Category: Learning

This post is about golf, but it isn’t really about golf, so please keep reading.

I play golf because I love it and am addicted and have been for years. I spend a lot of quality retirement time playing golf. Sometimes I play well, and sometimes, well, I don’t. My game has always been sporadic, but I thought I’d nail this once I retired. Another bubble burst.

My sometimes-mediocre game was starting to bother me, because I don’t do it just to get outside and enjoy nature or whatever it is people say. I like being outdoors and want to have fun, but golf is more fun for me when I play reasonably well.

Although I practice some, I don’t practice enough, and I don’t have a strategy for what to practice. Last week the club champion was in my foursome for weekly league play, and I watched her like a hawk. I think she’s in her 60s. Not a particularly long hitter, but she was deadly accurate and had a lot of skill around the green. If she wasn’t on the green, she chipped it close and then made the putt.

I understand she played as a child, and that makes a difference, but I still think I can follow her example. It doesn’t take strength or flexibility to chip and putt. But it does take dedication and focus to have a great short game. As we say in the Pekar family, it’s time to shit or get off the pot.

I’m probably going to have to drop a little money on lessons. And while I’m not one of those super-organized goal setters, I do need a plan. I no longer want to leave my game to chance, as in who shows up that day? The one who can play or the one who sucks?

The greatest challenge I face is not time, money, strength, flexibility or commitment. My greatest challenge is what’s between my ears. I’ve always been sort of a nervous Nellie about golf, and I’ve convinced myself I don’t like competition. While I play in casual events and just yesterday won a couple of little prizes at a member-guest day, I have so far avoided the serious amateur tournaments. I’ve assumed I don’t have the fortitude to play with the big girls.      

While I am in awe of the club champion’s game, she doesn’t hit the ball any farther than I do. That was kind of an eye-opener for me. I didn’t see anything that looked impossible. I might not achieve her level of success, but with training and practice, I believe I can improve significantly.

And all that makes me wonder about my long-held thoughts about competition. It’s not really about liking it or not liking it – it’s about fear. Fear of failing. What I fear, I avoid. I had this same problem at work early in my career. I didn’t want to play “the game” and was willing to let less talented people surpass me because I didn’t have the confidence to compete and possibly lose.

Eventually, I stepped up and forced myself to play the game and play to win. And I did it without sacrificing my core self – it just took time to find that space where I could be me and yet thrive in a tough corporate setting.

I did it before, and now I’m going to do it again. I’m done saying I don’t like competition. I fear competition, but I’m working on it. Same deal as before, except this time I’m retired, and this time it’s golf. Game on!

Are you still fighting fear in retirement? What do you want, and what’s holding you back?

Some of you may have seen a post I wrote yesterday about sun protective clothing. The links got messed up and were giving me fits, so I ended up deleting the entire post. Of course, I should have saved it to reprint later, but that would have been too smart.

I’ll try and recreate the article, but I’m just not into it right now. I’m rather annoyed with myself and feeling kind of down about the state of the world. So many terrible, violent and racist things going on, and on top of it, sun protective clothing reminds me of global warming and all the people who refuse to believe it.

And in the face of all this, I wonder if anything I’m writing about is worthwhile. Maybe I write because it was a childhood passion, but the world has changed since then, and maybe my voice isn’t relevant. To my blogging friends, do you ever wonder about that? What keeps you going?

As far as the U.S. goes, Dale believes it will get better, but I have my doubts. I just can’t imagine our future if Trump is re-elected. I’m not going to move to another country, but I may have to hunker down, ignore the real world and enjoy my little bubble of a life. I might do that anyway.

Anyway, sorry to be so negative. I’m sure I will snap out of it, but that’s my explanation for the missing post.

According to the New York Times, older women are furious about past injustices. I tried to summon repressed anger in the spirit of solidarity, but it’s just not there. Certainly, I have a few bad memories recorded in the great big picture book of moral crimes and misdemeanors, but I choose to let it go. I find myself too happy to be enraged.

