Retirement: The Next Phase

A former patient called me the other day to get a referral to a California therapist to help him through a crisis. And he asked how I was doing in retirement and with Arizona.

I gave him the name of an excellent psychologist who practices in Pasadena and answered his question about my new life with a quick "Oh, just fine..." which he heard immediately as less than enthusiastic.

And I realized that it would be impossible -- and probably not desirable -- to try to explain to this young man, in his twenties and struggling to establish himself in a career, that life in retirement is like life while working -- with its daily joys and challenges, the inevitable ups and downs. I told him that retirement was terrific but that it was a big life change. I told him that while I missed some aspects of my life in California, I was thoroughly enjoying life here in Arizona. And then I directed the conversation back to his immediate concerns.

After I hung up, I started thinking about life nearly three years into retirement,  remembering a conversation Bob and I had had just that morning about how retirement has ceased to be a dream and is now simply life. And, being real life, sometimes it's positive and sometimes not.

When we first moved here, we were living a dream: marveling at the miracle of not having to get up, commute through clogged freeways and go to work every day. We delighted in the gym and the friendly group of exercisers we came to know well. We luxuriated in long afternoons in the recreational pool making new friends and enjoying our neighbors. And, oh, the neighbors. After years of knowing few of our neighbors in California, we were thrilled to be friends with everyone on our street, sharing dinners, parties, outings, pet-sitting duties, long talks and the joy of connecting with new people in a new place.

Three years later, life feels a bit more familiar -- a good life somewhat short of a dream.

There are times when Bob misses being "The Pump God", a well-known expert in his hydraulic engineering field. There are times when I think wistfully about how I enjoyed seeing patients back in my practice in California. Yet neither of us really wants to go back to work at these pursuits. We're busy with other interests and goals now. And yet there are times when we look back with a wistfulness we never imagined would happen.

There are times when going to the gym just feels like a daily routine and spending an afternoon in the lovely recreational pool seems a drain on time that could be better spent. And, after an initial burst of uncharacteristically frequent social activity, we've regressed and settled into our more familiar introspective, introverted behavioral patterns.

I smile when I remember conversations we used to have in the pool during that magical summer of 2010 about the first people to move into our community, residents who had lived here for three years before we moved in. We agreed that they had major bad attitudes, weren't that friendly and  were curiously reserved about the joy of life in an active adult community.

Now we are them.

While there are some friends and neighbors we still enjoy greatly, reality has intruded on other neighborly relationships that have become less friendly, merely cordial, over time. Some neighbors have moved away already. Some have disappointed us...or have found us disappointing. So our neighborhood has ceased to be like an old television comedy -- with everyone dropping in and out of each others' homes -- and more like real life: distance with some, varying degrees of closeness with others.

While we still sometimes marvel at living in a resort community, the drawbacks we didn't anticipate when we bought our home nearly four years ago moderate our enthusiasm. We worry about the proposed copper mine that refuses to go away despite a series of resolutions passed by the town of Florence against in situ mining in a residential area. Some neighbors, initially charmed by our wide-open, rural location, now fret about our community's distance from shopping and movies and good restaurants, wondering if civilization will creep closer by the time they can no longer drive great distances.

In short, the retirement honeymoon is over.

In so many ways, it's like other phases of our lives after the thrill of novelty began to fade.

I remember a long-ago dinner party I enjoyed with six or seven journalism classmates about two years after graduation, when we were still quite new to our varied careers in the business. We were so enthusiastic, so idealistic, so excited about what we were doing and the directions our lives were taking. As the years went by, we still largely enjoyed what we did for a living, but reality had intruded: office politics, professional limitations, massive changes in the newspaper, magazine and book publishing industries. We all had our disappointments and battle scars to add to our work lore.

It's not so different with many marriages. Some people panic when the passion of their early love seems dimmed by the responsibilities of daily married life. I've seen clients in marriage counseling come close to giving up when they feared that love and passion were gone... when, in reality, their relationship was merely in transition, having one of those "distance then renewed closeness" phases that happen in long relationships.

It's not so different when some of the excitement fades from living one's retirement dream.

