Retirement: When Every Day's a Snow Day?

Overcoming the uncertainty of what to do with myself upon retirement.

Forecasting doom ahead!

Before it hits, the weather forecasters coin it the “biggest snowstorm in years”. I doubt it’s the biggest, but it’s a doozy. I know it’s going to be more than a dusting when I get the call the night before that school will be closed the next day due to weather conditions. And then, while I’m enjoying that snow day, I get a call that tomorrow will be snow day #2.

So I suddenly have extra time on my hands. I don’t want to fritter away this unexpected blessing with mundane chores like mopping floors and scrubbing toilets. Still, I can’t see myself relaxing for two days either. I’ve upped my reading goals lately, but I know I can’t sit and read for two days without the guilt clouds rolling in. 

Which reminds me of something that’s been on my mind a lot lately: my impending retirement. 

Next winter, when I’m retired from my school job, every day will be like a snow day! I can sleep in. Take a long bath. Read lots of books. Watch lots of shows. And even though I might deserve a life of leisure after 35 years as a speech-language pathologist, I’m already a bit uneasy about the prospect of that much downtime.

Get to work!

As a farmer’s daughter, descended from Dutch immigrants, working hard is in my DNA. Too much me-time opens the floodgates of guilt. Maybe it’s the memories of my dad calling me “lazy” when I wanted to watch cartoons on Saturday morning like most of my friends did, instead of gathering eggs laid by the 40,000 chickens on our farm, with my siblings and cousins. I really hated that work as a kid, but for whatever reason, I now have a hard time relaxing without feeling a twinge of guilt. 

For the present moment, I have been given two free days off work that I didn’t expect. What should I do with them? What needs to be done that I never seem to have time for? I take a quick walk around the house, searching for my productivity victim.  

Ah-ha! There it is. The mudroom! 

Over the past few years, we’ve redecorated, painted, or remodeled every room on our main floor. Except for the mudroom. We just recently finished a major kitchen makeover after 24 years in our home, and it makes me happy every day. I love the warm glow of the undercabinet lighting. The hidden drawer for my cutting boards. Running my hands over the textured countertop to brush crumbs into the new pullout trash can with a second receptacle behind for cans and bottles. No more kitty litter bucket under the kitchen sink for our recyclables. 

Our main floor is coming together now. Except for (did I mention?) the mudroom. It’s showing its age and a fresh coat of paint will help its appearance 10,000%. I commit to “getting ‘er done!” and before the snow gets too deep on the first snow day, I make a run to the paint store. “Be safe!” my husband says as I leave the house. “Be safe!” I say to the friendly lady behind the counter as I exit the paint store, a gallon of matte and a quart of semi-gloss in hand. 

When I get home, my husband has emptied half of the bins from the cubbies and closet shelves. Shoes, bags, batteries, face masks, and bicycle gear. I start to work on the other half. Mittens, hats, and scarves that have collected, many of which are now neglected. Small coolers, a party-sized coffee pot, foil pans, and more bags. Tool kits, cleaning supplies, and boots. Lots of boots. The cat’s litter box, food dish, water fountain, and scratching posts. 

I wonder how we crammed all of this stuff into this small 12 x 6 room. Together, Tom and I hoist our four-by-four IKEA cubbie shelf into the hallway and find at least 15 years' worth of dirt has accumulated underneath. How do I know it’s been that long? Because of the “Challenge Spelling Words” list dated January 8-12, 2007. Um, yeah. Disgusting. 

Once the room is empty I sweep and dust and scrub. Even though the size hasn’t changed, the room expands with all of the wide open space. I look at my clean slate. I am finally ready to paint. 

But wait. I stop.

An empty slate.

Now that the slate is clean, I see new possibilities. I imagine a better storage system with a cabinet upgrade. I picture room for a bench and cute little coat hooks. I see in my mind new tile in place of the worn-out and cracked, 24-year-old linoleum floor that has had more footsteps from kids trudging home from school and parents coming home from work than we can count.

Like our snow-covered trees, I am frozen into confusion. Should I paint now or should I wait? Do we invest in new flooring and cabinetry? How long will it take to find someone available to do the work?

With the clutter and congestion of our previous arrangement, other possibilities for this room haven’t crossed my mind before. The habits formed around the shelves and cubbies–knowing just where to find my gardening crocs or the football game seat cushions–keep me in my comfort zone of familiarity. 

It takes a blank slate, a new state of emptiness, for me to imagine what can be.

I am reminded again that in four months time, I will no longer have an eight-to-four, Monday-through-Friday job. My evening hours won’t be interrupted by thoughts of difficult students or tasks to prepare for an upcoming busy week of IEP meetings, on top of the usual tasks of dinner prep, mail sorting, and exercise. In my current, working life, the things I really enjoy–visiting my kids and grandson, reading, writing, and watching “my shows” are squeezed into the cracks like spackle on a tattered wall.

Taking my time.

Like a simple coat of paint on the mudroom wall, I have ideas of what I’ll cover my retirement hours with–some family time, some “me time”, and writing–but it’s hard to see beyond those few things right now. I worry that I’ll be overcome with boredom, loneliness, laziness, or guilt. Even more concerning is the fear of losing sight of my life’s purpose.

My mudroom makes me realize that now is not the time to figure it all out. I can’t see past the clutter that is my busy life. But in June, when I turn in my office keys for the final time, my slate will be clean. With my days stretched out like a blank canvas ahead of me, I’m confident that after a little while, my inspiration will come. 

I can’t see it now. But when that day does come, the dream will be more than slapping paint on the walls. Perhaps there’s a masterpiece waiting to be built. A wall waiting to be torn down. A path waiting to be taken. A song waiting to be sung.

Perhaps there’s a life waiting to be lived. 

What do you have to say?

Have you retired from a lifelong job or career? How did it go for you? Any words of advice for this newbee-retiree-to-be?

Or like me, are you dreaming of retirement? What hesitations or concerns do you have? Do you have any fear or anxiety about retirement?