I do understand and support the #MeToo movement. I feel empathy for those who hurt. Still, I like to think we can feel and express our anger in real time and then challenge, litigate or move on. Not to excuse bad behavior, but life will throw you curve balls, some of them quite horrific. One woman in the article said she was still furious, still dealing with residual rage, after being asked how fast she could type.

Everyone owns their own experiences, but in my view, a sexist expectation about typing hardly ranks in the Tower of Troubles. Even if it was particularly horrible for that person for some reason, dwelling on it 40 years later doesn’t seem healthy to me.

Even as a child, the idea that nothing bad would ever happen to me seemed ridiculous. My family life was dysfunctional and emotionally abusive. It was a slow start, but I climbed my way out, and the trajectory only goes up from there. I experienced sexual harassment and other injustices along the way, although I’ve never been assaulted. My trajectory flatlined twice with illness and then with a sociopath who tried to destroy my career.

Working with the sociopath was the worst year of my life, and I’ve had cancer twice. Oh, and by the way, the sociopath was a woman. But as I think about her now, I just feel sad it had to go down that way. I was treated badly. Lots of people stood on the sidelines and watched with a knowing eye. I felt like someone should have saved me, and no one did. So, I saved myself. I cut my losses and got the fuck out of there.

All that said, I just can’t get too fired up about it anymore. It happened. It’s over. I have a good life. I’m exceedingly grateful. Maybe the anger women are expressing now is a variation of the same helplessness I felt when no one saved me from the sociopath. Are they looking for a savior? Social media to the rescue? They can hashtag all day long, and they might get clicks and likes, but I’m pretty sure no one will come.

I do not condone the behaviors documented by the #MeToo movement, and it doesn’t matter if you are 25 or 75 years old. I totally support addressing the issues by any means necessary. I’m glad older women are speaking up. And maybe that will help alleviate the repressed anger.

My point is that it’s equally important to take care of yourself from within. With professional help or without it, talk about it all you want, but fight to keep these experiences from cracking your core. Maybe this sounds naive, but I’ve reframed my entire life’s experiences as ingredients in the recipe that created the marvelous person I’ve become.

In the words of the Pet Shop Boys, happiness is an option.

In the continuing adventures of a retiree dabbling for the first time in visual arts, I present Gladys, the sun goddess.

We found Gladys in the backyard while having our fence repaired. She was stuck behind a tree, and the fence guys pulled her out and set her aside. I immediately thought, “Trash to treasure!”

Steps:

1. Wash
2. Air dry
3. Sand (I used a Dremel tool)
4. Wipe clean
5. Spray with anti-rust metal primer
6. Apply Gesso (Liquitex) acrylic primer
7. Paint with acrylics
8. Cure for 72 hours
9. Seal with Liquitex varnish

Now, I guess it’s just a matter of finding a place for her in the backyard. She’s not perfect, but I like her. The biggest lesson learned was about primer. Metal primer alone is not a good foundation for acrylic paint. You still need acrylic primer to get a glossy coating.

Also, my hand is not all that steady for detail work, and I have no freehand skills to speak of. But that’s OK. I’m having fun and taking advantage of retirement as an opportunity to explore a whole new side of myself.

If you’re thinking about dabbling, I am reminded of these words by a colleague who was also a talented artist. I asked him how he knew he had artistic talent. He said, “There’s no such thing as artistic talent. You either do art or you don’t.”

Most of us adapt to idiosyncrasies of the workplace to earn a living, but what happens to those behaviors when you retire? Do you still sound like the person from work, or is your inside voice blurring a bit with your outside voice?

My inside/outside voice conflict goes back many years, when an Army lieutenant alerted me to the possibility I might not need to say everything I think.

