What about me? What about you?

I write this blog to answer questions no one asks me. My post-retirement life is filled with introverts. Believe me, they are NOT asking me questions.  

Still, for some reason I'm drawn to introverts. They are beautifully self-contained, have clear boundaries, and are super damn interesting. Yes, I've written about this before, but I want to revisit this subject. I have more to say. 

Introverts know I would gleefully upset the applecart. I would. And I'm not a linear thinker. I jump around. Naturally, introverts are wary around me. More to the point, they don't trust me. Most of the time that's okay. I have enough trust for all of us. But sometimes, I get lonely.

In my wide-ranging birth family extraverts dominate, although we have a few introverts. When we get together, which is increasingly rare, there is non-stop laughter and teasing. Personal questions are asked! The introverts gravitate towards the other room to recharge their emotional batteries, or position themselves in places where they are far enough away to watch us at a safe distance. Us extraverts sit together in the kitchen, savoring the chaos and each other. 

I wonder if the introverts in my birth family feel lonely, misunderstood, and/or judged amidst our chaos? Because that's how I can sometimes feel amidst their order. It's confusing. How do we accommodate such different world views and personality types? How do we make everyone feel like they belong and are respected? I'm asking you this question.  

Not to change the subject (!). I could use a good laugh. I want a long, loud belly laugh from that measureless soul place, unfathomably bold and deep. I'd like to laugh so hard the terror of existence is scared away. Runs like Hell. Hides in the corner, cowering with fear. Let's consider laughter as an existential weapon. Gimme some a' that!

Damn this pandemic.  

It's Raining!

After a long, long drought it finally rained yesterday. We were gone this past weekend. We were exhausted when we returned, so we were thrilled not to have to go out in the steaming heat and water our flowers and vegetables. They are well nourished now. After a busy weekend of visiting with old friends, I am well nourished, too. 

When it rains in Florida it REALLY rains. T had to go out about 9:00 p.m. and drain some of the water out of the pool because we were afraid it was going to overflow. This morning it is overcast and the ground is soggy. I imagine it might rain all day.

Affinity as a euphemism for belonging

A friend sent me the following poem. She knows I miss the trees that grew on our land when we lived in Upstate NY. 

The Mangroves
by Mary Oliver

As I said before, I am living now

in a warm place, surrounded by

mangroves.  Mostly I walk beside

them, they discourage entrance.

The black oaks and the pines

of my northern home are in my heart,

even as I hear them whisper, “Listen,

we are trees too.”  Okay, I’m trying.  They

certainly put on an endless performance

of leaves.  Admiring is easy, but affinity,

that does take some time.  So many

and so leggy and all of them rising as if

attempting to escape this world which, don’t

they know it, can’t be done.  “Are you

trying to fly or what?”  I ask, and they

answer back, “We are what we are, you

are what you are, love us if you can.”

I think about trees a lot.  I am thinking increasingly more about Central Florida trees.  I love the big shade trees that provide the forest canopy:  American Sycamores, Live Oaks, Laurel Oaks, Cabbage Palms, Southern Magnolias, Bald Cypress, and whatever the hell kind of pine trees those are.  There are many more. Unfortunately, I do not know what most of these native trees are called and it is frustrating to not know their names. 

I also think about the understory in natural areas; the smaller trees, palms, and shrubs that grow below the canopy trees providing the deep, dark, wild feeling to the woods.  Without the understory there would be no snakes, no lizards, no fairies!  Anyway, I especially want to thank who or whatever is in charge of creation for Saw Palmetto, Beautyberry, and Firebush.  Nice job!

We live near a really nice, long bike trail.  My husband, T, and I both have Electra Townie bikes.  I have heard them referred to as city bikes, or cruisers.  You can sit up fairly straight as you ride.  They are oldster bikes, and we love them. Mine has black and tan Hawaiian print plastic fenders.  I also have brown leather hand grips and seat, and a black mesh market basket for the front.  The basket comes off easily when we go to the Farmer's Market.  My bike is très chic! 


The younger bikers speed past me on the left, hunched over on their sleek, fast bikes with uncomfortable seats.  They are going places, I can see that.  I am simply meandering along with the trail. 

At what point did I go from being a dynamic youngster to a daydreaming oldster?  I don't remember.  Age snuck up on me.  However, by the time I noticed, I was ready to slow down.  So far I am reasonably happy with aging, except for this unfortunate thing that has become my neck.  I am definitely happy with retirement.  I do not miss being in a hurry.  I enjoy having time to think.  As long as we both stay healthy and active it is a pretty good gig.

