What Does It Mean To Be Retired?

 

The new semester just has begun. For the first time in many years, I am not part of it.

After I taught my last class, more than three months ago, my brother asked me how I felt about it. “I don’t feel retired,” I said. “ Ithink it will hit me when next semester starts.” Well, here I am and I still don’t feel “retired.” Is something supposed to happen in one’s body, one’s mind or one’s life when one stops doing what they’ve done for most, or all, of their working life?

People have advised me to keep busy. I am doing that,  and will probably become even busier if I do even a few of the things I’ve planned or contemplated. Of course I have been cycling, writing and helping Sam, Carrie and a couple of other people with everything from fixing bikes to filling out forms. But I am also, in whatever ways I can, be someone who is the kind of person I didn’t know when I was growing up or beginning my life as Justine. I got a glimpse of that person when, after my last class, two non-binary students told me they were glad to, not only have me as a professor, but also simply to meet me: It showed them, they explained, that the lives they want to live are possible.

And, as I mentioned in the post I wrote afterwards, it actually confirmed, for me, that I was making the best decision. The venue and context may change, but there is work and simply living to be done. Perhaps that is the reason I don’t feel retired, and possibly won’t 

Leaving: The Road Ahead

 

Yesterday I rode down to Rockaway Beach. From there, I pedaled into wind that, at times, reached 40KPH (25MPH) to Brighton Beach.

Along the way, I thought,  among other things,  about the encounters with students I mentioned in my previous post. They could’ve changed my mind about a decision I made earlier. But something one student said made me realize I made, if not the right choice (if there was one), but one that could work out in ways I hadn’t planned.

Someone asked a food writer or chef—I forget which—what he would choose for his last meal. “Wait—I thought you hated those foods,” the interviewer interjected. “Exactly. I don’t want to be unhappy about leaving this world.”  For me, the conversations I had with the two non-binary students, particularly a comment one of them made, left me satisfied that this coming week, I will be teaching my last classes.

Not long after I had the dream about a classmate I hadn’t seen since graduation—and finding her name on my high school’s “In Memoriam” list—I wrote my letter stating my intention to retire as of 1 June, just after the semester ends. While there are ways in which college teaching has changed that are not to my liking (e.g., online classes), I am not leaving because of dissatisfaction or even burnout, though I find that the work seems to take more of my energy than it did years ago. Rather, I am satisfied that I am leaving on a good note: The in-person class that included those two students is one of my favorites, and the two online courses I taught this semester at least had students who seemed friendly and worked diligently.

My student is right: Wherever I go and whatever I do next, I will offer people like them, young and old—and myself—what  I have given them and what I did not have when I was their age or when I started my gender affirmation process.

Growing His Passion In Soddy-Daisy

 Here in New York City, we have Hell Gate, Hell's Kitchen and Gravesend.

There are other funny, interesting and unusual place names all over the world.  I think now "Cheesequake," in New Jersey, just a couple of towns over from where I went to high school  And Condom, in the southwest of France (I've been there)-- which, of course doesn't have the same meaning in English.  Speaking of English, there's Upperthong, in West Yorkshire.

For a cuter, more family-friendly toponym, how about Soddy-Daisy in Tennessee?  

Somehow I imagine that there must be some interesting people in a place like that.  How can you not move--or tell people you're from--there without at least cracking a smile.

One of the folks in that place is probably one of the first I'd want to meet:  Tom Jamison.

Tom Jamison.  Photo by Matt Hamilton, for the Chattanooga Times-Free Press

He bought his first bike as an adult in 1997.  But, he says, he didn't start putting in "serious mileage" until  retired as a Tennessee Valley Authority project manager at age 50, in 2004.  Almost immediately, he jumped on his bike and pedaled over 500 miles to Orlando, Florida for a vacation with his daughter.  

Since then, he reckons he's pedaled 160,000-170,000 miles.  With his riding buddies, he does two or three trips a year.  "I even pedaled to Hampton, Virginia for a high school reunion," he recalls.  "They were in amazement."

He's done about 100,000 miles, he figures, on his go-to bike:  a Trek 520.  From looking at his photo, I have little doubt he'll make it to another reunion--whether on that bike or another, from a town called Soddy-Daisy.