My retirement has been set. February of 2022 is the end of work—if I stick around that long. That’s the worst-case scenario. I’d love to find a way to go before that but if not, that’s it.
The original plan was that I would work until I could get full Social Security, at 66 and six months. That would have meant an additional year and a half of working. My wife will retire once I turn 65 and am eligible for Medicare, as she carries our health insurance. She didn’t want to retire and have me working for another year and a half. For some reason, she likes having me around. So, I gave in and agreed to retire earlier. Such a sacrifice.
I can’t wait!
I’m not one of those who identified with my job. I’ve liked many of the jobs I’ve worked over the years. Liked some of the people I worked with. Work was much more of a necessity than an identity. I’ve heard of many people being lost once they don’t work anymore. Not me! I have so much going on that the job interferes with that I can’t wait for that last day. Good Riddance, work! I’ve paid my dues—literally and figuratively.
Of course, now that that date has been determined, it can’t come soon enough. It’s like those times you’re driving home from somewhere and you have to pee. You’re holding it fine until you hit the driveway. It’s like your bladder knows you’re home and it insists on release NOW. It’s all you can think about. That’s when you trip as you get out of the car, you can’t find your keys and when you finally do, you drop them on the ground. Now, you’re at the door but the key won’t go into the lock. You’re clenching your teeth—as well as other body parts—just trying to hold on as you force the key into the slot. At last, it turns and the door opens. You drop everything and run. Ahhh. Relief. At last.
Yup. That’s what it feels like. I’m at the door of retirement and can’t get the key to go into the lock. All I can think about is being done with work. Now I just want relief.