view it as a tether to sadness – I think of it as a great opportunity. Grief is the sign that inestimable love is also present. But it sure can mess with your day! All the more reason that retirement is a blessing. Finally, this is very resonant for me: "I think I'm experiencing more and more of the best of it". All of the best things go deep. I am so happy for you that you have such a lovely life. No life is perfect, but yours is pretty freakin' sweet because it's happening consciously.
PS: I'm finding it interesting to see how many bloggers, of all walks, are apologising for their observable privilege. I want to tell everyone to stop! Privilege is just one strain of being alive and it's not shameful. It's blessed, albeit, best shared with a dose of self-awareness.
Now that is an interesting observation. Maybe I don't read enough blogs. I acknowledge my privilege, but I am not going to apologize for it. We can't choose the setting into which we are born, all we can be is the best we can be, and that ends up being a struggle for each and every one of us. Whoever says otherwise is probably in denial if not outright lying. In my book, being the best we can be includes crying, and acknowledging struggles and vulnerability. I think not crying limits our ability to feel love and joy, and to be the best people we can be. Apologies. Stepping off my soap-box now.
Thanks K and Mardel. Just to be clear, I have no problem with crying to express and work through grief or passing sadnesses. I have, however, had some experience with the kind of tears that don't stop and that have only internal triggers which I can't easily shut off. Not being able to stop crying for an entire day makes it difficult to go out and do anything — and generally when this hits I have no will to move anyway.
As for the apologies re privilege, I don't think I was doing that here, but I know there's been a focus on this in social media knit/making community just recently. And I have long thought that social justice requires an examination of privilege — and an accountability for how one wields it. Not guilt or apology, but some self-awareness. This is a whole different conversation, though, than what I'm meaning to get into here.
Oh I hear you – and I can only comment on my feelings about my tears (in the goal to say that you are not alone!!) When I'm working my 12 hour days, I don't have the luxury to cry (which sounds absurd) but now that I'm on leave, I am maximizing my options! I wasn't suggesting that you are apologizing for privilege – but that it's a trend I've been observing – my apologies if you felt I was putting that on you. It was more that I was pleased to see a post that talks about life recognizing that privilege is a beautiful underpinning. It is because you have the life you do that you can explore these deep paths! (And, I should say, it's because I have the life that I do that I can manage chronic pain well. And one day will figure out how the hell to leave it behind, she says optimistically through the prism of privilege ;-))
I was so interested to read this as I have followed your move with some curiosity and I hope empathy. We moved to the country from the city fourteen years ago when I was fifty. Part of doing that was a sense that if we waited until after we retired we might not have the energy and now, many years on, I think that was right. I don't want to contemplate a move on this scale again although we are planning a move in the same area out of our beautiful old house and into something completely new and designed for us. So that too will take stacks of energy. But the reason I don't want to move out of the area is that it has taken a long time to feel truly anchored here. I made a couple of new friends probably after about three years and they are still my closest friends here. I was working when we came here and away in London a lot so actually meeting people took time. Since I stopped working eight years ago I have met many more people and begin to feel myself belonging to this community. But that is the thing I have had to work on – not the close friendships but the network of familiarity. I don't have the connections with other parents made years ago at the school gates. I don't have the connections with colleagues because all my working life took place elsewhere. But it has come, slowly and gently over time, and it has come from joining things. I'm not a natural joiner. I like people in ones or twos, not in big groups. But being in a choir, doing my welsh class, yoga, Pilates, all of these things have slowly built relationships. The people I know aren't necessarily the sort of friends who come for coffee and heart to heart conversations. They are people I chat to in shops and before class. But they make me feel I belong here. I'm so glad we made our big move in 2005. I love it here. I don't want to live anywhere else. But it has been a slow, organic process to become part of this community. Cities are different I think so your experience won't be mine, but it does sound as though your move is delivering so much that is good. And online friends are a wonderful bonus too!
What I'm gradually realizing just since I posted, and reading thoughtful responses such as yours, is that what I'm arriving at now is not so much a celebration of city life nor an argument for moving away from community in one's 60s. Instead, I think it's about orientating oneself forward, with an acceptance of one's past decisions. And having some trust in the "slow, organic process" you speak of. We're trying to move consciously ("mindfully," is the buzz word, isn't it!) and positively forward as the alternatives involve useless regret and potential grumpiness š
I am struck by the sentence "…I'm more than what my family sees. More than Mom or Nana or Wife…"This resonates with me. Our daughter relocated back to the US after living abroad with her family for a decade. We all assumed that" the Grands" ( my husband and I) would relocate closer to them. Something held me back. The more time I spent visiting, the more I realized my sense of who I am is eroded by the thought of moving to an unfamiliar city, 500+ miles from "home". I feel "seen" here. I am lucky to have a few close friends and a wider circle of close acquaintances who share this journey. For now, it ties me here. Thank God for modern aviation. I visit monthly with only a short one hour plane ride between us.
