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Abstract

nd love such a journey would entail but found that by embracing it, I grew into it.Sometimes God throws something our way that we are unprepared for. Then, by digging deep and tackling it anyway, we discover inner reserves that would have remained untapped. We grow and are glad we didn’t miss out on the tenderness and insight and wisdom discovered through life’s curveballs.After my mother died, my husband and I plunged headlong into a whirlwind of activity that has not subsided.My son-in-law’s mother died of Covid, and we house sat so that he and my daughter could attend the out-of-state funeral. They have five children and live on a farm, so I gathered our meals from their land; ripening vegetables plucked from the garden, butter and cheese churned and prepared from fresh cow’s milk; eggs gathered from dozens of free-range chickens.My daughter was worried the eggs would mount up, unused, but one night for dinner I cracked a dozen eggs and made a vegetable and cheese frittata from the stuff they had in the garden and fridge.I woke in the morning to the sound of roosters crowing. A soft mist rose from the hills, then vanished in the wake of a hot sun rising high above the fields. Later that afternoon, storm clouds rumbled in from the west, bringing torrents of rain and a fierce, tree-bending wind. We watched, mesmerized, as forks of lightning stabbed the fields.The electricity blinked off, and I discovered that my grandchildren knew what to do. You don’t try to shower, because the well pump, run by electricity, has been knocked out, too. You scramble to hook up the generator because the freezer contains the winter food supply, and you don’t know how long the outage will last.Luckily, it didn’t last as long as their last outage. Within a couple of hours, we were back in business. The pump was humming, barn fans whirring, and lights on again.<h1 id="79d5">Another Family, Another Need</h1>When we left my daughter’s house, I discovered my son and his family had caught the Delta variant. Both the vaccinated and unvaccinated among them suffered, too ill to move, quarantined and isolated.“My body is in so much pain, it hurts to move,” my son moaned. My daughter-in-law was worried about the little ones. She said they weren’t doing well, and that was the last I heard. She became too sick to answer my texts.My son called 12 doctors, and they all told him, “We can’t do anything for Covid. Recover at home or go to the hospital.”Unable to sleep, I prayed in the early morning hours for their recovery and dropped off medicine and groceries at their door. I phoned every day until my son said those wonderfu

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l words, “I think we’ve turned the corner.”This virus is nothing to mess with.Then, relieved that they were in the clear, my husband and I were off to Minnesota. My other son and his wife had asked if we could help them move into their new house.My 71-year-old husband’s furniture moving skills are impressive. He had enough strength and stamina to work for two days straight, loading and unloading furniture, while my daughter-in-law and I unpacked boxes and watched children.I was glad we could help, and they appreciated it, but my most rewarding moment was when the six-year-old flung himself into my arms, shouting, “Grandma Baby!” That’s what he calls me.<h1 id="cb5f">One Chapter Closes, Another Opens</h1>So you see how life and retirement have unfolded for us. We are back home now, and I realize it has been six weeks since my mother died. I couldn’t have done these things for my kids if she were still alive, because I would have been consumed with her care.When one chapter closes, the universe has something else for you to do.Some people would not want their retirement to involve caring for family members, and that’s okay. There is also golf, travel, gardening, bridge games, or entrepreneurial pursuits. My husband and I want to catch up on the hiking and kayaking we missed while my mother was with us, and we’d like to travel when the pandemic subsides.The point is, there are always things to do, whether we pursue them or they come tumbling our way.As for discovering our purpose? My husband might still be looking for his, but I am finding mine in the day-to-day demands and adventures that mark this stage of my journey.Sometimes the freedom I longed for in retirement is curtailed by the needs of others. But when I am finally alone again, my time is that much sweeter. Purpose and leisure are balanced and intertwined. Far from curtailing my freedom, the demands and duties of love have made me savor and appreciate my free time that much more.Don’t be afraid of feeling useless when you retire. There is more for you to do. You can chase it or go with the flow, but either way, your purpose will arrive. Learn to recognize and embrace it.<a href="undefined">Bebe Nicholson</a> has worked as a newspaper editor, publisher, flight attendant, thrift shop manager, nonprofit director, wife, and mother. Retirement for her means moving to a new stage of the journey. Currently, she tells stories to 12 grandchildren, writes for Medium, NewsBreak, and is working on 3 ebooks. She loves kayaking, hiking, and most anything else outdoors.</article></body>

We Don’t Have to Feel Useless WhenWe Retire

Two ways to discover your purpose in life

The biggest difference between my husband’s attitude towards retirement and mine is that I have loved not going to work and he has worried about not having enough to do. He wants a purpose, and I feel I am living mine.

As soon as I quit my job, I took a beach trip, walked several miles a day, read more, wrote more, and relished slowly sipping coffee without having to go somewhere.

He, on the other hand, built a deck, signed up to teach GED classes, became part of tornado disaster relief team, studied Chinese, lost 50 pounds, wrote letters to Senators and Representatives, joined a tennis team, and started planning trips that never came to fruition because of Covid.

Even with all that activity, he was unsure of his purpose. Was he contributing enough, doing enough, using his talents to the best of his ability?

I felt like my purpose would unfold gradually, like the unfurling petals of a flower. My only job was to recognize and embrace it.

