“How much longer are you going to be here?”
My coworker’s question startled me out of my typing during our Skype call. We were in the middle of documenting requirements, planning meetings, and discussing our ever-mysterious system.
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure if she was referring to when I was leaving work, or when I planned to take my next vacation. She and I are both in our fifties, and have been with our unnamed insurance company for eons apiece, so we collectively have enough vacation time for a 6-month sabbatical.
“When are you retiring?”
This subject has come up frequently lately. Some of my friends have already retired and are dividing their time between here in frigid New England and balmy Florida. Other coworkers have waited until a particularly inane corporate initiative was announced to stand up and declare, “Okay, I’m done! I’m retiring!” Seriously–I witnessed someone do this. Still others are out of the workforce, but still living here and continuously texting me, while I text back, “What part of WildKnitter works for a living do you not GET??? (frowny-face emoji)”
Still another time, I was having dinner with friends one night, where the entire conversation concerned which state or foreign country each one wanted to call home in retirement. I remember saying goodbye to them, watching all their cars drive off, while one resounding thought crowded out all else:
I’M NOT DONE YET.