Occasionally someone on a fast bike will yell "nice bike!" as they whizz by.  I have to confess; sometimes I wonder if they are laughing at me.  That's OK, sometimes I laugh at what they look like in their biking costumes.  Nevertheless, I admire their energy.  I hope they get wherever they are going on time and I send loving and encouraging thoughts their way 'cause, you know, they are the future and all that.  I prefer to believe they are happy to see older people still active on the bike trail.  If they are lucky, someday it could be them on the trail riding an Electra Townie with Hawaiian print fenders.  Maybe they are lusting after my bike!  Yeah, that's probably it.  Bikers, for the most part, seem like a pretty decent bunch.

On our morning bike rides we go through beautiful natural areas that are being bulldozed and razed for new housing developments.  There are more and more of them.  It scares me.  I fear someday there will no longer be a canopy or an understory surrounding any part of the trail.  The large, old trees are the first to come down.  They once shaded the trail. Now more and more of the trail is open to the blazing sun because of the developers' lack of vision.  It is hotter than hell down here, we NEED some shade.  I do not understand people who only care about making a profit.

I guess a developer can make more money if s/he eliminates all the mature trees on the site.  That way they can lay out the ever bigger houses closer and closer together, without regard for trees or tree roots, which are just an obstacle to development if you think about it... 

The newer subdivisions have huge houses that are unbelievably close together with virtually no back yard.  There is no way they can have pools, or trampolines, or swing sets out back.  There is no room.  Oh Gee, now I am filled with anxiety about the future of humanity.  I need to take a pill, and quick.

When you have a very tiny yard you cannot plant large shade trees to replace the ones that were destroyed when the house was built. Not only is there not enough space for them to grow, it would take 20 - 30 years for them to reach a decent size.  Instead, the developers "landscape" by sticking in spindly palms here and there.  I like palms but a single palm tree provides virtually no shade and anyway, most people trim them to look like trees that belong in a Dr. Seuss landscape.  I would laugh if it didn't make me want to cry.  It cannot be good for a palm tree to be over-manicured like that.  They are trees, too.

If only it WAS mangroves I was seeing when I walked outside my house in this damn Central Florida subdivision! Mangroves are seriously interesting trees. Why couldn't our daughter, M, and her family have moved to the Florida Keys so we could have followed them there to be near the grandkids?  I could have passed as normal in the Conch Republic.  Plus, I always figured retirement would be my last chance to be an outlaw.  Yet another dream deferred.

Just Plain Mean

When I was a little girl I liked to hide just out of sight on the breezeway steps so I could hear my mother and Bernie (the next door neighbor who also happened to be my adored and adoring godmother) gossip at the kitchen table.  They had a coffee klatch every morning while the men were at work, and I loved to hear those women talk.  I learned a lot that way. Most of what I learned while surreptitiously listening to The Women was about human nature, about people and what motivated their actions.  It was fascinating and my interest in analyzing people's motives and desires has never waned. 

I am fairly certain Mom never realized I was there, listening.  She probably never knew what a treasure trove of illicit information she was for me.  Talk about a liberal education in the humanities!  Those two women were pretty insightful.  Not only did they do a close reading of most people, they deconstructed them to the bare bone.  I think that is one of the reasons I did not want to go to kindergarten.  Good stuff was happening at home in the kitchen.  That and I did not want to miss watching Captain Kangaroo.  I loved Bunny Rabbit. Not as much as Mighty Mouse, but almost.

One thing I suspected back then, and have since learned to be true, is that some people are just plain mean.

If you do not believe me, move someplace new or start a different job where you do not know anyone and they do not know you.  The Big Meanies will step up to bat and reveal themselves to be players, quick as shit.

I am beginning to understand meanness.  I think it is a strategy insecure people use to maintain the status quo and to ensure that others will not be mean to them.  Big Meanies are cruel to newcomers as a means to establish their authority and mark their territory.  We really are just base human animals when we do not take the time to think or feel. 

Newcomers suffer accordingly; eventually the Big Meanies throw them a bone of kindness to test the waters and see if they will bite.  By then the newcomers are so traumatized by isolation and loneliness they will do anything to make the BM like them, including agreeing with everything the aggressive BM says or does for the rest of their natural born lives. Ick. It is all so disturbingly stupid.  I am determined to forgive people when they hurt me, because I know they often cannot help themselves.  However, I would have to be an idiot to then want to be around someone like that, or to forget what they are capable of.  Cruelty is a social game I prefer not to play.