People have different reactions to this reality. Some put their homes up for sale and hope to live a dream anew elsewhere -- only to find, more often than not, that life elsewhere is pretty much the same. Some withdraw in disillusionment and disappointment. And some seek make the best of what is.

We're among the latter.

Realizing that constant happiness is an impossibility, even under the best of circumstances, we're making the choice to stay positive, to accept current reality and to make peace with what is.

A big factor in this is gratitude.  We are living with gratitude at having lived long enough and having the resources -- no thanks to recessions, bursting housing bubbles and decimated 401Ks -- to retire.

We keep warm memories of the past and good times in the present closest to our hearts. This means that Bob's memories of being a technical whiz at his workplace make him smile and give thanks for those moments in his life. It means that I look back with wonder and gratitude as I remember the patients who allowed me into their lives and the moments we shared together.

And we take joy in the best of the present -- a moment of clarity with a dear friend, wonder at the beauty of this new and very different place, the joy of being physically active and those wonderful days when nothing hurts.

We've come to understand that happiness comes most readily not from getting, but from giving, not from hedonistic pleasures but from doing what gives our lives meaning. This meaning can cover a wide area of daily life -- from tenderly cuddling an aging, arthritic pet to helping someone in need to  pursuing activities that make us excited to get up in the morning. And then there's the comfort and joy of sharing pain and hope and new experiences with each other.

Life is good.

Having a sense of well-being and contentment as this next phase of retirement unfolds comes from acceptance of what is, appreciation for what is positive and good in our lives and a growing sense of peace with what isn't. 

My First Valentine

Valentine's Day was my least favorite holiday when I was growing up and watching, humiliated and heart-broken, as some of my grade school classmates got called up to the class Valentine box again and again while I sat disconsolately in my seat. If I were called up, it would be to get a tiny card given to me by another girl who -- like me -- wrote out Valentines for everyone in the class. I never got a Valentine from a boy --ever.

Once, in sixth grade, I bought a special Valentine card for Nicky Vianni, a cute and popular classmate on whom I had a very secret crush. I was too shy to sign my name, so merely signed it "Your Secret Admirer"  and dropped it in the class Valentine box when no one was looking. Nicky loved the card and was intrigued that he had a secret admirer. Who had dropped it in the box for him? My heart sank as he asked girl after girl if she had sent it. Finally, out of other options, he turned to me. Feeling my face turn a deep crimson, I admitted that I was his secret admirer. "You?" he said, trying without success to hide his disappointment. "Oh, well, thanks! It's a great card. Yes. Um. Well, thanks." And he hurried away.

But Valentine's Day wouldn't always be so bleak.

Ten years later, I held a Valentine in my hands that was heart-felt and from a guy. I was a senior in college. And there it was, in my dorm mailbox: my first Valentine! It was from the best possible person in my young life: my beloved friend Tim. The cover featured Juliet on a stage. Inside, it said "On my balcony, you're tops!"

I was thrilled. I stood there at the mailbox, just holding it, for a long time. Okay, so there were no sentiments of undying love, even though I dared to hope this was a sign that our friendship was evolving into something quite different. But even if it was simply a sweet declaration of friendship, I was delighted. It felt so wonderful to be remembered, to be thought of, to be loved as a friend (or maybe more) at long last on Valentine's Day!

And somehow, through all the romantic disappointment followed by renewed and joyous friendship that was to come, that card has stayed with me all these 46 years since, stashed securely in my memory and among treasured college mementos.

                                                       

                                                   

In the years since, I've received many Valentines from men who cared about and loved me. And such thoughtfulness has never ceased to delight me -- from my post-college dating days to the many Valentine's Days Bob and I have enjoyed together.

I have learned some important lessons along the way:

• the value of love and affirmation from female friends: loving friendships with women, whether expressed by Valentines, sweet notes, emotional support or good talks are an invaluable part of the rich fabric of one's life
• the value of treasuring a relationship for what it is rather than what one hopes it might be: whether it is appreciating the dear friend whose love has outlasted decades of romantic relationships or becoming newly aware of the blessings of one's marriage years after the honeymoon is history 
• the value of letting those we love know how much they mean to us on a daily, rather than yearly, basis. Valentine's Day as we observe it, is, after all, a major commercial holiday, a day that consumers give the economy a boost with cards and chocolates and jewelry and dinners out. 