I was an enlisted journalist in the Army and worked in the Public Affairs Office at Ft. Bragg, N.C. We were part of the 18^th Airborne Corps, which was often sent to global hotspots to assist in disaster relief. They’d usually send a journalist to help with press releases and such. I never got to go.

One day, I approached the lieutenant in charge and asked him why I wasn’t selected for these assignments. He said, “Pekar, it has something to do with what’s between your nose and your chin.”

Although I never did get asked to go, I managed to get out of the Army unscathed and eventually learned to keep my mouth shut, which was definitely career-enhancing.

Retirement reduced my exposure to annoying situations, but it’s hard to avoid them completely. I recently played golf with a woman who announced she was extremely sensitive to sounds. She had rabbit ears and could hear even the tiniest whisper, requiring absolute silence when it was her turn to play. Even the rustling of a potato chip bag was terribly disturbing to her.

I got paired with her again a few weeks later, and she got into a snit about scoring. Rules for the women’s golf club events are rather persnickety. We all keep each other’s score, and you have to capture that information at the end of each hole played.

Around the fourth hole, she got a little huffy about our process for swapping scores and announced her demands for how it would be done going forward.

Good thing I spent my career learning “advanced” communication skills to get through challenging scenarios without injury or lawsuits. Please select the best response:

A) Thank you for sharing that. Let’s collaborate when we get to the next hole and get some consensus on a win-win solution.

B) I appreciate your perspective – and to build on that – I recommend we circle the wagons on the next hole and get input from the rest of the team.

C) Great idea! Let’s pulse the team and see if everyone’s on board.

D) Who died and left you in charge?

I chose D, haunted by the voice from the ethics videos we used to watch, “That is not your best choice.” Still, shit like this goes on in my head all the time, but I’ve learned to suppress it. Even on the golf course, I allow myself to be bossed around because it’s easier than conflict.

When we got to the next hole, she said, “Did you just ask me who died and left me in charge?” I said, yes, I did. She never spoke another word to me.

I hope I wasn’t too much of a jerk, and I hope I’m not put to the test again any time soon. However, it’s kind of interesting how it turned out. I shot my best score ever. What’s up with that?

After deciding in retirement I should explore and experiment with visual arts, I started making tile coasters. As a complete novice, everything I know I learned from a YouTube video. The coasters came out great. I have even been so bold as to feature them in my gallery.

I love making coasters. The process relaxes me and taps into previously neglected creative juices, but how many coasters does one need? So, I put the coasters in time out while I considered other artistic pursuits.

The backyard began to call my name. Other than vegetables and herbs, neither one of us is into gardening. We’ve been trying to spiff up the yard on the cheap, so I thought, why not add splashes of color with yard art? Focus on something useful. For inspiration, I turned to Pinterest, where I was beguiled by garden totems and started a yard art board.

Garden totems are super cool. Some are hand-painted poles or towers, and others are stacked bowls and globes that look like something out of Alice in Wonderland. Making a totem is my ultimate goal, but I wanted to start small and learn a few things along the way.  

I found a scrap of cedar in the garage. I sanded it first and then added a coat of primer. I bought a set of acrylic paints suitable for outdoor projects and just kind of went at it freehand. The “front” side has all the colors, while the “back” is black and white. It took two coats, and then I protected it with two coats of sealer to add some gloss and help protect it from the elements.

When it was finished, I wandered around the yard trying to find a home for it. I thought about adding a dowel to make a sign I could stick in the ground, but I ended up hanging it on the fence. I even put in the little hanger screws and cut and twisted the wire! Dale says that makes me a certified tool user.

I like how my little artsy thing kind of peeks out from behind the Sego palms. I can see adding more pieces at different depths and different heights along the fence line. All in all, a very fun project.

If someone had told me I would be doing arts and crafts, I would have said they were doing drugs again. Art was just never my thing, and I’ve pretty much avoided colorful stuff most of my life. Beige works for the house, and black works for the wardrobe.