I think this is very wise, especially if you're living somewhere that's sustainable through the next few decades. Relying on our adult children for a social life is risky as their lives get busier and busier. And a monthly visit keeps you well connected with each other's lives.
Thank you so much for your honest writing – Iāve loved following you and the ups and downs of a big move and admire all that you have done xx
You're very welcome and thank you for the kind words.
Interesting points, both in blog and in responses, to this time of life. I am definitely working on the idea of moving in a couple of years, even though it won't be far from my present location. Why? Because, while our house is lovely, we moved to it for very specific reasons – new job and needing more room now we had two children – which put certain criteria in place. But almost 25 years later, our lives are different and so are our needs. I want something smaller, I want to take some money from the house so we can use it for our lives, I want…a new direction. I am not sure this is a shared view, here, but we will see. We cannot go far because of family ties and common decency, but we can go different. How I will feel if we do it we shall have to see. But your grief at moving from your island is real. I recall how it felt almost 30 years ago to move from London to a small country town in the north-east, hundreds of miles from family and friends, for the first time without a network or framework for my life. I cried a lot. I was angry and resentful, not least because this had been what I wanted. It took me a long time to adjust, but adjust I did. And the tears and fury were part of that. Also: your blog, your views. That is the point.
Thanks for this! Yes, the tears and fury (I denied the latter for a while, but it was there). Perhaps we should have planned better so that we wouldn't have had the wrench, but then we wouldn't have had the rich experience of life in our island community. And the Time Travel machine isn't currently available anyway, so. . . Adjustment and a celebration of all the goodness we can find here in the city, which is considerable. Thanks for understanding and validating and sharing your own experiences and possibilities.
Thank you very much for mentioning me, Frances -I feel the same! This is such a great post,I'll be back tomorrow to comment (I hope)
Dottoressa
xo
I'm impressed by all the thoughts in blog and comments. It will take a lot of time to think about it,many new paths open….
I think that you are yourself here,maybe not in all the facets,maybe only as you would like to share,not completely,but certainly in your's own right,like Frances in all of your parts and roles but also you as unique person…
As you know (and I think I've written about it here already),I plan to move to the apartment from my ( more beautiful to me every day) house in a couple of years from now (for the reasons you've moved to the city and for the reasons sensitive poet has presented beautifully). It must be something in the air because,with the beginning of 2019. I started to think that I must hurry with it – it will take a lot of renovations and,as we don't have something like "Senior Moves",I'm starting to be overwhelmed with the thought of actually moving all my things.
It is hard to follow with one's heart what one's head says. All the beautiful years,friendships……people who have known us as we were years ago…..
I often think about one of Lewis Caroll's quotes: "Dear,dear! How queer everything is today. And yesterday things went on just as usual", realizing that I have to embrace change as a blessing or a possibility (because it will come,nevertheless) instead trying to keep things just as they are now ,when I like them very much
You have made excellent decisions,I'm sure…….despite the days of blue or depression ( and everything between this two)
Dottoressa
This is such a warm and wonderful post. Thank you so much for sharing. I think you've hit on a few things here that we all share, including the need to have friends, or people who know you as yourself, as some part of yourself, but not in the context of a role. That happens over time in a community and you have not really been there that long. I've been in Knoxville 6 years, oops 7 now, and it seems I am just really finding those solid deep friendships. I would say I am slow to make friends, but I also think connections take time, and you are right that it is difficult once you no longer have those common bonds of work or children, even though those relationships also start out based only one aspect of our lives. I have a friend who once said that although every move she has made has been good for her, and necessary, she still regrets the friendships that get lost along the way. I would be lying if I said I never wished I could go back to New York, even as I know it would never be the same again; I am not the same. Tears, anger, joy. The thing is life is going to change and we are going to change with it or we aren't, and not seizing hold of that change can make us just as sad. I always appreciate the way you write about your journey, sharing both joys and sadness. After that is what life is all about. Your blog, and that you are willing to share your life with us, is a great gift.
