Slacker

It occurred to me recently that—while living in the UK—I have been retired longer than I have had a job. That conveniently overlooks the 30 (ish) years of holding various jobs in the US, but it’s still a statistic I’m pleased with. I’ve been retired so long now that I can’t remember what it was like to have a job, but I imagine it must be awful.

And I say “Retired” as if I toiled to a ripe old age, incubated my nest egg to a respectable size, discussed this life-changing decision with my wife, employer, and financial manager, and parted from gainful employment after a booze-up and a gold watch presentation. What really happened was, they made me redundant, and I couldn’t be arsed to look for a job. We still had a booze-up, though.

The fact that, what might have been a financial crisis turned, instead, into a life of leisurely loafing was due to my inspired retirement plan, which I recommend to anyone reading this: spend money like a drunken sailor until your mid-40s, then marry a fiscally responsible woman. YMMV, but it worked for me.

My plan, by the by, also allowed my wife to retire early. I say “Retired” as if … you know the words, sing along. What happened was, she took a Career Break, wherein she was allowed to take unpaid time off, after which she would return to her position—sort of like maternity leave, but without the inconvenience of a child at the end of it.

That was what was promised, but I’m sure many of you are already surmising that, when it came time for her to return, she was told her job was gone and she’d have to take one she didn’t want in a location that was inconvenient to get to. The joke was on them, though, because after three months of being a layabout, she decided she liked it and wasn’t going to go back anyway.

My point, and I do have one, is that retirement sneaks up on you, and occasionally ambushes you, faster than you think. One day you’re doing whatever it is you do to keep yourself in lattes and your kids in Reeboks, then suddenly you’re looking at an indeterminate length of time with nothing to do and no money to do it with. Unless you had a plan.

Fortunately, I had one. Not so much about the income, but what I would do to fill that yawning void of time, which is just as important—perhaps more so—as the money. And that plan worked about as well as my financial plan (my original one, before I met my wife): I was going to paint.

For much of my working life, I dreamed of the days when I’d have copious amounts of free time to devote to watercolours, or pen and ink, or even oils. I could take a class, I could set up a mini-studio in the spare room, I could experiment, and experience the satisfaction of mastering something I had always dreamed of doing.

And so, I retired, and discovered I didn’t want to paint. Not only did I have no aptitude for it, I also had no desire to do it. Turns out, what I really wanted to do, is to have painted a picture, rather than paint one.

Conveniently, as with my financial plan, my wife had better ideas, and now my time is filled with other pursuits, many of them involving giving back to the community, which she believes keeps us healthy and well-centred, if not monetarily remunerated.

If you are retired and looking for something to do, I highly recommend volunteering somewhere. Or, if you fancy, take up painting.

If you are still working and you do not have a retirement plan, make one now; it is never too late. But before putting your plan into action, make sure she is fiscally responsible.