He felt like his purpose would be found in moving toward some goal or achievement.

It turns out, my husband and I were both right. By plunging into several things, he has seen what is fulfilling and what isn’t. His frantic pursuit of activity has slowed to a more reasonable, yet still productive, pace.

But things have come my way through waiting; things I attribute to God’s perfect timing. When we remain open to the nudges of the universe, we discover purpose in the day-to-day activities that are strewn along our path.

My writing emerged as a purpose, resurfacing through smothering layers of failure. Only instead of being crushed by rejection, as I had been in the past, the intervening decades taught me that failure is as temporary as success. Neither one of them matters as much as we think they do. They are all part of the same picture.

The Purposes We Aren’t Prepared for

My family also emerged as a purpose. My mother came to live with us, and through her steady decline, a new purpose bloomed in the unprepared and insufficient soil of my soul. I was not well-versed in the tenderness, compassion, and love such a journey would entail but found that by embracing it, I grew into it.

Sometimes God throws something our way that we are unprepared for. Then, by digging deep and tackling it anyway, we discover inner reserves that would have remained untapped. We grow and are glad we didn’t miss out on the tenderness and insight and wisdom discovered through life’s curveballs.

After my mother died, my husband and I plunged headlong into a whirlwind of activity that has not subsided.

My son-in-law’s mother died of Covid, and we house sat so that he and my daughter could attend the out-of-state funeral. They have five children and live on a farm, so I gathered our meals from their land; ripening vegetables plucked from the garden, butter and cheese churned and prepared from fresh cow’s milk; eggs gathered from dozens of free-range chickens.

My daughter was worried the eggs would mount up, unused, but one night for dinner I cracked a dozen eggs and made a vegetable and cheese frittata from the stuff they had in the garden and fridge.

I woke in the morning to the sound of roosters crowing. A soft mist rose from the hills, then vanished in the wake of a hot sun rising high above the fields. Later that afternoon, storm clouds rumbled in from the west, bringing torrents of rain and a fierce, tree-bending wind. We watched, mesmerized, as forks of lightning stabbed the fields.

The electricity blinked off, and I discovered that my grandchildren knew what to do. You don’t try to shower, because the well pump, run by electricity, has been knocked out, too. You scramble to hook up the generator because the freezer contains the winter food supply, and you don’t know how long the outage will last.

Luckily, it didn’t last as long as their last outage. Within a couple of hours, we were back in business. The pump was humming, barn fans whirring, and lights on again.

Another Family, Another Need

When we left my daughter’s house, I discovered my son and his family had caught the Delta variant. Both the vaccinated and unvaccinated among them suffered, too ill to move, quarantined and isolated.

“My body is in so much pain, it hurts to move,” my son moaned. My daughter-in-law was worried about the little ones. She said they weren’t doing well, and that was the last I heard. She became too sick to answer my texts.

My son called 12 doctors, and they all told him, “We can’t do anything for Covid. Recover at home or go to the hospital.”

Unable to sleep, I prayed in the early morning hours for their recovery and dropped off medicine and groceries at their door. I phoned every day until my son said those wonderful words, “I think we’ve turned the corner.”

This virus is nothing to mess with.

Then, relieved that they were in the clear, my husband and I were off to Minnesota. My other son and his wife had asked if we could help them move into their new house.

My 71-year-old husband’s furniture moving skills are impressive. He had enough strength and stamina to work for two days straight, loading and unloading furniture, while my daughter-in-law and I unpacked boxes and watched children.

I was glad we could help, and they appreciated it, but my most rewarding moment was when the six-year-old flung himself into my arms, shouting, “Grandma Baby!” That’s what he calls me.

One Chapter Closes, Another Opens

So you see how life and retirement have unfolded for us. We are back home now, and I realize it has been six weeks since my mother died. I couldn’t have done these things for my kids if she were still alive, because I would have been consumed with her care.

When one chapter closes, the universe has something else for you to do.

Some people would not want their retirement to involve caring for family members, and that’s okay. There is also golf, travel, gardening, bridge games, or entrepreneurial pursuits. My husband and I want to catch up on the hiking and kayaking we missed while my mother was with us, and we’d like to travel when the pandemic subsides.

The point is, there are always things to do, whether we pursue them or they come tumbling our way.

As for discovering our purpose? My husband might still be looking for his, but I am finding mine in the day-to-day demands and adventures that mark this stage of my journey.

Sometimes the freedom I longed for in retirement is curtailed by the needs of others. But when I am finally alone again, my time is that much sweeter. Purpose and leisure are balanced and intertwined. Far from curtailing my freedom, the demands and duties of love have made me savor and appreciate my free time that much more.

Don’t be afraid of feeling useless when you retire. There is more for you to do. You can chase it or go with the flow, but either way, your purpose will arrive. Learn to recognize and embrace it.

Bebe Nicholson has worked as a newspaper editor, publisher, flight attendant, thrift shop manager, nonprofit director, wife, and mother. Retirement for her means moving to a new stage of the journey. Currently, she tells stories to 12 grandchildren, writes for Medium, NewsBreak, and is working on 3 ebooks. She loves kayaking, hiking, and most anything else outdoors.