Now, read on…
I refer to myself as “semi-retired” these days. My Dad was the most recent person to laugh and ask me what that meant. I told him it meant I had no job offers.
When I left my last job, it was during the beginning of the big economic slowdown. The company was looking to let some people go and I was looking to write my book. It was a fair trade, as I received enough severance to ease the “shame” of being unemployed.
Writing books had long been a goal for me, but it was something I was unable to accomplish while still holding down a “day job”. I am more than capable of multi-taskingwithina career, but I’m not able to multi-task careers. There are some who are good at this; alas, I am not that talented.
Still, within a job I multi-task well. For example, on the same day, I can write pages for the book, blog on the website, plot future chapters and plan marketing efforts. I just can’t do that and hold down another job, as well. My focus will fray and I will end up serving both responsibilities poorly.
Therefore, it was necessary for me to be “retired” while I was writing, so I could focus on the writing, without cluttering my head with anything else. I was never under the illusion that the retirement was permanent, though. As detailed in other posts, I determined that I was just short of being able to bridge the years between now and my untouchable retirement funds. In essence, I was too young to be retired (or, I was not wealthy enough, but that’s a half-empty view).
Additionally, it’s just a little too dull being “retired”. I’m a bit of a talker, so I miss having ears around me (yes, I also listen…fair’s fair). It never occurred to me that I would ever have trouble finding a job, though. Years of experience at various useful functions suggested I would have some market value. I should point out, I never envisioned my writing providing me with “living” wages. Few authors survive on the fruits of their work.
Who knew that when I crossed the mysterious barrier known as “50”, I would be deemed “old”. Fascinating! Throw in a recession and you have a recipe for a bad tasting job market.
It’s an interesting situation. I’m living a life I love. I write at my own pace, in front of the beautiful Atlantic Ocean, face little stress, have no boss to answer to and generally am pretty content.
Except, that tiny whisper which gets a wee bit louder every few months, saying each year I go on outside the workforce is another shovel of dirt over my job prospects. It’s still just a whisper, but it’s a darn annoying one. It says life is passing me by. It says if I don’t give up and go back to work (for real money), that someday it will be too late.
It says, I’m writing my life away!