November 6 - The End of Gratitude (Stories for Now)
Wow! I slept about 10 hours last night! I’d like to say that today I feel like I’m on drugs – but given the topic of the day in the Big Smoke, I don’t think that would be wise.
Why the big sleep? The big exhaustion! I have been called back to my “old” counseling job for one day every two weeks at a post-secondary school. And the question I am asking myself is “How did I ever do this work two to four days a week?”
The answer is primarily that I was in a particular groove. You had your own office, your own caseload – many of whom you saw for a few weeks, so there was a certain comfort level there.
My current groove was a retirement one – not that I wouldn’t have preferred to have some paying work. And then – trad-da – the magic phone call. Woo hoo and Zzz zzz. After day one and day two I was absolutely knackered. It doesn’t help that I don’t sleep well if I know I have to get up to an alarm clock – I fear I’ll sleep in, so check the clock throughout the night. And having a new group of folks to meet and a new space to get used to – that takes extra energy.
But I think what has really turned me upside down is how much tougher it has become to be a student. The stats back me up that students are suffering more poverty, more mental illness, more culture shock, and more exasperation. There are many reasons for this and, as well as the toll this takes on the students, it’s no cakewalk for the caregivers either – and we aren’t even a crisis centre.
I am so fortunate that the two main front-line ladies are both kind and strong – very little throws them. I have some fabulous coworkers, and our “boss” is fantastic. As well as being smart and compassionate, she also works harder than anyone else in the office. I don’t know of many places where the staff are asking their boss to make sure she leaves on time – or close to it. Or where they shake their finger at the manager for getting there too early.
*****
Compared to the students and some of my co-workers, I’m a spoiled housecat. I have never worked more that part or three-quarters time; I’ve had the luxury (and I do consider it a luxury) to volunteer for causes that make my clock tick. My hubs and I have never had serious money issues (though we have been poor,) and we were never abused as young people.
I think my spouse must have found it funny that I wasn’t outrunning him on our after-supper walk. I was so tired. He said, “You don’t have to do this you know.” (Our mortgage is paid off and he has a full time job.) And I responded, “But I WANT to!” I was not ready to retire; I like having to be at a certain place at a certain time – AND getting paid for it; and this is a really good job – I’m so grateful.
But there is one other added benefit that has surprised me. Working gives me a place to tether my mild (by comparison) anxiety and sadness. I had always thought that when I retired, I would be smiling and dancing all the time. No stress! But in fact, it works differently for me. It seems that my “black dog” needs a place to call its own. And I’m not alone. The research on retirement shows that for most folks there is an initial euphoria, followed by a state of unwellness - unless a person latches on to something that demands their attention.
Hmm, what do I love? And how can I combine then in St. Catharines? Zumba at the Welland Canal Parkway Trail? And in Arizona? BodyPump at the local Methodist Church? Ah well, I’ve got 18 months to come up with a game plan.
Methinks that retirement, like old age, ain’t gonna be for sissies.
Why the big sleep? The big exhaustion! I have been called back to my “old” counseling job for one day every two weeks at a post-secondary school. And the question I am asking myself is “How did I ever do this work two to four days a week?”
The answer is primarily that I was in a particular groove. You had your own office, your own caseload – many of whom you saw for a few weeks, so there was a certain comfort level there.
My current groove was a retirement one – not that I wouldn’t have preferred to have some paying work. And then – trad-da – the magic phone call. Woo hoo and Zzz zzz. After day one and day two I was absolutely knackered. It doesn’t help that I don’t sleep well if I know I have to get up to an alarm clock – I fear I’ll sleep in, so check the clock throughout the night. And having a new group of folks to meet and a new space to get used to – that takes extra energy.
But I think what has really turned me upside down is how much tougher it has become to be a student. The stats back me up that students are suffering more poverty, more mental illness, more culture shock, and more exasperation. There are many reasons for this and, as well as the toll this takes on the students, it’s no cakewalk for the caregivers either – and we aren’t even a crisis centre.
I am so fortunate that the two main front-line ladies are both kind and strong – very little throws them. I have some fabulous coworkers, and our “boss” is fantastic. As well as being smart and compassionate, she also works harder than anyone else in the office. I don’t know of many places where the staff are asking their boss to make sure she leaves on time – or close to it. Or where they shake their finger at the manager for getting there too early.
*****
Compared to the students and some of my co-workers, I’m a spoiled housecat. I have never worked more that part or three-quarters time; I’ve had the luxury (and I do consider it a luxury) to volunteer for causes that make my clock tick. My hubs and I have never had serious money issues (though we have been poor,) and we were never abused as young people.
I think my spouse must have found it funny that I wasn’t outrunning him on our after-supper walk. I was so tired. He said, “You don’t have to do this you know.” (Our mortgage is paid off and he has a full time job.) And I responded, “But I WANT to!” I was not ready to retire; I like having to be at a certain place at a certain time – AND getting paid for it; and this is a really good job – I’m so grateful.
But there is one other added benefit that has surprised me. Working gives me a place to tether my mild (by comparison) anxiety and sadness. I had always thought that when I retired, I would be smiling and dancing all the time. No stress! But in fact, it works differently for me. It seems that my “black dog” needs a place to call its own. And I’m not alone. The research on retirement shows that for most folks there is an initial euphoria, followed by a state of unwellness - unless a person latches on to something that demands their attention.
Hmm, what do I love? And how can I combine then in St. Catharines? Zumba at the Welland Canal Parkway Trail? And in Arizona? BodyPump at the local Methodist Church? Ah well, I’ve got 18 months to come up with a game plan.
Methinks that retirement, like old age, ain’t gonna be for sissies.