As time goes on, we come to realize that keeping a loving connection with another is much deeper and more meaningful than a Valentine's Day card -- or even chocolate.

We learn that love can mean saying you're sorry -- many, many times -- not only for the inevitable disappointments that daily life together can bring, but also for the pain that the world can inflict on a loved one. We learn that love is much more than romantic music and flowers. It can mean tending to a spouse who is unglamorously ill. It can mean finding sudden joy, together and by surprise, in unpromising circumstances. It can mean gratitude for a mature love that has weathered storms and challenges and moments of despair and still remains strong and enduring. And these lessons that the years bring are much sweeter than a pretty Valentine.

Yet, to this day, with all that I've learned and experienced in love, that first Valentine and the wonderful man who sent it, hold a special place in my heart.

The Healing Times in Between

Many years ago, while interviewing psychotherapist Randi Gunther for a magazine article, I was struck by something she said about dealing with adversity -- and her words have stayed with me, through many dark moments, in the decades since.

She said that a vital life coping skill was "learning to laugh in the times in between your pain -- which makes you stronger for the next pain." And I have found that to be so. Laughing between the pain, experiencing joy in the midst of sorrow, a mini-summer in the middle of winter is incredibly life-enhacing.

I was reminded of this while visiting my dear friend Mary and her husband John at their beach condo north of L.A. this past week. Their lives revolve around a growing array of health challenges that John is facing and their days are far from easy. Yet there is love and joy in their home because they never lose sight of what they have shared and still share together and because they are so very good at finding small pleasures and laughing a lot between the challenges and the pain.

There are the joking, fun moments that John has with his remarkable care buddy Jesse, who, between the more ordinary caregiving duties, spends some time with John sitting on the condo's ocean view balcony, enjoying the sight and sound of the surf as well as some excellent cigars.

                                            John with Jesse enjoying their cigars

There are the moments of tenderness when Mary and John look at each other with love and reassurance that, as challenging as their life can be these days, life together is still very good.

                                  Mary and John during lunch in Santa Barbara          

And there are adventures together. This past Wednesday, Mary decided to drive north with all of us to celebrate Jesse's birthday at a secluded and wonderful restaurant on Hendry's Beach in Santa Barbara.

We sat outside and enjoyed seafood lunches while watching surfers, frolicking dogs and delighted small children splash in the chilly surf. We smiled when we saw the restaurant's shaded "Dog Parking Station" and made friends with a sweet Golden Retriever named Babaloo who was parked there. We toasted Jesse, laughed a lot and basked in the sunshine.

                                      Our table with a view of Hendry's beach

                                       Mary enjoying the sun and ocean air

               "Please! No singing waiters!" was Jesse's only birthday request      

     Savoring a sunny day at the beach with dear friends keeps me smiling 

                          Babaloo chills out at the restaurant's Dog Parking Post     


It was summer in February, a delightful respite from daily realities, a special time shared with very dear friends.

And our wonderful time together reminded me anew that laughing between the pain makes pain easier to bear and keeps joy and laughter in life, no matter how challenging our days.

Personal History Revisited

It's as clear as yesterday: I was treading gingerly over an icy sidewalk as a fierce wind pierced through all my layers of clothing, chilling me to the marrow of my bones. And, as I was shivering, I was worrying -- worrying about money and whether I would be able to manage the increased tuition, whether I would be able to get a job in my chosen profession. I was worried about men -- why they valued me as a friend, but rarely romantically, whether I would find love, whether I would ever marry. So many uncertainties, so many possibilities -- both positive and dire. And I remember clenching my chattering teeth and muttering at that moment, when I was struggling to put myself through Northwestern University with ever-increasing tuition and never-quite-enough financial aid: "I will never, never forget how hard this was. Ever..."

