A good friend surprised me yesterday by announcing he would be retiring soon. Since it was a surprise, I couldn’t resist probing why. His answer was “I have things I want to do.” I felt reassured that he was on a good track because he was focused on the beginning.
I’m a self-proclaimed expert on the subject of retirement, having “retired” quite a few times. The word itself has an interesting etymology, tracing back to Middle French and Latin, meaning “to draw back” or “to withdraw.”
When I retired from practicing and teaching real estate, I remember well the moment I inactivated my broker’s license. When I clicked the submit button, not much happened. The heavens didn’t open. There was no clap of thunder or bolt of lightning. I’d made a simple life change — an end and a beginning.
On that same day, I left for Bangor. I stopped at the mailbox to pick up a big envelope of thank-you notes from some third-graders I’d recently spent time with. They weren’t interested in real estate. I also stopped to visit with a 94-year-old fellow in hospice. We didn’t discuss real estate. We had a great visit, and I enjoyed his smile.
As the day progressed, I seemed to have one positive experience after another. I had some canning jars to drop off at my Amish friend’s farm stand. It was another happy visit. I usually bring books for her sons, and their enthusiasm for them is both rewarding and encouraging. We don’t discuss real estate.
I know that our “worldview” tends to influence what we see and how we interpret it, but I had to admit that a lot of good stuff seemed to be coming my way on this both eventful and uneventful day. We can attribute it to Karma, fate, or the planets being aligned, but my last stop on the way home was the grocery store for a gallon of milk. When the fellow ahead of me was given his amount due, he jerked a thumb my way and said, “I want to pay for his milk.”
A day that started with an ending included lots of new beginnings. Or maybe just one. I was seeing the world a little differently. My good friend and colleague, Jack Falvey, kept telling me to stop using the word “retirement.” Jack’s wisdom was that I was actually repotting and would be growing in a different place.
I saw Jack’s truth at the mailbox, in a hospice facility, on an Amish farm, and in the local grocery store.
I may no longer be an official real estate broker, but new beginnings are more important than endings. We have a lot of control over how we see ourselves and the world. I’m just going to thrive, grow, laugh, and enjoy in different places. I didn’t retire. I repotted. I’ll bet I do it again.