Great comment M! I cannot believe that it's been 7 years in Knoxville. I have always thought that you embraced that move in the most organic way, despite really challenging circumstances. And now you have the chance to be amongst more family (and closer to your immediate family – though I know Texas isn't so close to TN!) I think you are showing your adaptation to your "new home" by creating a new home from scratch. That's like the ultimate in creativity, IMO :-), but then I'm biased.
Like K, I'm shocked to hear that your move is now 7 years old! It's encouraging in some ways to hear that the solid friendships are taking that long to form, although obviously it's a bit daunting in others.
"The thing is life is going to change and we are going to change with it or we aren't, and not seizing hold of that change can make us just as sad." — I think this is the nub of what I'm really appreciating now. We're perhaps entering an age when this change is a bit tougher to adjust to, when most of us don't seek it out eagerly as we might have when younger. I'm doing my best to face the necessary changes as positively as possible and with whatever agency I can muster (and some grace, eventually, at the agency I will have to surrender).
Yes to all of this. Especially about people who know you outside of your role. I am most comfortable with friends I made when I was twenty. No apologies are necessary, all histories accepted. And while I may fantasise about moving to London again (come on, National Lottery!), I know that everything,, including me, would be different now. On the whole though, change is a good and positive thing.
Thank you for thoughtful, relatable post. Like the others said, you've mentioned several things here that we all share, including the need to have close friends, or people who know you well.
I am quite worried about this when I consider our future move to Victoria. We have a great life here – and am sure we will have a great life there but the unknown is scary.
And connections take time and effort so moving while you are still energetic enough to make the new location āhomeā is important. I can only hope to be as successful with my move as you have been.
I so appreciate the way you share your joys and sadness.
Again, thank you very much
Suz from Vancouver
You're very welcome.
The unknown definitely can be scary — also exciting, and I like to think that continuing to meet and adjust to change can be a good thing. I'm guessing you're future move is based on some very good reasons. You'll probably need to remind yourself of this as you settle in — they will help to counter the second-guessing. And like me, I suspect you'll find that you maintain your connections reasonably well (the free ferry rides for Seniors will help š
I will echo what so many have said, what a lovely warm post. I really like what you said in the comments above about"Being accepting of one's past decisions." We do our best with the limited knowledge we have.
It is good to hear that you are settling in to your new home. It is interesting how variable your and Paterās response to the move was. When we moved house (nowhere near as challenging as moving cities), I never looked back while my husband took longer to settle. I am glad to hear about the family visits being rewarding (and tiring).
I am one year into retirement and know how big life changes can take you in unexpected directions. Right now, I am taking on a bigger role with my mother as her health deteriorates (including staying overnight some times), but I hope to find some travel time in spring to go to Vancouver! Brenda
Thanks for the kind words, Brenda.
It's a mixed blessing that your mother needs much more support just as you've begun enjoying a well-deserved retirement, but I know you probably would have tried to do just as much if you were still working and worn yourself sick. Take care, and I look forward to a visit when you're free.
I could see this coming, and you are right; I would have been working full time and trying to take care of her at the same time. This is much better.
Your blogs resonate with a lot of us…My husband and I had enjoyed excellent, vigorous health until our early sixties, when out of the blue, double disaster struck. I suffered a viral infection with a very rare severe autoimmune response which left me paralyzed in one leg for a year. (My wonderful husband, who was then in good health, drove me to work and negotiated my wheelchair for a number of months, until I recovered – almost fully- with specialized medical care, physiotherapy and Mother Nature's amazing healing capacities). Then it was my husband's turn to deteriorate, and he needed a double simultaneous hip replacement!
It was clear we needed to move pronto from our 3 storey house (+ basement) where we had raised our family of 3 children for 30 years.
We found tremendous support with "Senior Moves" who packed/moved everything us for us and a superb real estate agent, who found us a condo with universal design (seamless connections between rooms/no bumpy thresholds; accessible bathrooms and showers – safety bars; on a lower floor so that if (God forbid) the elevator did not function, we would not have to walk up lots of flights of stairs.
Lessons learned –
1. It's useful to live not too far from a tertiary medical centre in case you or your loved one(s) get very ill (BTW this also happenned to a previously healthy colleague of mine, very vigorous and fit, who suddenly ended up in the ICU for 2 weeks, and faced months of recovery)
2. If possible, look for features of "universal design" in your new home – it promotes autonomy/independence for all ages – seniors as well as young parents with kids in strollers, others who are unexpectedly incapacitated for whatever reason (teens with sports injuries etc). see CMHC cmhc-schl.gc.ca/en/developing-and-renovating/accessible-adaptable-housing/universal-design-in-new-housing. It also increases the resale value of your house!