It just this second occurred to me my art truly does reflect my inner journey. One side wild and colorful and the other simple black and white.

The more I experiment with color, the more I find myself craving colorful clothes, but that might be part of my imaginary transition to eccentric Bohemian heiress who spends her life dabbling in things that amuse her.

During my career, I got totally wrapped up in the idea I was my job, that my value on the planet was based on what I did for a living. Even today, I see former colleagues pursue their ambitions as though it’s all that matters.

Retirement strips you of old expectations, and you begin to see who you are without the pressures, demands and distractions of the workplace. Some are uncomfortable giving up their professional identities. But when the gloss of the job is gone, maybe you become the person you really are, the person you were supposed to be all along.

Work is good, and hard work is honorable. Why not be proud of our professional achievements? I am. But that’s not all there is. To me, it’s never clearer than when I pause to read the obituaries. That’s often when you see how a person’s life is characterized. Sure, there are famous people and unique individuals who found a passion that drove their careers, and you might read their obits in The New York Times.

But for the rest of us ordinary folk, what you did for a living is sometimes secondary. The real meat of a creative life tribute are the passions that shaped a rich and wonderful life.

The deceased person’s children often write the really good ones, and that’s when you see why they were interesting and more importantly, why they were loved and cherished. I’ve edited this a bit so as not to intrude on a family’s grief, but here’s an excerpt from a recent obit in my local paper:

As a school teacher, we were all lucky to have him home for summer break. We spent hours on the river in a kayak he built by hand, as he pointed out birds and plants along the way. He was a father to so many of our friends, and our home was the hub of the neighborhood. He was a frugal chef, and his mystery meat Stroganoff was legendary. He was a little league coach, umpire and soccer referee. He taught himself to play the mandolin and had a black belt in Judo. He was never afraid to try anything.

What a revelation! I’ve enjoyed – and continue to enjoy – an interesting life. I try to be a good person … fun, honest, compassionate and civilized. But I never measured myself by that standard, because I thought only work counted.

Now I know work is just a small part of who we are, and simply living life with good intent is accomplishment enough.

I’m still making coasters. It’s fun and relaxing. I added four new ones to the gallery – my first attempt at a more artistic approach. Color! I’m not saying they are good, but I like them. While I’ve been gifting coasters to friends and family, I’ve also been thinking about selling them on Etsy.

Still on the fence about the whole thing. Leaning strongly toward no. While money is always nice, I don’t really need the little bit of cash I might make on Etsy. Maybe I would break even on art supplies – that might be cool. But my career was all about trading time for money, and I want this chapter of my life to be about choosing creative opportunities that are right for me.

But … I’ve been a bit of an entrepreneur over the years, and I’ve sold stuff before. And I did it when I had a demanding job. I started a golf shirt company. I guess it was 2000 or 2001 that I came up with the idea of a women’s golf shirt with an embroidered logo.

Although I didn’t do a formal business plan, I did a lot of research and consulted with a group of retired executives who advise entrepreneurs. There were so many things to do and learn. Getting a business license, establishing an online store, setting up a payment system, buying blank shirts, getting the logo professionally designed, digitizing the design for embroidery, finding vendors, shipping, taxes – I still can’t believe I did all that while I was working.

I didn’t expect to make big bucks, but I always felt words were my strength, so I found an intellectual property attorney and trademarked the logo, some other slogans and the company name, which shall all remain nameless because of what happened next.

My eBay store had been humming along for several years, and just as I was about to break even, someone offered to “buy” one of my trademarks.

You don’t actually buy trademarks. The owner “assigns” them for a fee. It’s pretty much the same thing. The first offer was for $5,000. I was open to the idea of giving up the trademark, but I had that much invested already, so I said no. We eventually settled on $50,000!

Rather than just accept my good fortune and move on, I started up another company selling golf shirts and then t-shirts after that. Inventory was a challenge. By the time I quit, thrift shops and landfills were enjoying my unsold goods. A few dozen coasters would be nothing compared to our den with stacked up piles of shirts in various sizes.