Try not to take it personal if it happens to you.  It is almost always about them (the BM), and rarely about you.  You could be anyone and the mean person would respond in the same exact way.  They do not realize their insecurities are showing.  BMs mistake meanness of spirit for strength.  And they want to feel strong.  We all want to feel strong, and it is much easier to be mean than to be kind.  It just is.

I hate to say it... but exposing yourself to a Big Meanie from time to time might just be good for what my Father used to refer to as "your immortal soul."  Allowing yourself to be vulnerable is brave.  Only when you are vulnerable will you notice the scarcity of good intentions that exist in this old world.  This is information you need to know and can definitely use!  Understanding meanness just might tip the scales as to whether you become a Big Meanie yourself or not.  We all have that meanness in us.  I try to control mine each and every day.  Mean is one of those things you have to actually try hard not to be.  Making that noble effort is part of our humanity.  When we think and feel and empathize, we become more fully human.

You really notice meanness when you become a stranger.  Middle class culture did not invent the Welcome Wagon to make newcomers feel welcome, they invented it as a marketing tool to get newbies to spend their money at local businesses and to introduce them to local norms.  If your neighbor brings you a cake as a "welcome to the neighborhood present" for no other reason than s/he wants to make you feel welcome, then by all means glom on to her/him.  S/he is a kind person - a rare find.

What I really hate are cliques.  I hated them a million years ago when I was in high school and I hate them now.  Is there anything more distasteful than adults  circling the wagons for no better reason than to exclude others so as to maintain the status quo? 

I guess I understand how cliques happen and why they exist.  Belonging to one is the easy way out.  We work hard to build relationships with people who are like us, who share our values.  I am not saying values are good or bad, I am just saying all too often what is most important in cliques is that the values are shared.

I know, I know, it feels good when everyone is just like you. But a personality can molder if life is too straight and narrow. All too often "easy" just turns out to mean dumb, and "safe" turns out to mean lazy.  Most of us will not put in the effort required to think about an issue unless we are challenged.

So why am I bringing this up?  Someone was mean to me, and it got me thinking.  See what I mean?

When You're a Stranger

It has been a year and a half since I retired and a full year since we sold our house and moved to Central Florida.  T and I gave up many things during this time period.  We gave up our jobs, our friends, our gardens, Wegmans (!) and more.

The people in my NYS life knew me and what I was capable of.  I was respected, appreciated, sometimes disliked, occasionally loved.  I was someone specific and unique. I was not a stranger.

In considering retirement it is important to know giving up your job means giving up your identity.  Be forewarned so you can be prepared.  For our entire adult lives we define ourselves by the titles we hold and the work we perform.  Like many retirees, not only did T and I retire but we moved to a strange, far away place where no one knew us, where there was no external memory of who we had once been.

It is true that we live close to family now. That was the purpose of the move and the biggest joy of my post-retirement life.  Living near family provides roles to perform rather than a personal identity.  Our daughter and her family have a vague idea of who we are and the work we once did, vague being the key word.  We are their parents, in-laws, grandparents.  I love having those roles.  They suit me well. 

We are also a husband and a wife.  So yes, we still have a variety of roles to fill, and they are satisfying and enjoyable roles.  However, I have yet to redefine myself for myself.  I once knew how to do that.  I am not quite sure how to do that in retirement, but I trust it will happen over time. The fun comes in wondering who I will end up being.

What I learned from experiencing change is this: if you keep going eventually life settles in and evens out. I trust in that notion because in spite of some initial discomfort, I have always acclimated to the cultural norms in each new situations.  In the course of those struggles I developed new ideas and learned to adapt and become flexible in my views of what normal might be. Those were valuable real-life lessons.  In spite of the underlying sadness and very real loss brought on by each change, I learned to trust my abilities to rise to the occasion. But in my work years, I did not have to be particularly pro-active.  Life came to ME.  You take a new job and stimulating challenges happen all around you.  The outer world takes charge of you.

The difference in retirement is that there are no ready made communities provided by the job you are taking on.  Sure, there are institutions I could join and places I could go to build a community, I just have not wanted to "go there" yet.  For now I savor the freedom of being an outsider, of being a stranger.  In theory, I guess it seems too much like work to join or belong to an institution. In practice, it would take some effort on my part.  For now, a day that I have something I must do still seems like a day that is lost to me. I guess the identity one cultivates in the post-retirement years is more personal and private.  As we age, it makes sense that we exert more energy exploring our inner life rather than our outer life?  There are fewer distractions.  That's a thought.