3. If possible, have a home stager fix up your old house in preparation for your sale. Strangely enough, this really helped us because the colors, the furniture, the wall hangings and decor she used (which were designed to appeal to buyers several decades younger than us) so totally transformed the inside of the home that we no longer felt it was really our home, and we wouldn't have wanted to live there anymore…it made it a lot easier to say goodbye. However it certainly appealed to younger buyers, and the house sold the day it was listed.
4. If you need to say goodbye to a cherished garden, take lots of pictures (some with neighbours and friends in them) to remember it by. Then make friends if you can with your new neighbours with attractive gardens – compliment them as you walk by in your new neighbourhood – you may "grow" a new friendship out of your shared interests!
5. Go to the first neighbourhood block party or get together you hear about, but make sure to go to your old street's neighbourhood party as well!
6. Even with these strategies, you will sometimes feel out of sorts, it's only to be expected, but this feeling should lessen with time.
These are very helpful pointers, Sensitive Poet — and your experience of being unexpectedly hit with serious health challenges when still Fit 60s is worth thinking about as well — not fearfully but realistically.
It sounds as if you've managed very well to relocate to a home that makes life easier and still satisfying. Brava!
So much wisdom from all of you. Although it will be unlikely we will be moving from our rural home in the foreseeable future I am 6 months away from retirement. Neither of our children have significant others, so there is no need to be moving closer to them. I have been realizing that all the work-related activities that have been a part of my life for forty years will be in the past as of this time next year. I won't be seeing the young music teachers I have mentored. I won't be attending a future baby shower for the former student who is now a colleague. No more In-Service days! I have been making sure that I thank these folks and other staff members for their kindnesses and I have been very aware of connecting to at-risk and fragile students knowing that they will soon be finding out that my time at school is waning.
My husband injured himself in October and it became painfully clear that I would need outside help if the early snow kept coming. I was working a full day and returning home only to shovel off the deck, stairs, and addition roof well past supper time and then have to bring wood for the stove from the basement. All this will an artificial knee. Thankfully, the endless snow days ended and my husband can assume most of these duties, thanks to excellent therapy. But there are times that I wonder about the supports we may need to put into place. Do we put a stackable washer/dryer in the bathroom instead of a full-size pair in the basement? Do we turn our dining room into a first floor bedroom? Do we hire out snow removal since there are no high school kids in the "neighborhood" or work on it together over the course of several days? Big questions…
Regarding the isolation from friends after a big move, I think of my poor mom. She enjoyed an active and friend-filled life in the Boston area but she and my dad wanted to be closer to me in Vermont. They moved the year I fell in love, married, and started a family so her anticipation of a closer relationship was dashed as I focused on my own family, job, and activities. She had trouble relating to the locals, which she anticipated would be more L.L. Bean (I know they're from Maine) than Larry, Darryl, and Darryl from the old Bob Newhart show. It saddened me that she was so unhappy, but she had taught me that we are the orchestrators of our own happiness, others cannot supply happiness for you. I keep that in mind as well when I think of what I want to do in retirement and how my husband and I will navigate our new relationship once I am done. Carol in VT
It sounds as though you're in a similar position to where we were a few years ago, although our kids were all solidly partnered by then and there were five grandchildren — and we'd been lucky enough not to have sustained injuries yet in a lifestyle/geography that was similarly demanding (not the snow but the boat docks and the island transportation — wheelbarrow and bike, since we didn't keep a car there.
Sounds as though you're already doing a good job of sorting priorities, just in being aware of different possibilities. And keeping a cautionary tale or two in mind, as with your mother. We were similarly influenced by both sets of our parents — some examples cautionary, some inspiring.
Perhaps part of the trick is recognising that we have options. Then, once having exercised them, taking responsibility for finding/making whatever happiness or contentment possible. . . Sounds as if you already know this š
What a wonderful heartfelt post, and the comments have been so warm. Unlike Frances, I do still live on a small island, and have lived here for nineteen years. What she says about island life cannot be duplicated. There is a bond between people, even the ones that you donāt really know that is very hard to explain. We play with the idea of moving off island, as we say…. but it would feel like an amputation. It really is because of the people. I have lived in, or close to big cities most of my life, but I have never had such good friends, or close aquaintances who I feel really care about us. Case in point; we had hurricane force winds December 20, no power for eight days, no phone. Trees were down everywhere. People we barely knew stopped by to check on us, or ask us for dinner, or come over to have a shower. It was truly amazing. We drive around our favorite parts of Victoria and try to picture living there. Yes, it would work for us, but, the community can not be duplicated. I would be a different me. The small island me is the real me. The creative, slightly eccentric oddity that I have become. Iām not sure the rest of the world would…get me. Hopefully I donāt have to worry about that for a few more years.