And I haven't. Yet when I think back on that time of my life, I also think of the wonderful aspects of my college experience: the unforgettable lessons learned, both inside and outside the classroom; having a community of friends, all bright and motivated with youthful hopes and dreams; a supple, slim, pain-free young body; the limitless possibilities for the future -- that I read as uncertainty then, as opportunity now.

How often do we see the past in a new way -- not forgetting the past as we once experienced it, but now reviewing it through the prism of life experience?

How often have you given quiet thanks for an experience or a relationship that once troubled you?

How often have you viewed a period of your personal history that once felt confusing or unfair or even catastrophic as a valuable growth experience, a time in the continuum of your life that now makes sense, neatly fitting into the puzzle of your personal development?

How often have you looked back with love instead of old anger?

Not long ago, my brother Mike and I were talking about my memoir in progress -- a complicated tale of horror and humor and fear and love, the story, through my eyes, of our often -- but not unrelentingly -- horrific childhood.

"I just hope you will be able to convey the whole story," he said, cuddling his infant son Henry with a tenderness he rarely experienced in his own childhood. "I hope it won't look like our childhood was relentlessly horrible and scary, even though much of it was. I hope you'll be able to express the nuances, the other aspects, that also shaped our lives -- like the laughter, the fun, the poetry, the love..."

And, yes, that's the challenge of telling the tale of our growing up: remembering what was wonderful as well as what was terrible, the laughter as well as the fear, recreating the delicate balance of both that made our lives -- then and now -- unique.

Sometimes new views of the past come with changes in the present: a new understanding and appreciation for our parents when we become parents ourselves; a pure love and nostalgia for parents and other loved ones once we have lost them and are no longer dealing with the daily reality of the complicated people they once were; a warm look back at a time that was pivotal to our present -- a job that felt hard and unrewarding then but that was a vital step to professional growth or a relationship that seemed a failure that now looks like an important life lesson or turning point.

"Would you really want to have grown up in a different family?" my brother was asking me. "Would you want to have a different history? Be someone else?"

He kissed his smiling baby son and added  "I wouldn't."

I looked tenderly at this man, once an abused child, and marveled at the resilience of the human spirit and the value of time and personal growth in making sense of what once was and what is in our lives today.

The value of perspective, the seasoning of our views and emotions with the years of experience that life brings, is inestimable in helping us to see all the colors and shadings in the complicated rainbow of our lives.

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

Suddenly, I feel sorry for the Snowbirds: those traveling folk who winter in Arizona and otherwise live elsewhere. I've never felt they got a particularly great deal: Arizona gets cold in the winter! No one lingers in our gorgeous beach entry recreational pool with its chilly water. Golf takes a generous mix of dedication and stoicism as Arctic winds whip over our greens. People in this part of the state may not be shoveling snow, but we're turning up our thermostats and hunkering down this week for a record cold snap.

How cold?

Predictions are for overnight temperatures ranging from 19-23 F for the next five days.

Bring out the burlap! Our occasional ritual of wrapping our fragile citrus trees in burlap and sheets has begun. We're capping our more vulnerable cactus plants and throwing tarps over flower beds. We're wrapping up water pipes.

We're ready for winter Arizona-style.

                                       A decidedly different view from our patio

                                          Our newly ghostly backyard  

                                     New use for our leftover Christmas cups   

                                   Next door neighbor Larry gets his yard ready       

                          Joe and Marsha's yard is well-prepared for frosty nights          

I just got an email from my dear friend Tim, basking in an unseasonably warm Chicago (mid-50's), and happily advising us to stay warm. He gleefully offered to send us some flannel undergarments for our ordeal.

We may not be quite ready for long winter underwear, but some things might help on this cold night.

Hot chocolate or steaming mugs of coffee.

Cozy quilts.

A warm cat -- or four -- as the cats recoil from their favorite screen doors in favor of huddling together on our bed.

                                  Bob settling in with some wonderfully warm cats 


And, of course, we have each other. Hmmm...chocolate, quilts, cats and each other.

We're grateful for all we share on this bright, cold, star-lit night.

                                          It's going to be a four-cat night!                        

Whose Retirement Is It Anyway?

