SO, AM I LIVING THE DREAM?

Uncork the champagne and get ready to celebrate!  Today marks the first anniversary of my retirement.  How’s it going?  Well, some of my plans came to fruition and some of them fizzled.  Overall, my job-free life has been full of surprises.  And the inner me has turned out to be someone I didn’t know quite as well as I thought I did.

Early on, I discovered that my authentic self cannot sleep in past 7:30.  Some days, she bypasses the shower and “goes commando.”  Her house and car are no cleaner than they ever were.  She eats out more than in, and has a fondness for hole-in-the-wall ethnic joints and food trucks.  She pledges allegiance to yoga, but has yet to sign up for a class.  The same is true of remedial obedience training for the dogs.  She wastes countless hours scrolling through FaceBook.  She put aside her disdain for TV and blew through seven seasons of The Mentalist in just seven weeks.  She dreamed of a blissful year of cross-country RV travel, but made it only as far as Chicago and Kelley’s Island before clicking the heels of her ruby slippers three times and hightailing it back to base homesick, exhausted, and ready to call it quits.

On the positive side, she has embraced regular meditation and prayer.  She lives in the moment and glories in simple pleasures, like watching the cream slowly diffuse into her morning coffee and sliding into bed between crisp, line-dried sheets.  She walks everywhere—for exercise, with her dogs, and on errands to the market, library, and post office.  She reads the paper, keeps up with the news.  Best of all, she writes.  She jumps at the chance to take classes and attend writing workshops.  She journals.  She composes poetry and short stories for her blog.  She hops out of bed and jots down words and ideas that bubble to the surface in the wee hours.  She submits to literary magazines and gets published. The biggest surprise was this card-carrying introvert’s eventual ease in reading before an audience, which began with an acute case of nerves at a local coffeehouse:

FIRST OPEN MIKE

When I go on stage, I tell myself,
Slow down, honey, slow down.
My stomach folds in on itself,
Slow down, honey, slow down.
The room is dim, the spotlight bright,
A sea of faces waits, polite,
My head feels dizzy, my throat is tight–
Slow down, honey, slow down.

My heart is beatin’ double-time,
Slow down, honey, slow down.
I wish I’d picked a poem that rhymed,
Slow down, honey, slow down.
That cup o’ joe was a stupid plan,
I have palpitations and shakin’ hands,
And now I gotta use the can–
Slow down, honey, slow down.

I strive to moderate my pace,
Slow down, honey, slow down.
If I raise my eyes, I lose my place,
Slow down, honey, slow down.
I hear my voice miked way too loud
It booms above the gathered crowd,
Still, I did it!  And I feel so proud–
Don’t slow down, honey, don’t slow down.

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