My Husband Retired Today
Now, what?

I’ve been dreading this day. And I feel like an asshole for admitting it. But, as someone who constantly worries about the “future,” I don’t handle significant life changes like this, all that well.
He has every right to retire. He turned 70 in March and has paid his proverbial dues. He handled an extremely stressful gig for over twenty years, so I don’t blame him for wanting out. But, we need to address the fact that we’re losing income.
Income used to help pay the mortgage and utilities and food and all the stuff everyone else has to shell out their hard-earned dough for.
As for me, I was canned from my long-time gig in February of 2018. All it took was a phone call and BOOM! A six-figure salary was kaput in a heartbeat.
The Universe knows that I’ve tried my best to recover. I’ve applied to every job posting imaginable that I felt would be a “good fit.” Even some that weren’t, because you never know. If nothing else, I figured I could get by on my charm.
Yes, I can be charming, so don’t sneer.
I didn’t care whether a position was senior-level, or not. I merely wanted to bring some money into the household.
But, no one would give me a shot because I’m too damned old for corporate America to stomach. After months and months of getting nowhere, I ultimately gave up. I’d had enough of being ghosted by recruiters and filling out applications that were so convoluted, I didn’t understand WTF the job even was.
However, I wasn’t overly concerned as my husband was still working. And yes, if truth be told, I felt guilty, as I knew he was at the point where he hated what he did. And we know what that does to a person.
Also, I still had a manager in L.A. who was working on making a sale for me. You probably already know how that’s going as I’ve been very vocal about it in previous stories.
And then, I landed here. Enough said about that because this is not an “income.” Ev William doesn’t owe me that. But I and so many other writers here deserve…yes, deserve…a hell of a lot more than what we’re currently earning.
I’ve tried to figure out what the top earners are doing that I’m somehow missing. It keeps me up some nights. I think of all the stories I’ve written and the hard truths I’ve revealed and I just don’t get it.
You know how that feels, don’t you?
But this isn’t about Medium. A couple of years ago, my husband took a salary cut for a reduced role at his position of Senior Editor at a publishing company specializing in the manufacturing industry. It is…was…a very stressful gig with constant deadlines and feature stories to write along with editing highly technical stories from overseas.
Yeah, he took a cut, but his responsibilities were hardly “reduced.”
When chronic insomnia began to affect my husband both physically and mentally, the job became that much harder and the stress, greater.
We had discussed his retiring, but I was always too selfish to actually say, “Do it! Do it now!”
But, I finally realized that if something was to happen to him because I played the victim card, I could never live with myself.
At 68 and 70, which I and my husband are respectively, we shouldn’t have to worry about the “stuff” that made us crazy in our 40s and 50s.
I’m not saying that we should live like those insufferable couples in a Schwab commercial, planning our vacation home on a lake somewhere, but, we should feel at ease, you know?
And maybe I’m making too much of this. We have savings and Social Security, which we deserve as we’ve paid into it all our lives. (Don’t you love how they tax that shit, too?)
I mean, we’re not destitute. I have my pittance here and on News Break, but, as. you all know that is a day-to-day endeavor.
My husband was able to work from home seven days a week, so our being in the same house together all damned day, won’t be as big a challenge for us, as it would be for other couples, but still, I worry and wonder, “What is he going to do?”
What are we doing to do?
I may hop back on the job-hunt-wagon as I haven’t been sufficiently humiliated by dimwits whose every remark ends in a question.
“Hi, I’m Brandy from Creative Circle?”
“Are you asking me who you are, or telling me?”
Yeah. That kind of dimwit.
For good or bad, my days with recruiters like that are over. I’ve publicly skewered them too many times for one to give me a shot.
Fuck ‘em.
That’s better, right? That sounds more like me than the whiner who initiated this story, don’t you think?
What I need to do is forget my feelings, for now, pull up my big girl pants, and let my husband know that he did the right thing. I’ll make a good dinner, crack open a bottle of wine and try to let it all go.
Because I don’t want to ruin his day, the day my husband has been longing for, I need to stop thinking about the future and concentrate on the “here and now.” At least, for tonight.
Wish me luck.
© Sherry McGuinn, 2021. All Rights Reserved.
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s soon-to-be-ex-manager is currently NOT pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
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