As I’ve been pondering the Etsy dilemma, I’ve learned a couple of things. Once I started thinking about business and marketing, my creative focus changed and not in a good way. It was no longer about creating as a form of expression but trying to make something that sells. I suspect I could work through that and get to a nice balance.

However, the other thing I learned is I truly have evolved in my retirement. I’m taking control of my life … questioning old assumptions and actually thinking through what makes me happy and how I want to spend my time – not doing things just because someone else thought it was a good idea or it might be profitable. These are small signs, but I see both as positive movement:

• After golf yesterday, I thanked the women I was playing with for the game and then said I wasn’t coming in for the social hour. One of the other players said, “But it’s the meeting!” Exactly! The league has periodic member meetings, and I guess they like us to participate. I hate meetings. I said yeah, well, I did meetings for 35 years. I’m done.

• A guy on LinkedIn contacted me about being interviewed for some research related to my former profession – and I said no thanks. Then he offered money, $250 for an hour of “consulting.” The money got my attention. I’m totally up for a consulting gig, but this particular opportunity didn’t appeal to me right now. I decided it was OK to say no. Doesn’t mean I won’t say yes next time.

What is it they used to say? If you stand for nothing, you fall for everything?

I was out in the garage making coasters and listening to Bob Dylan … because I am retired, and I can. Even though I know every song, sometimes music slaps you in new ways. It was as though I had heard Maggie’s Farm for the first time.

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
No, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more
Well I try my best
To be just like I am
But everybody wants you
To be just like them

Listening to the whole song, I thought about what a miserable existence that must have been, working on Maggie’s farm. Aside from the pressure to conform, he encounters mean people in the way of Maggie’s Pa and her brother. And one gathers Maggie, herself, was no saint.

I was thinking about my own jobs and decided to start referring to my entire career as Maggie’s Farm. Maybe that sounds negative, but when I’m feeling especially happy about my retirement lifestyle, I find myself singing, “I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more.” It’s my new anthem.

Jobs rarely live up to expectations. Some of the best career advice I ever got infuriated me at the time. I was so naïve and wanted to think the world of business doesn’t operate this way.

The first was from a senior State Department official. He said, “Donna, let me tell you how to get ahead. Keep all your good ideas to yourself. Do everything your boss wants, and someday you will be boss, and everyone will have to do what you say.” Although I never subscribed to his theory, I eventually saw his truth in action and probably would have fared better if I had gone that route.

The other advice was from a lawyer for an investor-owned utility who had left the company over a beef of some sort, went to work for a competitor that ultimately merged with another company – leaving her with a golden parachute. She came back as a consultant, and we collaborated on a project.

She said, “You have to decide what you’re willing to do to get ahead. If you really want it, you have to suck up and keep sucking up. When you think you’ve overdone it, and they will call you out for being a suck up, suck up more. Those at the top have an insatiable need. And if you aren’t prepared to meet that need, then settle for something less.”

That was when I adjusted my career goals. I never was good at the whole suck up thing but figured I could go pretty far without it. Just not the top. And that turned out to be fine with me.

My days at Maggie’s farm are over, and I have no regrets. I did good work, had some amazing experiences, lived reasonably well along the way and earned a decent retirement. I read all this stuff about people not adjusting to life post-career, and it doesn’t surprise me, because we’ve been programmed since we were kids to find a job and earn a living.

I would guess we started compromising on how we’d spend our lives by the time we reached middle school. You were already trying to figure out what you were good at, what gave you pleasure and how you might convert that into a paying gig. And somebody was already whispering in your ear, “You can’t do that.”

Retirement is not a return to childhood. It’s better! This is probably the freest we will ever be. It’s so cool and fun to experience this transformation and imagine the possibilities, and I fear this is something lost those who dwell on the downside of aging.

Are you enjoying your freedom?