Turn The Page
A look ahead into retirement instead of staring back at a career
By Ron Ciancutti
Now, in my second year of retirement, my children tell me I am assembling a sizable list of “get-off-my-lawn”-type platitudes. Until they are pointed out, I am pretty unaware of how they sound, but once they’re repeated, I understand the looks my children give each other as I pontificate.
Photo: © Can Stock Photo / arekmalang
I’ve also learned that we of the lawn chair-enabled are fairly convinced our observations should be obvious to everyone.
Recently I was splitting wood in the backyard, prepping my stock for summer/fall bonfires, and somewhere around noon I began wishing for a disgustingly humungous lemonade. You know the ones they sell at the gas station mini-mart that practically require dialysis to process? These are typically reserved for people who have just stepped directly off the sun, but that’s how thirsty I felt. I jumped in the truck and was about to access a little piece of highway into town when a homeless gentleman and his sign by an on-ramp caught my eye. I was past him before I realized what I had seen, but I made up my mind to buy his lunch and drop it off on the way back. After scoring my vat of lemonade, I bought a sizable burger, fries, and a drink for my friend and retraced my steps to the on-ramp. I pulled over and waited as he approached my window.
“Afternoon, brother,” I said, smiling.
He nodded and smiled.
“I thought you might enjoy some lunch,” I continued.
He stood at the window, looked in, and began shaking his head.
“Mighty considerate of you, but I avoid fast food whenever possible. That stuff will kill you.”
I sat there, frozen, trying to believe what I had just heard. This man was not only refusing my generosity, but was “tsk-tsking” my choices.
A Clint Eastwood Moment
I smiled, nodded, and drove away quietly, fighting every urge to spray him with road dust. I knew in my heart he was probably the last homeless individual I would ever try to directly “enrich.” Of course, when I got home and regaled my family with the tale, they sided with him and said I should have circled around and bought a salad for him to enjoy. I’m sorry, America, but I had drawn the line. Something about ingratitude and simple humility was screaming in my ear. Is it just my retirement status that’s making me cranky from experiences like that? I did some inventory. So, what else is on my list that is marking me as Clint Eastwood in the movie Gran Torino? Here are a few:
People wearing masks alone in their car. Really, folks? You are alone!
Shredded lettuce on any sandwich one tries to eat in the car. Let’s put the whole leaf on and reduce the likely rear-end collisions that the shredded stuff will bring about.
Those tear-off-and-reseal packages for cheese, snacks, and other items intended to stay fresh. Will someone find and bring to trial the person who invented them? The only thing they don’t do is seal. I spend days trying to line them up, but to no avail.
The little pictures that pop up on the dashboard to indicate there’s some malfunction. Who in God’s name came up with these?
WIFE: “Ed, there’s a picture of two lines, a cog from a clock, a wrench, and what appears to be the sun that comes on every time I start the car. What does it mean?”
HUSBAND: “You either need to change the oil, rotate the tires, or maybe it’s the first day of Lent.”
You see, folks? These are legit, and while it appears I’m hanging on by a thread because I can note a dozen more examples, I am actually exaggerating the real effect they have on my life. The above list is mostly said in jest. The truth is my attitude in retirement is more about “to each his own” than “do as I say.” In fact, I consider myself fortunate to be here, and quietly thank my role models for teaching me from a very young age to save and build a retirement plan. It didn’t take long for the newly retired me to realize that, if I sat around and chose to be a bitter, old complainer, there were plenty of topics for me to select. But that was never my way, so why should it be now?
What I really needed to identify were opportunities to grow, and that’s exactly what I did. I focused on the differences between my work life and retired life. What was I missing? What I found staring back at me as I looked into the abyss was I really missed making big decisions: working solutions out for big projects or negotiating expenses for task forces and committees. I missed the challenge, as I had always enjoyed my work, but in the end, I realized it didn’t require big dollars for decisions to be important. It was time to find a different kind of importance, and once I did, I found all the satisfaction I would ever need, in fact maybe more.
Time To Serve Others
With five children (all in various stages of life) and 16 grandchildren (all in various stages of growth), I had more direction to provide than ever before. I have a son just out of college, another son about to be married and buying his first home, and three daughters who are working and raising all these grandkids.
The help I provide comes in various forms. Sometimes it’s just basic labor—yard work, home repairs, car repairs, or taxi services. Then there are times when my executive experience looms large: financing a home or loan, inspecting a used car before buying, rearranging budgets to help squeak value out of every dollar. I also upgraded my role as son to my 85-year-old mother, which oftentimes includes nothing more than an afternoon visit to replace storm windows with screens and have a glass of iced tea. She, too, had become used to only talking to me on lunch hours for the past 37 years.
Yeah, it was really true. The minute I stopped looking at retirement as a time to reward myself and instead made it time to serve others, who had been patiently waiting for my involvement, everything made more sense.
Certainly, it doesn’t hurt to have a partner who is all-too-willing and happy to accompany me on these life errands. Cindy has an altruistic capacity to provide for others—especially our children—in any self-sacrificing way she can. So, often the yard-work visits include a chocolate cake or a generous bowl of pasta to feed the families as we rotate through the five kids and their priorities.
Cindy has also organized a Wednesday night study group; our three daughters have a collective seven sons aged 15 to 18, and we noticed their grades could be a lot better. Each Wednesday, she makes dinner and I sit at the dining-room table holding court, providing direction for projects, class papers, and neglected homework. I’m pleased to report large improvements in this area, and truly, what project did I ever lead in my career that had a payoff like this?
A New Leaf
I watched public farewells like those of Walter Cronkite, John Glenn, Johnny Carson, Jay Leno, and David Letterman. Each of them openly choked back tears. It’s not easy giving up something that was a huge part of one’s life. Heck, Joe DiMaggio stood before a microphone and announced his retirement from baseball in what was probably the most sentimental exit ever recorded.
Try this for me. Think of someone important in your life who has passed on. What do you recall about him or her? Their financial status? Their manicured lawn? The projects they managed? Or is it more about how welcome they made you feel in their home? How easy it was for them to cheer you up? How simply happy you were when they showed up? We all have that capacity within us. Right?
So, I made a choice. Retirement is simply going to be a bridge for me. Let’s see what happens next, not what happened before. It’s time for Chapter 2.
Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.