Retirement in Times of Uncertainty
I came to my profession later in life than most, in my early 40’s. A series of unfortunate events including a career ending injury for my husband and a hostile take over for the organization I worked for, propelled me down a career path I had never considered in my younger days. Coming late to the game, I always felt that I had to play catch up to be as good as the others around me. I had to go harder, work later, take on more, get in the weeds more, in order to fully understand the work and to move forward in my career. When my husband retired last year, something flipped and I felt my internal brakes engage. My desire to hustle and get the next big thing, so I could work until 70 felt a little ridiculous.
One of the things that appealed to me about my current organization is that they had a very long tenured work force, allowing them to get to retirement on their own terms, allowing them to bow out when they were ready. I came from a side of the business where longevity was a little more of a crap shoot. Maybe you’d make it, maybe not. But here, it felt as though I could make it to 70 if I wanted. My biggest challenge in making it to 70 would be not dying a slow death of boredom. This has been the easiest workload I have ever had. After such a hard, driving path, coasting sounded like it might have its benefits. Then out of nowhere this spring, there was a reduction in the total work force of 25%. Reality check right upside the head. There were a few other rumblings of things that could happen possibly in the coming years and then Trump’s tariffs hit. Now all our product, a non essential item, would be tariffed at 145%.
For someone accustomed to having a 5 and a 10 year plan, these facts were putting a monkey wrench into my planning windows. We have no idea what the future brings. No one person or company can promise me anything over the next 10 years. When I try to plan now, I have to be prepared for a 1 year window, a 3 year window or a 7 year window. If I make it to the 7 year window, maybe I can also hold out to the 10 year mark. Who the hell knows, like I said, crap shoot.
In terms of a time line going forward, this is all we really know:
Husband retired June of 2024.
His social security is due to go into effect May of 2025. We are waiting to see if it does. With all of the changes imposed by Trump and DOGE, it is hard to know if it will happen.
That’s it, that is all we are sure of.
For me, there are the myriad of possibilities of when I might be able to retire, forced or otherwise:
2034 at 70, if need be and my job still exists, I would be able to do this but sounds a little ridiculous to me now since my husband has retired. He would be 76.
2031 at 67, full retirement age, probably the right time financially. He would be 73.
2028 at 64, job events would be the driver for this to happen, probably a little too early financially but damn I would love that. He would be clocking in at 70.
2026 at 62, job events again would be the driver, too early financially, but maybe I can actually get another job.
Or anytime the situation arises that my job could possibly be shut down for any reason we don’t yet understand…did I mention the term crap shoot?
Back in the ’90’s we were self employed for almost 10 years and in the end we lost everything, our home, our cars, our business. We had to declare bankruptcy and start all over again.
While it was happening I cried, I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t hardly think straight. I had my second child in the middle of all this. I would stay up all night, crazy eyed, feeding a new baby and watching a combination of Georgia pastor, Charles Stanley and America’s Funniest Videos. I had never watched anything religious on TV but for some reason his words during this time comforted me. Grasping for any semblance of faith or joy, these were the only two things that got me through this time, giving my mind a much needed break to start its healing process.
I came to understand that we had been afraid of the unknown, that worst case scenario monster in the background that had kept us incapacitated, in crippling fear for more than a year. All that worry, trying to pump the brakes on the inevitable and it all happened anyway. What I know now, if we can look at the worst case scenario and imagine a way to survive it, an outcome we can tolerate, we can release a little of that fear and move forward in a more productive way.
So yeah, my plans are a little all over the place. Any of the time frames noted above could happen. The difference for me now though is that I feel kind of okay with any of the options. I know if anyone of those things happened, we could flex and adjust. While we may not have made all the right moves over the years preparing for retirement, we have done enough to be able to flex a little, to find faith and some joy, even in the uncertainty. Sometimes that is all we need.
Retirement - Two Months In
Porpoises splashing at the paddle out.
Friday, June 28, 2024 was his planned last day of work. He had worked a ridiculous schedule for years; four days on, two off, so his days off always rotated. He had that Tuesday and Wednesday off, then they called him off on Thursday and Friday. The brewery was shut down, no work available…and just like that, it was done. Totally anti climatic, no hoopla or long goodbyes, it was just done. People would ask him, “Well, how does it feel?” He was in such shock, he had no answer, as if he didn’t really understand what just happened.
On his first official day that otherwise would have been a work day, it was nice to see him decompress a little. He was casually making dinner that night, talking about his realization of how much he had pushed down over the years, since he was a kid; things he wanted to do, things that were important to him, that represented his true self, in order to fulfill his obligation to work and responsibility. He teared up, he was taken aback by this statement and the emotion that came with it. He said it easily enough but it ripped a bandaid off somewhere inside him. This is what it will take for him to enjoy this time in retirement, to lean into and excavate all of that. I am so grateful to be able to watch the transition in real time.
His retirement had always been a part of our long term planning - our two year, five year, ten year plan, still he couldn’t really take it in and believe that his time had come. Who am I kidding, even months later he still can’t believe we haven’t starved to death and says he could go back if he had to. He even made sure to update his yearly medical card so he can maintain his CDL, just in case.