The buzz is all over the community -- the ladies locker room, the outdoor pool, and the community center's cyber cafe where groups of women -- and men, too -- linger over coffee and talk.

And the talk is that couples are finding themselves at odds over what kind of retirement they want now that retirement has ceased to be a dream and is now a daily reality.

And some of these realities were definitely not anticipated in anyone's retirement planning.

Many of the women I've talked with are frustrated with husbands who:

• Are reclusive:  There are some women who want to be active in community social events that their husbands regard with horror. One neighbor started last July asking other women in the community if they are planning to attend the New Year's Eve dinner dance here and if so, would they have any objection to dancing together at the event from which some of their husbands were recoiling. "One of the reasons I wanted to move to an active adult community was to be active, not isolated," one neighbor told me. "But all my husband wants to do is to hide in the house and make hobby models. This isn't the retirement I had in mind!"
• Don't do anything around the house "because I'm retired": This seems to hit particularly hard for couples where the wife has been a full-time homemaker or who has worked outside the home but has maintained a traditional lifestyle at home, taking on all the cooking and cleaning. "My husband won't lift a finger to do anything even, or especially, when I ask," one gym buddy complained the other day. "I always did do all the cooking and housecleaning before, but that was because his job was very time-consuming and he traveled a lot. Now I'd like to have a little leisure, too, and share responsibilities. But he says he's retired and shouldn't have to do anything. And he doesn't do anything. He watches t.v. He just sits and stares at the wall. But heaven forbid, he should pick up a broom or cut vegetables for a salad. My question is 'When do I get to retire and relax?"
• Live to golf: There are some husbands who have built their new lives around golf -- and this isn't always a welcome development for their wives. "We never do anything together because he lives to golf and I don't really care for it," says one disgruntled wife. "When he gets home, he turns on the golf channel and watches that non-stop. And our socializing seems to be with other golfers who just want to talk about the game and nothing else. I envisioned us getting involved with some worthy causes and taking some fun trips that had nothing to do with golf. "
• Are critical and hovering:  With husbands and wives home alone many more hours in retirement, things that escaped a husband's notice during his working life have now become major projects.  "I'm almost at the screaming point!" one neighbor told me. "As a homemaker, I've been doing housework and cooking for years now. But my husband the engineer and efficiency expert now is observing my efforts and telling me how I could be doing all these old tasks better: like how I could load the dishwasher more efficiently or the more logical way to mop a floor -- without volunteering for these duties, of course. Just telling me how I could be doing them better!"

And husbands, too, have their complaints that their wives:

• Are too controlling and inflexible.  One friend at the gym envisioned increasing his technical skills and spending more time on the computer and online, but his wife gets angry hearing the click of the keys or when he wants to spend time on the computer instead of watching t.v. with her. Another complains that he and his wife moved to this community to lead active lifestyles -- or so he thought. But once here, she decided she didn't want to work out at the gym or hike or even take walks in the neighborhood -- and she resents the time he spends working out.
• Are not sensitive to the limitations of retirement income: Whether it's a matter of a wife's compulsive shopping or gambling or wanting to move to ever more upscale neighborhoods, some men in this community fear that retirement savings are dwindling faster than expected and are wondering if they might face the prospect of having to go back to work in their seventies or beyond.  One friend who is in his late 60's and in poor health recently did go back to work because his wife, who is in her forties, so enjoys the retirement lifestyle here that she refuses to go back to work in her high-demand field as they had planned when they moved here. As he watched their savings dwindle and her resolve not to work persist, he finally gave up his long-dreamed retirement just to keep them solvent.
• Spend too much time complaining about moving away from family and old friends. Some men here complain that their wives aren't open to making new friends or enjoying quality time together as they yearn for more proximity to family and old friends. "When we lived in Wisconsin near our kids and grandkids, we never had any time for the two of us," one friend told me. "We were always babysitting the grandkids or attending their activities or doing errands to help our adult children. Our time wasn't our own. Now that we're here, my wife is always planning trips to see the kids or to have the kids visit us. Don't get me wrong: I love our kids and grandkids. But now that I'm retired, I want to have time to do things I've put off for far too long and to spend time with my wife, reconnecting in a way we haven't since we became parents, then grandparents."

