Doodling

It’s Monday. One of many where I have had a dash of overwhelmed in my coffee. When I had a fulltime job, Monday was a no brainer. I knew where I was going and what I had to do, ready or not. That did not mean I didn’t often feel overwhelmed, but facing 100+ kids in the classroom did not allow overwhelmed to take hold. The one sure thing that actually prevented, or at least reduced, the panic was having to be prepared. There is nothing more sweat- inducing dreadful than facing a classroom full of students with no plan. The REAL overwhelmed happened when my other life kicked in after 3:05 and extended until 8:20 the next day.  You know, the life that involved my own kids which included sub-demands like dance lessons, art lessons, swimming lessons, doc appointments, HW (which included MORE sub-demands like shopping for science experiments supplies and such), grocery shopping, dinners, husband, home care, running kids to malls/ movies/dances, grading papers, lesson planning, grading papers, lesson planning, grading papers, and relaxing. Wait…..did I actually say relaxing??  Sure, let’s say I did. Those days when I could actually sleep with my eyes open, memorize the lyrics to all of  Raffi’s and Selena’s songs, and a plethora of popular songs on the radio (actually couldn’t get them out of my head), and, in between all of that, worry about other people’s kids. Now that it is all behind me, I marvel at my ability to have juggled it all. I must have done okay. All my children survived, and I think most of my students remained unscarred. None became serial killers (that I know of) or suicidal (that I know of) and blamed me (that I know of).

Then I retired. Nest was empty. Rooms that once bedded kids bedded piles of fabric, craft supplies, projects. Closets that once boasted fashionista outfits of the young became storerooms for more fabric, craft supplies, projects. All the things I said I would do when I retired came out at night and taunted me. The clock ticking became a loud metronome keeping time with the bizarre music of sleepless souls. I imagined those to whom I had listed what all I would do when I retired were peeking into my life wondering when I was going to begin (okay, I realize this borders on needing some professional help). I weighed the number of things I wanted to do with the number of years I had left realizing those years were on the downside of the hill. The years may offer wisdom brought on by hindsight, but the ability to do everything is a slowing down process. Although I warmly regarded suggestions from well- meaning friends about how I could use my time lest I withered away from boredom, I chuckled inside hoping I did not to show the laughter in my eyes. Yes, I told them, volunteering my time somewhere will keep me busy. Yes, it is important to find a reason to get out of bed. Yes, I have many talents that render me still useful. Before I retired from teaching, I met a woman in the plaza in Las Vegas, New Mexico, when I was sitting for my granddoggers. She was sitting on a park bench reading a book. I have this at-times-could-be-irritating habit of asking people what they are reading. This prompted a short conversation with her. She was in her new months of retirement and said, “THIS is retirement! Endless hours of just sitting and reading!” There was something a little unsettling in her expression. Something between bliss and suffering a blow to the head maybe by a book falling off her shelf. Now don’t get me wrong. I love to read.  Love it. And, I will admit, there was some appeal to feeling like that was the only mission in life for a retiree. I will also admit that the first summer of my retirement (I was a substitute teacher for two years after I retired), I did just that. I read incessantly. I chocked up something like 22 reads. Finally focused on adult reads. For me. Fiction, non-fiction.  Then, somewhere between the pages, the big plot of post-job years flashed. A list of everything I had never done or ever would do was plastered on my brain like post-it notes. I panicked. I began acting (according to some who consider themselves close to me…) as though I feared I would run out of time before I got everything accomplished I wanted to do. And that is how I felt. I actually became fearful. Didn’t want to sleep. Sleep was a waste of time. Eating wasn’t. Pffft…I could do that on the run. I knew how to do that. It was sort of like the project piper was playing her flute and calling me to the edge of my sanity. What was worse was that I acquired a following of people who thought that it was what I wanted and encouraged me. I was a passenger on a runaway train of my own making.

Fast forward to this retirement thing now nearly three years later….I realized that I had spent my life on the run. I loved it. Had the job that totally fulfilled me. Felt needed, important to the world. Then, because we are conditioned to believe it is natural to have it come to an end and finally get to pay attention to ourselves, we are faced with a blank page. If we are lucky, we have enough money, we have our health. But there is still that blank page staring at us. What I discovered is that it is okay to leave it blank for awhile. Or maybe just doodle ideas, things we finally get to try out. I had a friend who always wanted to be a court reporter. After 30 years of teaching, she signed up for a class only to find out the younger ones were faster than she ever hoped she could be. But she tried it. She doodled. Had another friend who had taught Shop for 30 years. Upon retirement, he worked for his friend as a cabinet maker. Found he didn’t like working in houses with no heat. Quit. He doodled.

So now I am doodling. It’s easier than I like to admit to focus on aging. I was asking my daughters to help me with things that I thought were too difficult for me to do now. Lifting things, hauling junk to donation sites. Then a revelation. They aren’t difficult for me to do, they just take me a little longer. This has given me a better sense of time AND my ability to fill it as I go. I am a doodler.

Any doodlers out there with a story?