Thursday, 17 January 2008

Retirement is energizing, isn’t it?

Both Comox and Todos Santos are retreats for the retired or wannabe retired. Their climates, easy-going lifestyles, and outdoor offerings are a magnet for those tired of cubicle land, grasping office politics, and other business games. But the experts warn us that the transition to retirement isn’t easy. I’ve made it even harder for myself by bifurcating my life between two places, and so being a real resident in neither. And, after the heady bloom of novelty fades, I am finding it especially difficult to see who the “new me” will become.


I have no simple label
No title to deflect
The opening salvo “What do you do?”
Carrying a lethal load of “Who are you?”

I look with envious pity
On those who bow before their chosen addiction
Whether a noble cause
Or something more easily deciphered

I have no passion to follow
No certain purpose
I bite into all I encounter
Searching desperately for sensory clues
But all is tasteless mastication
All variations on flavoured coatings
Disguising the same blatant diversions

I have no anchor
No fixed positions in my universe
No means to orient myself
And I spin faster
Ripping into all that surround me
In an attempt to connect
But failing, flailing
Rending flesh, hearts, souls

I remember my father’s empty funeral
The friends’ apologies
Due to their need to change buses, or trains
Or maybe the possibility of traffic
And I wonder how far from the tree I fell

And so I rust here now
Neutered and numbed
Circling the black drain
Weighing the residual potential of life
Against the pain inflicted by truncation
And finding it hard to remember
These moments, too, should pass.

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