What can you do when your retirement realities are at odds?

Talk with each other. Although it may feel safer and easier to complain to others, change isn't likely to happen unless you take a deep breath and talk with your spouse about what isn't feeling quite right or fair or what you had hoped.

We all have retirement dreams and plans. Some prove possible once we retire while others fade away in the light of everyday reality. There are bound to be disappointments and disagreements. But if disparities in what you want in your retirement and what your spouse wants are starting to erode your contentment and good will, it's time to talk.

While the best time to talk about expectations is before you retire, some realities don't surface until you're actually retired. Then, perhaps, you find that assumptions and unanticipated developments are leading to disappointment.

"I assumed that when we were both retired, we would share both the chores and the pleasures," one neighbor told me. "My husband has got the pleasure thing down. But he is allergic to housework, cooking or yard work of any kind. I feel like I'm spending my whole life doing the scutwork of our lives while he roosts in front of the television."

Once she was able to tell him about her assumptions for retirement and her disappointment, she was able to offer some alternatives: that he share in the housework and food preparation so that they could both enjoy more leisure time together or that they examine their budget to see if hiring a once a week housecleaning service made sense. When she stated that her greatest wish was to spend more quality time with him, pursuing day trips and new interests, he listened. And they arrived at a compromise: they would cut down on some impulse buying and meals out to hire a housecleaning service. And because they would be having more meals at home, he agreed to work with her in food preparation. They also began to make plans to see local sights and make some day trips they had long postponed. Six months into the compromise, they are both happier. There have been some adjustments: the housecleaning service comes once a month for the heavier cleaning tasks while the husband and wife are beginning to share more daily cleaning tasks -- in the interest of getting the work done so they can play and in having more disposable cash for local travel and meals out. 

Recognize that retirement takes adjustment and is a process of letting go of old ways and embracing new ones. Spending so much time together, structuring a new life free of old work and commuting routines sounds enviable from afar, but once you're living these changes, there is a period of adjustment. Women whose major domain has been the house may feel crowded and frustrated when their husbands are home full-time.

"What's the old saying 'I married him for better or worse but not for lunch?'" my friend Barbara confided a few years back after her CEO husband retired. Although they had a lovely home and plenty of money to do anything they wished in retirement, Barbara felt trapped. "I have this life of my own," she told me. "I'm on the school board. I'm president of the local symphony. I'm not ready to give all that up and sit home with him. He wants three meals on the table daily. He never lets go of the t.v. remote control. It drives me crazy. After traveling for work all these years, he isn't into travel. He just wants to sit home and be waited on -- by me!"

Retirement can be a major adjustment for those leaving careers and the power and perks of those careers behind. My former neighbors Linda and Jay used to make observations about "FIP (Formerly Important Person) Syndrome" that seems to afflict many in this -- and, I'm sure, many other -- retirement Meccas.  You can see it in the lost expressions of men (and some women, too) floating lazily in the outdoor pool for many hours on a summer day. You can hear it in the pontificating on world affairs in the Cyber Cafe. You can sense it in the imperious manner with which some people conduct themselves around mere mortals like community center employees or neighbors they deign to be less than...less successful, less fit, less affluent. And some are simply still straddling the past, still living emotionally in the careers they left while adjusting to life in retirement.

It reminds me a bit of the early days in my college dorm freshman year. When we were adjusting to being freshman again, to being little fish in a much larger pond and to making our way in a totally new environment, we talked a lot about who we had been not so long ago: the high school triumphs we clung to so relentlessly for a while to soothe our fright and insecurity.

It's not so different now. Some of us cling stubbornly to old identities and past successes as we face a new way of being without those professional props and titles, as we face, in a sense, the terror of not being.

In talking with our spouses about our fears and disappointments, it's essential to hear what the other is saying without judgment or jumping to the conclusion that you are being criticized. Particularly in the early years of retirement, it's important to be compassionate with each other as you both struggle with this major life transition and find what works and doesn't work for you as individuals and as a couple.

