Un-Skilled

    

         I think I’ve hit the sweet spot of life. I’m retired, I’m still ambulatory and as far I can tell, I still have the majority of my mental faculties.
This stage of life has that feeling of finishing that last exam in your last semester of college. Only this is a different kind of freedom, one with less moving forward and more letting go, not always a bad thing.

          For instance, the other day I realized that over the course of my lifetime I’ve acquired any number of skills I’ll no longer need. Some left me long ago, like the forearm that rivaled Popeye’s when I scooped ice cream all night at Friendly’s. Or the ability to carry a 20 pound child with my left arm while simultaneously bringing in groceries, unpacking them, and starting dinner. 

          Now, amazingly,  I can do One. Thing. At. A. Time. and longer need to use the level of uber multi-tasking I first honed as a mother and then brought with me to the classroom. I might have been presenting the background for Macbeth while at the same time signing a pass for the student leaving early, giving the texter in the third row the evil eye, and deciding when to intervene between the two football players horsing around in the back of the room. After I began teaching, I developed real respect for that man on the Ed Sullivan Show who kept all those plates in the air.

          Before teaching, I oversaw a public access television studio. As much as I enjoyed that job, when I left I was happy I no longer had to swallow my fear of heights and climb that huge studio ladder to position lights weighing the equivalent of a suitcase packed for two week trip. Those were also the days of television cameras with tubes; a three-camera production would require that all three be engineered to provide a seamless transition from one shot to another.  English majors aren’t usually noted for their technical skills, and I had learned j u s t enough to get by. It was a relief to hand over my tiny tweeking screwdriver to my replacement and know I’d never have to display that kind of counterfeit confidence again.

          I think most retirees will agree it was difficult to leave our working world identities behind, but taking off those hats we used to wear from 9 to 5 can also mean we can now concentrate on simply being who we are. We may discover we’re even more interesting than we ever were before.