I already know the answer so many people will give me, and it is: “Try Swimming.” Please don’t. I truly don’t enjoy swimming—although I can swim—and I’m not a fan of water-based activities. I know that won’t stop the pro-water squad, but that is my personal request. 🙂
The challenge of retirement—and the transition from 100 → 0 (maybe 5, not 0)—is not so straightforward. Everyone knows this in theory; it’s obvious. But in reality, it’s simply so hard, especially in the situation I’m in with PSP (the minor fundamental challenge, which is the trigger for the retirement – of a terminal brain condition that is a particularly nasty one).
A Good Decision – The Right One
My body and disease have forced the change, and retirement at the request of the doctors has absolutely been the right decision. The reduction of stress, as I’ve previously mentioned, has truly helped me in ways I can’t begin to describe. My increasing immobility would have continued to make working harder. That’s the good news—and it’s seriously good news. Alongside this, I have genuinely (and this is a genuine genuine) found a love for mentoring and writing and digging into Jewish learning, enabling me to write articles on the weekly Jewish portion which I hope to compile into a book—something I never thought I’d be able to do. (This may mean nothing to you if you’re not Jewish—but I assume you get the drift.)
As Viktor Frankl wrote, “Those who have a ‘why’ to live, can bear with almost any ‘how.’” I see this clearly—the ‘why’. I have meaning.
The Flip Side
On the flip side is the adjustment to life effectively marooned within approximately 150–250m of home because my legs won’t carry me further, even with the walker. They just won’t. And please don’t tell me “it’s in my head,” because it’s not—you’ll have to take my word for it. The walk to the synagogue feels like a 5k, and that’s without an incline. Given the summer heat, it’s really tough, and I’ve sadly had to stop going to the synagogue I am actually a member of.
I do get out—friends and family take me places, and occasionally I take a taxi—but it’s nonetheless a massive change, which has brought with it a number of points of tension and challenge:
Boredom and Frustration
You can call this whatever you want—psychological, shock, trauma. To me, it’s simply the natural and entirely reasonable result of moving from a life of huge pace and “freedom” to a very, very comfortable “jail,” albeit one with my favorite people, whom I truly love. Not being able to drive, go out when I want, or do many things due to disability is, simply put—hard.
Those who know me will be aware that I’m dealing with it practically. Today, for example, I have six 45-minute mentoring sessions and a shiur (Jewish lesson), hopefully a game of my ever-increasing fascination with chess, and of course, Wimbledon. But it’s still a massive challenge, and the obvious result is a small degree of frustration from me.
The lives of those around me have had to adapt—especially my wife, in many ways more than me—as she picks up much of the slack and deals with my frustrations. We semi-joked/argued yesterday (probably more of the second) that we’ve flipped 180 degrees in three months—she likes driving a little less than me 🙂 /I loved it, etc. It’s something we’re working through. But to be clear, for the record—I am the guilty party in the anger and frustration department, and I have to get better.
A small example—on Saturday night there was the task of collecting one daughter from a friend’s house and taking another back to uni. I loved that time so, so much with my girls/music/annoying them, and my wife would have hated driving so far at night. Now I sit at home while she does the job she doesn’t enjoy. It is a small but very big thing—and that is one of hundreds of similar examples.
Weight
I didn’t predict this one coming, but it has come. When you walk and run 45 minutes a day and are active, it obviously makes sense that when the walking/running stops (I still do 30–40 minutes of yoga and exercise), and you become bored and frustrated – control over your strict diet wanes a little —weight challenges kick in. And they have.
The good news is I’m on it. I’m upping the exercise I can do and reinforcing the original diet that was working for me—doubling down to reverse the trend. I’m trying to increase the exercise even more, but it’s hard.
Budget
This is a word that sadly has to be a factor in retirement. I’m not complaining (Heaven forbid) about my financial position—I’ve worked hard, and thankfully the Excel sheet should work out ok. Being able to retire financially at 50 is no mean feat, and I’m grateful. But it’s not a slam-dunk, no-need-to-change situation.
For anyone (at least most of us) whose income drops massively and who switches to using assets and other forms of retirement-based income, it comes—with prudence—with a significant drop in spending. This is a process we’re working through. And one in which we don’t need assistance (before you ask—and please don’t ask), but it is a stress factor for me and, no doubt, for those around me.
It also doesn’t help that I haven’t found the right way to communicate to those impacted. One minute I lurch from “we are ok” and then the next panic hits—“Don’t buy x.” I am learning as we go… we all are.
Suggestions
Many people will have their wonderful suggestions and nuggets of advice, but I’m stubborn and not so open to hearing them. I know they will include swimming (hence the title), other water activities, forcing myself to get out of the house, the classic “be positive,” and 100 other theoretically beautiful statements.
I truly know these things logically—it just doesn’t prepare you for the actuality of the situation. And please don’t be offended if I am reluctant to hear.
Still at Big Picture
I am surrounded by the best family in the world and great friends. As I said to my sister yesterday (she did take me out for coffee, and it was great), I genuinely wouldn’t swap places with anyone. But at the end of the day, I have to acknowledge that I’m retiring at 50 due to a terminal illness that is gaining on me physically, despite the fight of my life.
The shock of retirement is real, ladies and gentlemen—I now have first-hand evidence over what has effectively been three months. But I am course-correcting and going back to my cup of herbal tea (without cake, biscuit, or chocolate) as I work to lose some of the kgs I’ve put on.
As I said in my rallying post last week (which is my battle cry), fighting PSP means acknowledging and respecting the multi-dimensional nature of the enemy. I truly do—and I am in a terrible fight against a very powerful enemy. But I will fight it—and give it one hell of a fight. Acceptance, not denial, is key to this. For example, with my frustration, boredom, and weight, I’m partly writing this blog as a means of reinforcing the acceptance element.
I’m also writing this because I know other people have different—but in some ways similar—challenges and are fighting in their own way. I want to say to them that I have huge respect for you and won’t belittle you with false comparisons. You can only know what someone else is going through when you’ve had some similar experience. For anyone retiring from a high-impact job and/or managing decline through illness, I can say that I’m starting to understand your challenges.
As a person of faith, the descent is as much a part of life as the ascent—and it is a very different challenge. I am, however, seeing meaning and purpose in it and enjoying aspects of daily life. I just need to get over some of my challenges and adjust.
I don’t know if people actually read this or if it actually helps anyone—but it helps me. 🙂 To those who get this far into the post—thank you for reading and, by doing so, helping me in some small way. Feel free to share the blog because if I somehow touch one more person, I am adding more meaning to my journey.