Ali
Thanks for speaking up to explain how intense the community connection is on an island. Your island, of course, is much bigger, with hospital, assisted living, plus on-island restaurants, grocery stores, doctor, dentist, etc. Ours, if we'd thought it through before buying, would have been a much tougher place to live out our last years, although some do manage just that, and happily. But as much as I've hated the wrench we had to make (even as I've known it was the right move) I can't regret at all the very special 20+ years we had there. Such a nurturing place, as you say, for our creative and slightly eccentric selves. Glad to know you're still rocking that "oddity" on an island and I hope you may do so for many more years.
For eons, I haven't looked at the blog. Clicking the link, look what turns up !
There is a tug at the heart with the idea of leaving the place where love and happiness resided-so many stages to work through. It's a hard thing to part with the history, all the memories.
all * those * years *
I wager a majority of women do not blithely glide to the next station in life, leaving a community, a professional circle or the home in which they raised their children.
But it changes so. all the beautiful moments with our children growing up and bonds to friendships during that time, gradually vaporize. It's more accurate to say that we remember the fumes.
As the years march on, the house with the children grown, off to their own adult lives, seemed rather empty. Yes, it was hard to let go, but it would have been harder to keep it, all the ghosts of the years dancing in the rooms.
We think it's the house or the career or the friends but maybe it's a larger issue, the feelings we don't want to let go of, the solidity of our identifiers.
The Portuguese have a beautiful word, saudade, which has no english equivalent. It expresses a feeling of longing for something that no longer exists.
I've spent much contemplation on the forsaking/relinquishing of one's previous life… sometimes during the transition to my other places/spaces, the feeling sweeps over: "I just want to go back tonight….". And that's ok too. I just stand in the feeling for a while.
Moving on is a delight, sometimes like a splash of cold water in your face, but more often than not a fabulous sense of refreshment.
I loved our home and all we had there ( actually no one should be so in love with a house as I was with that one) but the notion of Miss Havesham haunted me. I would not be that old one, clinging to a place, with those memories where no new coat of paint would matter .
-not for me, that.
Looking back has been a bad idea since Lot's wife turned to salt. Allowing what we've lost to abide with us is like bring a suitcase, full of boulders, wherever we go – into the kitchen, into the bathroom with you, with you at Whole Foods, taking it along to the dentist, lugging that thing everywhere.
Moving through the pain of loss is a solitary project whether for place, family, friends or time. Grieving, so individual….
First we lose the parents, the uncles and aunts, the mentors, colleagues. Then come the loss of partners, siblings and friends, one way or another. The longer we live, the more the losses pile on.
Without the busy-ness of child-tending, the profession, the home to identify us, who are we, all those things stripped away? After Paul leaves (this mortal coil) and the grandchildren are teenagers, who are you then?
We default to our naked self, with only our own impulses, desires, pleasures devoid of guilt for what we, alone, want.
Perhaps Frances may yet find her way to a cabin by the sea, if she has her druthers.
I suspect the ancient years are really that ruthless sieve that filters to us, all the deepest existential questions, without all the distractions that for so long absorbed us.
Who am I now and how long do I have?
Very nice that you may, on your whim, still sail to your island for love and comfort.
Grateful for small mercies, yes.
I always detest the endings: of books, of movies, of careers, of vacations, of homes, of visits……and of course, the biggest ending of all, our own. That's the ending where we don't get to see what happens, we're over and that, as they say, is that.
After 60, those questions begin to knock louder each successive year.
My feeling is that weeping for 2 days, every 2-3 months seems most appropriate.
Why the hell not ?
I finish with two of my favourites:
"I love my past. I love my present. I am not ashamed of what I have had, and I am not sad because I have it no longer." (Colette) &
"If not now, when?" (Rabbi Hillel's #3)
Good luck,
Giulia
Thanks, Giulia. Much to think about here. Much that reflects some of my experience and also much that suggests you are speaking about your own. As long as the two aren't confounded. . .
I'm not convinced that "looking bad" is "always a bad idea." It certainly was for Lot (and for Orpheus, for that matter), but I'm not sure those stories don't have as much to do with obedience, with being tested, as they do with retrospection.
It's very true, though, that our awareness of mortality becomes increasingly noisy after 60. And from that perspective, weeping seems a reasonable response from time to time. . .
