When Tuesday and Saturday Become Interchangeable
When you no longer have to build your life around work, children, schedules, or obligations, how do you decide what deserves a day? And when Tuesday and Saturday become interchangeable, how do you decide which one to fill?
I write this on a Saturday, home alone while Michael is halfway through a two week motorcycle trip. My family have other obligations and plans for the three day Labor Day weekend. Many of my friends have traveled away. So here I am on my own, wandering around in my brain, thinking about the past and how it brought me here.
Abundance of Time
I spent much of adulthood trying to make enough room for life. Now I keep believing my real life will begin again tomorrow. But why tomorrow? Why not now? What keeps me pushing the beginning off one more day? Travel has given me adventure. Writing has given me purpose. Family gives me both joy and pain. Michael gives the whole thing its center. Faith gives me a measure larger than productivity. Yet ordinary time still seems to challenge me.
It is strange to have Tuesday and Saturday become almost interchangeable. I admit that an abundance of time can create its own kind of waste. I think about the things I keep saying I want more of: cooking, watercolor, home, friendship, faith, writing, beauty, time with Michael. All good things. So why do they sometimes get pushed aside by whatever lands nearest?
A Good Saturday
Tonight I can look back and say it has been a good day. I had lunch and good conversation with a friend. We see each other often, but we do not always have the opportunity for a real catchup. The conversation ended with goodbyes as she headed to the airport for a trip. I had a long call with Michael and caught up on his adventures from the past few days. Apparently, rain in the Northeast and some major decisions about the rest of the trip have both been frustrating. He loves touring the country on his motorcycle with his friend Garry, so I told him I would pray for better circumstances.
I spent the afternoon resetting the house for fall and working on art projects. I went outside before dinner and watered plants, filled the fountains, and moved some pots. The sun is already moving far enough south to change how much daylight some of them receive. Overall, it has been a good day.
In my life before retirement, before the family left and found their own way, I would have dreamed of a day like this. There was no constant, “I should be doing…” I simply did the things in front of me and moved to the next without thinking much about it. Shouldn’t it be that way every day? Is this the new life I keep thinking will start tomorrow? The one I am already living today?
Tomorrow
I think there is a real difference between decisions and drift. A good day does not always have to produce something. If I choose not to weed the flower beds and instead walk through them, touch the petals, and smell the fragrance that becomes so noticeable on a warm sunny day, will I suddenly need to hire a yard service to control the weeds? Probably not. If the dishes sit on the counter because I finish a book that held my attention for several hours, will the health department shut down my kitchen? Also unlikely. Those decisions do not mean I am drifting. I still notice the weeds and the dishes. I will take care of both. Tomorrow.
The weather has that particular coolness tonight that says the season is changing and fall is not far away. I grew up on a farm and then worked in agriculture for the first half of my adult life. This time of year was always a season of anticipation. Equipment was prepared for harvest. Soybeans were tested for moisture. Corn was watched closely. Timing mattered. If harvest came too early or too late, yield could drop, and profit with it. Even knowing that, the waiting still carried excitement. It was almost celebratory. The work of most of the year was reaching its conclusion. Good or bad, the results would soon be known. Tomorrow.
Protecting My Days in Retirement
Maybe believing life will begin tomorrow is partly learned. Or maybe that is simply me wandering around in my own brain again, looking for an explanation for how the past brought me here. Tuesday and Saturday are both life being lived. Still, it feels different now, during a phase when time seems to move faster than it once did.
I can fall into believing a day should produce something, accomplish something, or become memorable before I can call it worthwhile. Perhaps that is the habit I need to question. A day can start to feel wasted when I move through it without intention. Or maybe unearned is the better word. When Tuesday and Saturday become interchangeable, appreciating each day for what it actually brought may be enough. If I do not look at my days that way, almost anything can begin to feel lost.
Filling My Days in Retirement
It is very possible that I am already living the life I thought would begin tomorrow. Retrospection brings far more questions than answers. During the past year, I have tried to spend less time dissecting every day and more time simply being inside it.
I spent much of adulthood trying to make enough room for life. Now I have the room. The question is what I will put in it.