Give each other space, remembering that retirement is "yours, mine and ours".  We all need the time and space to live our own retirement dreams as well as experiencing the ones we have together. One of the major assumptions about retirement that may need some revising is the concept that constant togetherness is desirable. If your interests differ, if your tolerance for social interaction doesn't match with your partner's, find ways to compromise so that each of you can pursue your passions and meet heartfelt needs.

Bob and I have differing needs for social interaction and have worked out a routine that meets his needs for solitude and my needs for socializing. If there is an open house or party that I really want to attend -- and he doesn't -- I simply go. If he wants to go see a horror film with a male friend, I happily plan a day of writing. We share a passion for reading, but Bob has more extensive hobbies that he is free to pursue. I spend a good amount of time writing, but also share his enthusiasm for working out and for day trips around Arizona. We've made a vow to spend more time together exploring Arizona in 2013.

We have also worked out our different needs in terms of old connections.  I am more tied to our previous life in California than he is. So every two to three months, Bob happily stays home with the cats while I fly to L.A. for a few days to visit my friend Mary whom I miss so much and with whom I take walks on the beach and visit old haunts. This arrangement works out well for all of us.

Keep your sense of humor -- and perspective.  Because retirement also coincides with growing older, there are some surprises that can change some of your plans and dreams. I never imagined that I would struggle with some physical decline early on -- arthritic feet and knees, significant hearing loss -- that change some of my active retirement scenario -- even as Bob continues to dazzle those in the gym with his jump roping, weight lifting and running abilities. And yet, because of side effects of his lifelong epilepsy, he is feeling more vulnerable emotionally these days. We find that humor helps. We joke with each other about our lists of physical complaints and our increasingly noticeable limitations of aging and find both comfort and security in our mutual acceptance of these changes in ourselves and each other.

It's also important to keep the fact of being able to retire together in perspective. So many people we know never got that chance. Some aren't financially able to retire. Some have retired as widows, widowers or late-life divorcees. Being together and sharing this life experience is a blessing -- even when daily reality falls somewhat short of one's retirement dreams.

Create a new, revised compromise retirement lifestyle. Building a new life together and crafting a retirement lifestyle that pleases you both much of the time isn't always easy, but it's possible.

I've seen couples discover new interests and hobbies -- both together and apart. I've seen those who have the courage and commitment to talk with each other, to say what they want to do and ways they're willing to compromise create new harmony out of early retirement conflicts.

Creating a new, reasonable retirement lifestyle can be as simple as learning to tolerate the clicking of computer keys (or buying earplugs) if spending time online pleases your spouse. I've seen "golf widows" unite and enjoy lunches out or local excursions together. For some couples, who had hoped to travel more but find that diminished savings preclude this, making home more inviting -- with hobbies, a new pet, redecorating together, creating special spaces in the home for the interests of both partners -- has proved to be a suitable compromise. For other couples, both focused on differing pursuits, compromise may mean carving out time for shared leisure, for little excursions, for good talks, for discovering new interests together.

Caring, commitment and compromise can lead to a shared retirement lifestyle that brings more joy to your days than any of those pre-retirement dreams ever could. 

Turnstile Time

Shortly after a friend of mine lost his father -- his last parent and last parental generation family member -- recently, he looked at me, suddenly tearful, and said "I'm stepping up to the turnstile. It's my turn now."

I understood his feelings of grief, vulnerability and dread. I reached the turnstile nine years ago today when Aunt Molly, my last parental generation relative, died suddenly, a partially completed New York Times crossword puzzle on her lap. After your last family elder has died, you really do experience a major transition as you become the family elder (or one of the elders) and have a new sense of mortality.

And after awhile, it's hard to imagine life being different.

During a dinner with several neighbors not long ago, someone mentioned a mutual friend who was in L.A. to visit her 50-year-old daughter who is experiencing a personal crisis. My next door neighbor Louise said "I know how her daughter feels. She feels bad and wants her mother. That's how I still am. If I feel bad or if I am feeling especially good, I reach for the phone and call my Mom!" I was intially startled. Then I remembered that Louise, who is 70, has a mother who is 95 and doing well for her age. Imagine!