Just one more thought. Rather than being concerned that I'm looking back too much, stuck in my own past, you might consider that as a blogger, a storyteller of sorts, even a facilitator of community here, I pause from time to time to offer up my experience as a point of comparison that might start conversations. As honest and relatively open as I am here, the "Frances" that you read here is, inevitably something of a persona. I'm not drowning in nostalgia, never fear.
Being uprooted from your beloved Island home, where you were happy, with good friends, wonderful community and an abundance of natural and physical beauty… I'd say, you have every right to feel the way you feel. Yes, you and your husband were thinking ahead making decisions for the future. Right as it is to start aligning yourselves to your future lives that doesn't soften the blow of being uprooted from a beloved place. Top that off with being a new reitree (at the time), and it does a number one's equilibrium and psyche. (Doing the right thing doesn't come without a price). No matter what roles we've played in our lives, mother, grandmother, nurse, professor, author…just like a tree, if we are uprooted and put into a new environment, we will need time to readjust or die. The period of readjustment is unique to each of us. In my case, after almost five years of retirement, it is just in the past six months that I've finally felt like my old self again. I'm not one who get depressed easily but I've gone from depression, to isolation, to sleeping almost the day away and prowling around the house at night, to cancelling lunches and social events, to losing friends, to not wanting to go on vacations. What am I saying here and how does it relate to your post? It could be everything or nothing…:) All I'm trying to say is that in my own way, I do understand where you are coming from. My hat's off to you for your generosity of spirit. And by sharing your experience, you've shined the light on things that some of us would like to sweep under the rug. ~Amelia
May I please add to the above a caveat of a sort ~ my retirement followed not too shortly after the death of my son. It isn't lost on me that perhaps most of the above reactions I've mentioned were due mainly to grief. To be honest with you, I didn't have to retire but I wanted to isolate myself, with my griefs…not wanting sympathy from anyone, or became an object of pity. The price I paid for being too stoic and prideful. Thankfully I had lots of family support, loving husband 100% besides me, loving and loyal friends who didn't give up and professional help.
It can be really surprising, can't it, to those of us who otherwise saw ourselves as pragmatic, as socially connected, as productive, etc., to feel that depression and withdrawal. But that double whammy — losing your son AND your work identity — would flatten anyone. I relate to your premature retirement — I did something similar myself after losing three of our parents within a year (although those losses are exponentially different than losing a child).
I'm so glad to hear that you are beginning to feel yourself again, and I hope this healing continues. Thanks for being this open here. Take care.
(there is a remedy from the homeopathic materia medica that will make the correction needed for the kind of tears you describe.)
-Giulia
Thank you!
Wow. I missed this earlier but I'm glad I did because I got to read all the wise and sensitive comments.
I understand how you feel, on so many levels. The move, the role of mother/nana, the loss of your old familiarity.
When my parents moved out of the home where they had lived for more than 50 years, my dad was thrilled and my mom fell into depression. Her stuff, her habits, her cocoon were so important to her and they were wrenched away because of my dad's health issues.
I met my husband when I was working in Brussels. After a year, a management shakeup had me transferred back to New York. My husband was thrilled; it was a big bragging point that he got a green card in a flash and was going to NYC. But once there, he became very depressed. He didn't find work even though he speaks 7 languages; he doesn't have a college degree. I worked long hours. I had old friends in the city; he knew nobody. Despite my advanced age, I managed to get pregnant, something I wanted desperately, but I couldn't handle a newborn and a husband so depressed he was like another baby. Plus working (good ol' U.S. non-maternity benefits). I quit and we moved back to Europe, but to the south of France vacation house we had bought as an investment before moving, not to Belgium. So now, I was in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, with absolutely no friends or relatives or job, stuck with no car and a newborn. I tell you I cried a river. He had no sympathy. NY was hell, he said. In Brussels, I still had a network of friends, though I started to see my in-laws differently once a mother; what I could dismiss as eccentric when I first met them I came to see as abusive and out of control. Not one of them has ever had my child in their care alone. Over the years, what started as "bad luck" with jobs turned into long-term unemployment and dependency problems. I was glad to be 1K kms away. But so alone.
