Much to dad’s chagrin, my high school bedroom walls sported several posters of long-haired rock stars and one of a young, redheaded woman sitting on suitcases, ready to depart for the world. That was me, freckle-faced and ready to take on the world.
Hepburn once said, “paddle your own canoe.” Sounded like good advice. So, I did.
When you are young, retiring seems like simple math. Fast forward a few decades and the equation looks a lot like algebra. Now, there is a bend in the river I do not know by heart. The nearing horizon looks bright or murky, depending on a head tilt. Right now, I am gliding with the current, paddling slow. Thinking. Planning.
Parameters have changed. High school days meant chopping meager paychecks into gas money and savings so I could split at 17, which I did. College days required books, room and board, and pinching a little on the side for Penny Postcard 50 cent beers. Calzones at Tommy’s were a treat. Graduation meant worrying over rent, one month and one paycheck at a time, facing an endless row of days, trains to catch, and bosses to impress.
All those paychecks flowed through my life like maple sap on a Maine, early August morning. Soon, they will stop. The thesaurus fails to deliver an adequate word for how strange that feels.
Probably normal, friends say, to feel scared and excited at the same time. Surely, it is not like stepping off a cliff even if it does feel that way. My entire adult life has been consumed by work and then some. The Bar-b-que Pitt on Route 301 kick-started independence and near adulthood at 15. Never loss sleep or nerves over that transition. That girl was fearless. Where did she go?
Blinking at the sun spots, I hope to catch up with her at the turn of the next bend.