Some people say that life begins at retirement. Retirees boast about how wonderful it is to be free of "the man", and working stiffs begin their retirement countdowns far in advance, receiving "years of service remaining" statements decades before their retirement date. I remember my roomate, one day, opening a piece of mail and exclaiming that she had 32 more years left to work. After eight hours a day, five days a week, 50 weeks a year (I'll make allowances for 2 weeks vacation) and thirty-some odd years of going to the same place, seeing the same people, I imagine what you do becomes a part of who you are. I wonder if maybe all of the hype about retirement is just a little over-rated; if giving up your working life is harder than it looks.
I've been thinking about this the past couple of days, because the man I've been working for is retiring very soon. In fact, yesterday was set to be his last day in the office - an office he built over a span of 30 years. It's not like he went into work every day to work for someone, to go through the motions. It was his office, his patients, and it defined who he was, in a very significant way.
When I first started working for Dr. X*, I was intimidated by him - he had such a big presence. Over time, as I became more comfortable there, I began to see what a dedicated provider he was. He wanted to show me everything about the field I was working in, which was so foreign to me. The first procedure I ever saw (which I now refer to as my "initiation") was a gory, bloody, stomach-turning surgery (I'm sure the girls from work will roll their eyes and say I am being quite dramatic here). Although I came very, very close to passing out, I appreciated my new boss's eagerness to teach me, to help me better understand the world in which now I was spending ten hours every day, to help me fit in.
Dr. X's wife has been retired for about ten years - so I don't really think anyone was that surprised when he announced last summer that he was "slowing down". The transition seemed to happen so fast though, and before any of us knew it, he was treating his last patient. During the morning meeting he thanked his staff for their dedication and support over the years. Later that morning, he came out to the reception area to say goodbye to patients as they left. They all thanked him and wished him well. Most of them hugged him. Some even got teary eyed. I began to think then, about how it would feel to leave such an influential and positive work life behind.
As Dr. X and I sat together and he explained some software stuff, I wondered how he was feeling.
"Are you sad today?" I asked. He seemed to think about it for a few seconds.
"No, not really," he answered, turning back to the computer.
I didn't press on, but thought he must have been feeling something, and just not wanting to get into it with a staff member he's known less than a year. Maybe he was stifling his feelings. Or maybe, just maybe, he isn't that sad to be starting a new life, turning a new page, spending time with his family, lingering over a newspaper and coffee on a random Tuesday morning. Maybe this retirement thing isn't so over-rated after all.
I have no idea what it would feel like to leave a job you've loved for 30 years, people who seem like family, and an office that feels like a second home, but whatever Dr. X may have been feeling on his last day, I thought maybe cupcakes would help.
Good luck and congratulations. Enjoy.
* Name has been changed to protect identity. Definitely wouldn't want to be dooced. (Look it up).
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