Fast forward 15 years and I have a circle of truly amazing friends. When I had surgery on my foot, they visited me every day. During a very depressed time, they assembled and hauled me in for an intervention. During the floods a few months ago, they filed through to check on us. I try to do as much for them but feel like I'm the one who is being coddled, and am very grateful. But I have to move. My husband is still depressed, and since he was diagnosed with cancer he wants to live more like his family–free as the wind, no responsibilities–and wants a divorce. Part of me is thrilled because I have been unhappy and so has our kid. Part of me is terrified. There's no university here. My kid is about to head off to another city and it would be better for me and cheaper overall to move with my kid. But we would be alone. New habits, new friends, new support. I know it has to happen sometime. My kid isn't going to stay here and I am determined to be nearby to supply babysitting, because the glass ceiling is 99% childcare hassles. If my kid is like me, there will be moves to multiple cities and countries and continents. Am I up for it? I don't know. I do know life is short and we only get one, and I have spent 15 years thrilled with my kid and completely depressed about my marriage and professional life. So I don't have a lot to lose. It's still stressful.
This is a lot! Thanks for sharing it — so many challenges in your life with moves and upheavals, but so far you have managed them well with what must be a deep reservoir of strength and resilience. That circle of amazing friends will be a great resource as you contemplate your next move. Take care.
I'll add, briefly, as the other commenters have spoken so eloquently, that a divorce can have the same effect as a move. At least in my experience. So I lost a lot of my friends in 2006, as they peeled away from the end of my marriage. However, I was still working, so the full effect of Whole New Life didn't hit until I remarried and retired. Now, since my husband is still working and working very hard, I am committing to online friends. IRL friends would be harder to sustain, given that my husband and I are still in a newlywed cocoon:). It was a joy to realize that I could in fact plan, loosely, to see you this year, and even more of a joy to spend time with you here last year.
You said this, "Instead, I think it's about orientating oneself forward, with an acceptance of one's past decisions." Very wise, and exactly the process I think we at this age benefit from most of all.
This is a really good point, Lisa, and one that I suspect many readers here might relate to (with, perhaps, some slight envy for that newlywed cocoon š
It's so basic, that sentence of mine, isn't it? Too basic for me to take any credit for its wisdom, but ultimately, it seems the only choice that proffers possibilities of dignity and happiness. . .
It is good to read the word ācontentmentā with relation to your great decision to leave āyourā island. You had very good reasons to do so, but the price you had to pay was high indeed, and that is reason enough to cry from time to time.
I absolutely agree with you on the importance of friendship. That is probably one of the reasons I havenāt been able to leave my rather unspectacular home town for more than limited periods of time: although some of my friends left, many of them still live here, and as a single mother I would not have known how to raise my child without the help of several of them.
With the freedom that retirement gives me, I can now travel and visit those who live in other places and see if we can pick up the strands of our friendships. Sometimes it doesnāt work, but very often it does. I find that this is quite important to me, because it helps me integrate my past (as a student and young scholar) into my present. As for making new friends, I agree that it is not so easy when you do not share daily routines. There are my future neighbors, though, (if we ever get that plot and can start building our little commune). And I would never have expected there could be such a thing as friendship via internet, but in your case, I donāt know what else to call it.
What makes our homes feel like home depends on so many factors, doesn't it. Context is everything, and I can absolutely see how crucial good friendships would me to a parent raising a child on her/his own. . .
And I call it friendship as well, this one the internet has allowed us, and I consider myself lucky to do so.
I'm just in the middle of a kitchen reno (so have committed to my current home for some period of time, if fates allow) and of a more intense period of trip-planning (with my cousin, my dearest life-long friend, for our 60th birthdays in the spring)…so, time taken up just now with practical activities relating to home and friendship.
I can't seem to organize my thoughts on this into anything cohesive but your post and so many of the comments here have either rung true or given good food for thought. Thank you!
And take care of your thumb/wrist/shoulder…have a good weekend…
A kitchen reno is a very good way to re-commit! (once the dust and the noise are over, that is š — and travel with a best friend. Home and friendship and deep roots, it sounds like to me. Lovely.
Cohesion is not as important, here and now, as connection. Thanks for chiming in.
I find it is harder to make friends at this age and in retirement so I am reaching out to community groups to find my place. We are still thinking about downsizing and where we want to live. Our house, now known as the "diva", requires frequent and expensive repairs (2018 a new roof, completely redone bathroom due to mold, sprinkler system repair, etc) which limits our travels and recreation so we need to do something. But our diva is also beautiful and suits our aesthetics and is home to our adult children when they visit. Who knew there were so many decisions to make at this stage of life?
Ha! Yes, homes can take on diva personalities — Pater is so glad not to be worrying anymore about leaks during big storms. . . But I do know how comfortable and beautiful those divas can be and I know the decision to move from one is not at all easy nor is there a one-size-fits-all solution. I wish you space for thoughtful discernment over the next few years.
