I love it when my husband says, “You’re retired. Don’t do guilt.”
I’m into my third year of retirement. Looking back, I haven’t accomplished a damn thing that I dreamed of doing once I quit my job for good.
Sure, I could blame a lot of things I didn’t get to do because of the pandemic. That’s a no-brainer. If I wanted to lie to myself, I might almost believe it. Don’t you believe it, either.
Rule #1 — Don’t be so optimistic.
A doctor told me it to expect six months to a year to pass until retirement feels normal. No way. I kept telling myself, “I’m a go-getter and shit is going to start happening soon. I can feel it.”
Rule #2 — Don’t make promises to yourself that you can’t keep. Be ready to roll with the punches and find your happy you.
My husband and I wanted to travel. My dream was to rent an RV. It would be so cool to throw the dogs and cat inside and take a road trip up North to visit family and friends in the summer. The thought of making side trips along the way to go sightseeing captured most of my daydreams. What could go wrong?
I really need to stop asking myself that damn stupid question. I think God hears me when that question pops up into my head. He passes a mug to one of the angels and says, “Oh shit, it’s Diane Egan again. Here…hold my beer.” Every. F#cking. Time.
Two years ago, my husband lost his driving privileges due to medical reasons. He was supposed to be my wingman and share driving with me on our Excellent Adventures. I hate driving. Seriously. I miss the days when I could put the front seat all the way back, prop my feet on the dashboard, take a nap, or play Mahjong on my phone while he drove. Sadly, I knew there was no way in hell that I could drive over 4,000 miles myself and listen to his front seat driving.
Slow down, you’re going too fast.
You didn’t count to three at the stop sign.
Pull up to the white line so the traffic light knows we’re here and it’ll turn green…