It did take him the first month to catch up on sleep and feel like a normal human being again. He had been dealing with a knee injury that had been aggravated the previous year by a fall and was now moving with a full limp. He kept thinking it would work itself out. Years of hard work, skiing and surfing injuries had taken their toll; add to that a fall on the ice and there would be no “working itself out.”
His first reaction to the idea of surgery is always “Hell no”. He would rather have a permanent limp than consider surgical options that might provide healing for him. Knee surgery specifically held a lot of negative connotation for him. His best friend, Pablo, lost his mom due to complications after a fairly simple knee surgery. The idea of getting to retirement, only to be undone by a knee surgery was hard for him to get past.
There were other things gnawing at him. At 66 he was not ready to say he was done surfing. He learned to surf back in college and it changed his whole world. It’s what brought him to California from Texas, where we met almost 40 years ago. His family regularly told him he needed to give it up and get serious about his life. They insisted he would get over it one day. In reality, it was the only thing that held meaning to him, outside of me and our kids. It was his church. Surfing made him a better man.
Granted, by July it had been four years since he’d been in the water. The pain from his knee had severely limited his physical opportunities over the past year. He was at a crossroad; if he ever hoped to surf again it was time to make a choice.
Two weeks after retiring he went into surgery to clean up all the tears that were dangling and causing him excruciating pain. His pain was immediately better. He naturally overdid things right out of surgery, no surprise there…this is his way. Pain was gone, but tightness remained. This would take some work, but he survived.
By August he was healed up enough to make a trip to California to meet up with friends to go bird hunting and see if the improved knee had any interest in surfing. I made the first part of the trip with him, driving to California to hang out in Carlsbad for a week. He borrowed a board, squeezed himself into his spring suit and marched out into the line up at the harbor in Oceanside like he owned it, like he’d never left. I sat quietly on the beach watching and praying.
Back in 2013 he had cared for Pablo through the final months of his life while he battled cancer. Once he passed, a paddle out was held in his honor and as they all gathered in the ocean to toss rose petals in his honor, porpoises playfully surrounded and danced all around them. It was one of those magical moments in life.
Now here as I sat praying for him to be okay, to not get hurt, to not get his ass kicked by locals, I asked for God and Pablo to watch over him. I prayed out to his parents. They never understood the importance of surfing to him when they were here but I hoped that they could lend a hand in this moment.
“C’mon Pablo, help him out there” and just as I said that, just as Bob was getting into position, porpoises appeared, just like they did at Pablo’s paddle out. Thank you God, thank you Pablo. I was freaking out on the beach by myself, near tears, I couldn’t wait to share this with Bob when he got back in. First thing he said was, “Did you see the porpoises? That was Pablo”.
I love that I have taught him to find some magic in the world, as he does not come by this skill naturally. And I was so pleased Pablo was with him. Did he help him to stand up? Well, sort of, let’s just say there is room for improvement. But I know he was with him in the water as he battled his fears that day.
His experience in the water that week, humbling as it was, also inspired him to Google surfboards for old, out of shape guys. This search brought him to Solana Beach and the shop of Joe Blair, maker of big guy surfboards. He goes into the shop, finds a guy is his mid 70’s in a recliner, in board shorts, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. Joe sizes him up and says, “You’re here for a big guy board”. They end up talking for hours and at 66, Bob orders a new surfboard.
For all Bob’s concern and worry about being able to retire, I can see that two months in, hopefulness still lives within him. It’s what we need to make this time the best yet.
Are we ready for this?
Sitting here alone, in a bed that squeaks with every move I make. I am in a cabin at a lodge in a remote part of Utah. Gazing out the window, trying to gather my thoughts. So many trees and at least 100 chipmunks lie before me and the lake just a few hundred yards out. It is a gorgeous clear fall day, with gusts up to 14 miles per hour coming out of the south. The dry, golden grass between here and the lake is mesmerizing as it dances to the music of the wind. There is a very raucous duck on the kid’s lake just west of me, making himself known every 20 minutes or so. He seems particularly disturbed today.
It’s quiet in this place, with visitors out and about, doing all that they came here to do. Bob took his poles and gear down to Little Hole to get outside and fish a bit. As much as he comes to these places to fish, I come to reflect and to write. We actually drove a bunch yesterday, had lots of activity and honestly, I could feel the rumblings deep in my gut for some quiet writing time. It’s why I come here. Often times when we go somewhere I do my best to squeeze it in when I can, in between his activities. Let him do what he wants for a while and let me write for awhile, although sometimes the scale isn’t quite balanced. Today I am working on evening out the scale, pouring a little more onto my side.
It has been my intention my whole life to write a book. A book about what you ask? Who the fuck knows, not a bloody clue, but it has been the constant drum beat in my being across my lifetime…be a writer, write a book. Just write, declare yourself a writer and it will come one day.
