I’ve always been opinionated and have a well-documented history of wanting to be right and willing to prove it, but now I find myself deep in the ease of retirement, enjoying the simple pleasures of disengagement.
Every time I get a desire to weigh in on some burning issue, I think, “What good would come of that?” Sometimes I’ll say something anyway, and I almost always regret it. Lately, I’ve gotten better at saying less, and you know what? Life goes on.
For example … I saw a LinkedIn post about safety in the workplace. The author said, “Too often, safety is the privilege of a few – not a right enjoyed equitably by all.” Somebody commented there was no correlation between safety and privilege, and I was about to jump on it, explaining, for example, how women are not safe in the same situations (walking alone at night, a hotel room on the ground floor) where white male privilege somewhat shields them from the same fears.
Then I asked myself that important question. What good would come of that? I stayed out of it, and when I went back later to see what transpired, that person’s comment had been deleted. Time marched on without my input.
Last week, I mentioned to a golf buddy that California was currently lowest in COVID cases in the continental United States. A full week later, he tracked me down in the parking lot to show me statistics he pulled up on his cell phone clearly showing California had the highest number of cases in the U.S.
OK. Got me, except I said currently not cumulative, but c-words are tricksy. And maybe I misread something. Who knows? I opted for the quick escape, “Oh, interesting, thanks!”
For a third example, I begrudgingly attended a golf rules clinic, because golf is all about the rules. I only want to know enough to avoid someone else giving me a bunch of crap because I did something wrong. However, in my infinite stupidity, I mentioned to another golf buddy that I attended a rules clinic.
He asked if I learned anything. I said, yes, lots, but it’s hard to remember them all. Oh, but sure, let me dig for an enticing tidbit.
Yay! Here it is! Fresh off the memory merry-go-round!
One surprising thing was about teeing your ball up in the teeing area. If you purposefully make a swing at the ball, and it dribbles off the tee but remains in the teeing area as defined by the rules of golf, you count the stroke, but you can still tee it up for your next shot.
No, that’s not true.
Well, I probably got it wrong. It was a lot to process. All I know for sure is there was a difference between if the ball stays in the teeing area or rolls out of the teeing area.
But you said you get to tee it up.
Yes, but I retracted that comment. Now I’m saying I don’t know.
That seemed to satisfy him, but when I got home, I looked it up. As it turns out, I was right, and I started to copy the rule and text it to him for his further edification. But what did I do instead? I asked myself a simple question. Say it with me.
What good would come of that?
Because I am not a rules expert and don’t aspire to be one. Why would I set myself up for that argument? My regret is bringing it up in the first place. And even if I were to make this mistake again, there’s still an exit strategy. When he asks me what I learned, I say, “You know, I can’t recall.” And then I laugh. We all laugh. Because the rules of golf suck.
The final reusable straw came this week over food. The website Epicurious will no longer post new recipes using beef because of the impact cows and beef consumption have on climate change. I started to go down the slippery slope of engagement, when I read through all the comments on the New York Times article.
As is often the case, there are more than two sides, and I can pretty much understand each perspective. But anything I might have said has already been said. Plus, not everyone is as genteel and reasoned as I, and the discourse can be quite snarky.
Who needs that? I know there are important issues that will sometimes demand I step up and take a stance. And I’ll do it. But most of the time, my presence is not required.
In the meantime, I’ll just kick back and work on improving my retirement skillset – blissful disengagement.