There is a part of me that can't imagine having a mother. My parents both died when I was 35. It has been more than three decades since I heard my mother's voice. And, before I turned 60, I had lost every member of my family's parental generation -- all of my aunts and uncles. While still in my fifties, I was experiencing turnstile time.

What does turnstile time mean to me?

It means being more in touch with my own mortality. I can imagine dying now. It has happened to a lot of people I love. Our parents are a barrier of sorts between us and the inevitability of death. When death happens to them, it takes on a whole new reality for us.

I think about what I want to leave behind to improve the lives of others, family members or dear friends -- like money or special items or simply the feeling that they were dearly loved and valued.

I think about what I don't want to leave behind -- piles of junk and excess belongings for others to dig through, distribute or dispose. Bob and I spent an entire year shoveling out my parents' 1000 square foot home and then my brother spent another year making the house liveable.

And on most horrid day of our marriage, Bob and I did a major overhauling of Aunt Molly's house after her death.

Our real estate agent had held a disastrous open house the weekend before. Potential buyers, one after the other, made negative comments about Aunt Molly's wall of bracket and board bookcases lining the small living room and the Monterey coast wallscape in her den. The agent called us with a directive to remove the bookcases, patch and paint the walls and also paint over the wallscape in the den. Sighing deeply but with firm resolve, Bob and I drove the 100 miles to Molly's house the next Saturday, expecting a very full day of work.

In the middle of our efforts, the agent called again, telling us in a panic that a potential buyer was coming over the next day, and that he had a special concern. Another complaint people had voiced during the open house was that the carpeting smelled faintly of cat pee. This potential buyer was concerned that even the foundation of the house might smell of cat urine. So the agent had a further directive: tear up and remove all the carpeting from the house and then swab the concrete slab with bleach. And then buy and install new carpeting. Bob and I looked at each other aghast -- suddenly realizing that, in order to do all this, we would have to -- just the two of us -- remove every stick of furniture from the house. We did it. But it wasn't pretty. We screamed at each other. We cried. We sweated. We cursed. We embraced and apologized. But we did it. The house -- clean, bright, newly painted and carpeted -- sold for an excellent price several weeks later.

Since then, Bob and I keep vowing to each other that we don't want to put any of our survivors through such a major clean-up. We cut down on many of our possessions when we moved from California to Arizona nearly three years ago. And I am still in the process of sorting through things I personally treasure to determine what might be junk to someone else and what might best become a digital file.

We have completed power of attorney, medical directive and legal directives regarding our pets in the event of our disability or demise.

We know it's not a question of if but when.

We've made a resolution to write directive letters for immediate survivors and friends with instructions as Aunt Molly so thoughtfully and wisely did. It isn't a matter of being morbid, but being prepared. I have a friend whose spouse won't even consider thinking about a will or trust (at 62!). He doesn't want to think about dying.

But it makes sense to entertain that notion long enough to execute a will or trust, power of attorney and health directives. Then -- in a very real sense, you're free to go on with living your life to the fullest.

Awareness of our mortality and the fragile nature of life that comes as we step up to the turnstile is also evident in other ways: thinking about how we will manage -- or not -- when we are older and need assistance with the tasks of daily living. Does long-term care insurance make sense? A move to a continuing care community? If, at some point, neither of us can drive, will continuing to live here in rural Arizona be feasible?

These aren't constant pre-occupations but thoughts and questions that occur to us now that our elders are gone,  now that we are living our retirement dream, now that 70 isn't that far away, now that we have friends in their eighties and nineties who are experiencing some challenges and limitations. While we can't possibly know what the future holds for us, we need to consider all the possibilities. Although every one of my elders on both sides of my family succumbed to sudden cardiac death -- with very little disability or illness preceding death -- I can't necessarily count on having the same good luck, preferably some years hence.

Then there are moments when we consider our proximity to life's turnstile with more positive thoughts and questions: what do we still want to experience and accomplish in our lives? Which people, what places do we long to see?

Now is the time to make happy plans to do the traveling we long to do, to pursue the interests and projects that mean the most to us, to tell those who matter just how much we love them.

There is no better time than right now.