Well, here I am with 60 biting me in the ass and not one book completed by my pen. Maybe when I get a little more time, when I take a few more classes, learn a few more skills, then the masterpiece will reveal itself. Sure. Give it time. There’s always time. It will come. Yet here I am as 60 approaches, surrounded by jobs, family, new babies being born, friends and family passing away and just so much day to day obligation. As I enter what I like to jokingly call, the last trimester of my life, I am gravely aware, it is time to get busy if I am ever going to kick this baby out of the womb and into the world. It’s time has come…maybe my time too.
As a little kid, I remember being told my grandmother had written a book. Spoken about in hushed tones, they called it a dirty book. I didn’t have a clue what a dirty book might have been at that age and over the years I never thought to ask her about it. Its interesting to me now though to think about her; a woman born in the early 1920’s, married in her early teens, raised three kids, had six grandkids. She was able back in the 60’s and 70’s to knock out on an old school typewriter, what might have been considered a dirty book in her spare time. I wonder now how dirty it might have been, and who the hell told her it was dirty? How did she feel knowing the story she felt compelled on put down on paper was considered by some to be dirty? Did she feel empowered to write her naughty number or was she made to feel shame for it? Did that shame keep her from writing the next one? So many questions and too late to ask. I wish I had been able to speak to her about her desire to write and to give her all her flowers for what she had come up with, even the naughty bits, because I understand now that the accomplishment was a grand one!
And now here I sit, wishing in my heart I had a book, even a dirty book simmering just below the surface. Maybe one day in the future my dirty book will come, but for now, I am here, less than two months before my 60th birthday ready to take a look at where I truly am and what is before us.
For the past year or so we have attempted to plan for my husband Bob’s retirement. I have to admit, for most of our 35 years together, we couldn’t quite grasp the idea of how retirement would ever be possible for us. Early on, after being self employed for nearly ten years, we lost everything, filed bankruptcy and had to start all over again. The damn near debilitating cloak of shame was heavy and took almost 20 years to take off. But we are fighters. We live, eat and breathe our self declared family motto of GSD. To our detriment at times, it’s what we do; we get shit done. We don’t really have another speed, just GSD, rinse and repeat.
When you are trying to rebuild your lives with a young family; three kids and a dog in tow, GSD can be a good rule to live by. We hustled hard, Bob got a good job with the city. I had a good job, finished my bachelor’s degree and went to grad school. We were goin’ and blowin’ as the Texan in Bob likes to say. We were doing well, pulled ourselves out of our hole. Six months before I was to finish my master’s degree, Bob got hurt; a back injury that caused him to lose his steady, dependable job. Overnight the cloak of shame doubled in weight on his wounded back.
Since that time a lot has happened. While we made progress, we never had a clear understanding of how retirement would ultimately be possible for us, what it might look like. I didn’t have what you might call the best role models on making this chapter in life happen. My mom and step-father’s retirement plan once upon a time had been to grow a lot of pot in a partially underground greenhouse in our backyard. After his arrest for said greenhouse, they never did quite come up with a new plan to replace that original one. My father and my stay at home step mother on the other hand were dependent on his union pension. One plan too conservative for our liking, while the other not conservative at all; neither of which made sense to us. So we just kept GSDing as hard as we could.
No matter how hard we worked, it seemed we just continued to live pay check to pay check. It felt as though winning the lotto was the only way it might ever happen. Honestly, the pot plan could be workable, especially now that it was legal in our state, but I digress.
In 2019 I sought out the services of a career coach to help me get unstuck and guide me in planning the next iteration of my career. She told me I was chronically underpaid for my level of experience and education. That stung to hear, but I also knew she was right. Fortunately, or unfortunately, in 2008, after my husband’s back injury, I stumbled onto a career path, starting in my mid 30’s that notoriously underpaid and where women were few and far between. I had some great opportunities fall into my lap, did a stint at Amazon and then had a very tumultuous run at a small logistics company, with an abusive owner at the helm. Thank God I was fortunate to be able to secure a job on the other side of the fence in my industry, on the customer side.
For once in my lifetime, I found myself being paid what I was worth. With this one change in our lives, suddenly retirement felt within reach, reach-ish at least. There were many challenges in this job but it also had regular raises, bonuses, stock options, what?! You mean this is how people have been operating around me all along?
We made a plan for Bob to retire in 2024 and in June we made that happen and still have not starved to death as he was certain we would. Did he go easy into retirement? Oh hell no! Recently when we figured out we had received some roof damage in the last hail storm, his immediate first reaction was that he could go back to work. Dude, that boat was burned months ago, we aren’t going back. We will figure it out. But my goal is not just to figure it out, I want with all my heart to make this time of our lives the best yet. I still have a few years left to work, but plan to join him sooner than later.
I do genuinely hope that a book is in me at some point in time. In the meantime I want to tell this story of discovery. This isn’t going to be a story about the basics of retirement; how to save and invest enough, because lord knows we haven’t been very good on that front. This is just a simple story of how we make the transition from being full time employed people, out there getting shit done, to being retired, taking time to mentally and physically rest, to do all we can to improve our overall health, to be open to the idea of having fun and adventure and to once and for all lay down the mantle of obligation. Not too much to ask is it? Time will tell.