Your post and the community of responses it's generated are so rich that I've taken my time to join in, captivated and humbled in some cases by all the experiences that are being recounted. The thing that jumped out at me was that your husband had made the transition to your new home very early on. Do you think that's just his character, or gender trait? I think my husband will be exactly the same when he moves here permanently – an attitude of 'well, here we are, let's just get on with it'.
It has surprised me how little I miss my old home of 25 years in Edinburgh, after 15 months up here. My husband and children are still in the south, although my husband comes up here nearly every weekend. I miss my family hugely, and it feels very strange for my husband to have taken over the role of main parent to our mid 20's children, both of whom are dealing with the uphill task in Britain these days of finding a job commensurate with their graduate status. They are my main preoccupation and deep gnawing worry, particularly since one of my children has had a severe mental illness for two years which means they haven't started on finding a job. Nothing about me or where I am depresses me, but I can sink into the depths worrying about my children. The cliche of 'you are only as happy as your unhappiest child' is true for me.
I certainly don't miss my university job of nearly 30 years, in which I was never happy. Looking back it seems such a waste to have spent the best years of working life doing something so uncongenial, but perhaps enjoying work is a luxury that few people have. Having retired, I've retrained and am working in my new area, with plans to start my own business. A scary thought if I let it be one, and I try not to let 'new business' and 'age 60 this year' crop up in the same thought.
I do miss my city friends. Last time I was back in Edinburgh I stepped off the train, went straight to lunch with two of them and then moved on to an extended afternoon tea (at the National Museum, on the balcony!) with another. It was totally exhilarating to have the type of conversationsI used to have. I have learned very quickly up here in the country to modify and simplify my language, and the thing I miss most is having conversations about abstract concepts. First world problem! Friendships here haven't yet taken shape. There are one or two people who seem to be kindred spirits, but because of our work patterns it's very difficult to meet. I've put friendships into my phase 2 of the move – can't do everything at once. I'm an only child, and my husband isn't close to his only sister, so we are a very small unit. I was struck by all the labels you felt other people put on you, and perhaps because of my small family I don't really feel labelled.
Thank you for such honest and thought provoking writing. I hope your hand is easing. Off to look up plank step ups.
My husband retired five years before I did, so he was able to enjoy the island lifestyle in retirement as I only did for one year before our move. As well, before he retired, he worked in Vancouver (we bought a small apartment here) and he has continued, since retirement, to take on consulting work and serve on several boards so that he has a social network, if primarily work-related, here, and his work identity is still in operation. I had that kind of rich network back on the island (and the big island it sat offshore of) — parents of my kids' friends, former piano students, former university students, former colleagues, etc — but not here.
I suspect you'll do very well where you are — being closer to the natural world is so very sustaining, and the city is there when you need a hit of stimulation. I hope that your "unhappiest child" finds a walkable path. . . I know something of what that's like for a parent.
I have been enjoying your blog for over a year. I love reading about your travels and I will be visiting Lyon this spring having been inspired by your visit. In June I will be retiring after teaching for over 30 years in the Fraser Valley. My husband and I are moving to the Okanagan in the summer. As June nears my focus has been on dealing with a multitude of issues as I look to wind down work and preparations for the move. I have only briefly considered the change in proximity of my friends. The contemplation of physically leaving them is like pressing the pause button on all the tasks that need to be done so I don't think about it very often. Thank you for sharing this post. I feel as though I am not alone in my responses to our move.
Lovely to hear from you, Catherine, and especially good to hear that my visit to Lyon might have inspired yours — I hope you'll pop back later to let me know how that goes.
That move will pose some challenges, I'm sure, but the Okanagan is so beautiful and when you miss your friends, they're only a few hours away (as mine are on the island.
Still, it's probably good to have all those tasks to do so that you can't afford to press the pause button (nice metaphor) . . .
Iām so happy to hear that the move is settling itself in. And though i miss having you down the street, I feel our friendship is stronger than ever. We were both so busy when you lived on the island, i think/wonder if maybe itās because some of our visits are longer?
I think this is true, Alison. I've enjoyed the more sustained visits we've had since the move (although what a luxury it was to have such a good friend so close by).
X
Cheeky question – weāre coming to
Vancouver from UK via Seattle -anything youād recommend for our stop over to get a flavour – we like similar stuff to you and are 60 – parks / urban / food / water / walking / architecture/ just roaming about !!
Relatives are happy to sort stuff for us but I love the pictures u paint of Vancouver in words and paint !
When will you be here? What I'd recommend might depend a bit on the likely weather. Perhaps you could send me a Direct Message via Instagram — I see you "follow" me there.
Only 48 hrs !!!!