Normal

I’ve had a stressful couple of weeks.

I know that I am luckier than many people, and this feeling is nothing compared to the stressful forty years of full-time work, but, then again, those strains were all to do with processes and deadlines, the employee, not the individual.

No matter the failings of others as well as my own, the responsibility for delays, disruption or outright disasters was mine. I was judged purely by what I did or didn’t achieve for the company.

I liked my job but hated the positioning. A lot of ‘professionals’ are defined by such labels, aren’t they?

“What do you do?” is the opening gambit in so many business and social situations, where manoeuvering to get ahead of canapés and competitors is the unfunny game we are forced to play.

Not anymore.

Whether as a direct result of all those years of hiding or not, my blood pressure levels were raised. I’ve taken medication for this for some years now. With genetics also causing high cholesterol, I am tested fairly regularly. This is obviously a good thing, and ‘free’ thanks to paying into the system for so many years.

However, each test is a reminder that things may not always be rosy in retirement.

We have a financial plan in place, but all that planning is more likely to come to an abrupt end now rather than at any other time in my life. I know that this is relative, but the reality is that although time has always been running out, there’s definitely going to be less of it left now – all other things being equal – than when I started my first graduate job in London all those years ago.

Shaking off that label means that I have more time to walk and play golf, as well as rowing for miles and miles in our (warm and dry!) garage, to maintain my physical fitness.

I am finally able to express myself without fear of pointed comments or smug little put-downs and can now tell my stories. I have writing plans and publishing windows in place, but they could be closed and sealed shut at any time.

The doctors discovered something they didn't like the look of, but the retests then came back as ‘normal.’ I suppose this is a bit of a victory in itself, as that was very definitely never a label assigned to me in all my years of working for other people…

The point is, though, that one day I will get a ping on my phone: a text announcing that my results really are ‘out of range.’ It will be the beginning of the end.

I was reminded recently of that great quote by Confucius: “We have two lives, and the second begins when we realise we only have one.”

I’m loving that second life, and I absolutely understand that I am standing on the building blocks forged by the first. I am living every second of it in terms of fun and relaxation in the sunshine and glorious fresh air, as well as continuously learning from people and places (and hopefully a few small achievements here and there).
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We’ve made it into the End Zone; we've earned the right to be here. And yet, there is no greater affront to human rights than the knowledge that, one day, what we consider to be normal is no longer the case.

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