Just put one foot in front of the other and don't worry about the length of the path.
Martina Navratilova
On Saturday, October 15th, we finished packing and, with our loaded cars, drove away from our motel for the last time. This is now the date I look upon as the start of my retirement.
Two weeks have passed since and I wake up every morning to check on my well-being.
"So far, so good," I think as I add another day to my mental calendar. I am one more day away from that sharp divide between being employed and earning my keep and this new hazy existence of long, leisurely days without a shred of responsibility except to myself.
From this existential POV, hovering over myself, I look for every sign that might point towards a difficulty, a possible fracture, a moment of deep questioning, but so far, all seems calm. Back in our winter home, most boxes are opened and stored in the basement. My precious books are arranged on shelves, and the kitchen is stocked with all the needed necessities.
Still, I refuse to let myself be lulled by the "business as usual" appearance. First, because the business is no longer there, and second, because I am waiting for the moment when the realization of the change will land like a piece of lead and crush my cheerful disposition.
"Moving into our winter residence was our usual routine every October," I reason with myself. "That is why everything seems so normal."
"The girls," my two daughters, who came to help with the move, "are still here, so it seems like vacation time."
"I am still tired from the busy summer season and my senses crave the quiet, ignoring every sign of distress."
"Being able to leave the house on a whim (with or without the dog) is like being let out of prison." I am drunk on freedom."
These thoughts camouflage and press down on any worries that can rise and crush the sense of calm and quiet joy.
There is no need to get up early in the morning, open doors, and smile at strangers. Worry about broken and malfunctioning utilities. Tend to endless demands. Fret about the staff not showing up. Argue on the phone with guests and be glued to the TV following the whereabouts of the slow-coming hurricane that might cause power shortages. This endless list that marked my days just a few days ago is lifted. I am as light as a feather, ready to float.
But I can't give in and let my guard down.
Suspicious, and cautious I keep watching for signs. I am on the lookout for fractures, the moment when my mood will change, and the reality will take over. When my dazed mind will finally register the new facts. This new existence is here to stay. This is my new life.
