A Guiltless Phase

I took my mother for a short drive yesterday. Before heading to the Pack River General Store for an afternoon treat, we came to the Lovestead so she could see the construction progress on the new building and tour the floral show in the front yard. The last time she was here, that construction spot was just a pile of gravel. Now, the structure is pretty much framed and waiting for its next phase of completion.

As we approach two years of living here at this twenty acres of Selle Heaven, I'm finding myself thinking about life's phases and how we gradually find ourselves engaged in very different activities from those that seemed so important a few short years before.

Before moving to the Lovestead, I was still immersed in civic activities. I could ride my bike to town, and gas didn't cost too much, so I was on the go all the time, it seemed. Our former home offered opportunities for me work in the yard and garden, but not nearly to the degree that I've found out here.

Also, I had two horses, but in later years could seldom enjoy them beyond the realm of having barnyard friends. The traffic on Great Northern Road increased so much during those last few years that even taking a walk seemed risky at best. Horseback riding was out. Many of the pleasures of enjoying the place had vanished with the changes occurring in our neighborhood.

So, what was happening in town often took precedent over what was happening at home. I was connected, so to speak. People would expect me to be "in the loop" and know what was going on in many aspects of our community. I took that responsibility seriously and not so seriously at times whenever I wrote about some of ongoing challenges that so often affect brotherly and sisterly love within the ranks of organizations.

So much has changed.

I learned early on after our move out here that to keep up with my customary community activities would be a daunting challenge. Nonetheless, I still tried, for a while anyway, to show up in time for those early morning meetings at the museum and those marathon meetings with the Conservancy. I served on the boards of both.

In my valiant efforts, the guilt of not showing up for the meetings was usually replaced by the guilt of racing through morning chores, leaving animals wondering about this crazy lady who takes good care of us some days and throws the food and runs off on others.

Eventually, reality started staring me in the face. If we were going to live out the dreams we've both had of reconnecting with the quiet life of the country, some items on the loaded-up schedule of "things to do" were going to have to go.

It took time to "just say no," but I'm learning the words and how to mouth them more emphatically every day. I must admit Bill's a little slower in that department, but, of course, he's still connected town and forestry-related stuff because he hasn't retired.

In my case, I retired six years ago, and I've found that time fills up with responsibilities no matter what you're doing. The key to enjoying retirement, I've learned through the school of hard knocks, is to feel retired by having the freedom to make your own choices and not having others dictate those choices.

Retirement is not sitting in a rocking chair withering away, by any means, but what should come of this phase in our later life is the capacity for us to choose to do what provides personal joy and satisfaction. After all, we've spent most of our adult lives dancing to the beat of other dancemasters. Now it's time for us to choreograph our own steps.

My dance includes enjoying life's simple pleasures like taking my mother for a drive through the countryside, walking down country roads or forest pathways enjoying natural beauty, returning to my passion for horses and once again enjoying the opportunity to saddle up, and finally just plain going through each day on a schedule that I've designed. More than anything, retirement should offer us the freedom to "just say no," not to feel guilty and to be left alone.

Two years into Lovestead living, I'm getting there. The tinges of guilt from bypassing great civic opportunities that land on my smorgasboard tray of "things to do" still surface from time to time. Nonetheless, occasionally being true to myself by engaging in the passions that give me personal joy is getting to feel more natural all the time.

I guess I'm immersed in a new phase of life, and I have no regrets. So, now I'm going to go outside to enjoy a few guiltless moments of smelling those pink and white roses that have begun to bloom across the front lawn. Then, I'll decide what to do next.

Happy Friday.