Of Pax, Peace and Patience

We should be in the desert now. We’d be staying poolside in my sister’s casita. The afternoon temperatures would reach into the mid-80s – perfect for swimming, bicycling, and enjoying the scenery and the spirituality of the nearby Indian Canyons.

Instead, as I wrote last week, the road trip is canceled and it’s 27 degrees and winter storm Pax is bearing down on the Carolinas.

(I’m with my former boss who asked, “Who names winter storms, anyway?”)

The flashlights are freshly loaded, the wood stacked, the snow shovel retrieved. Best yet, I found my skis. If Pax drops enough white stuff, even though we’re not traveling cross country, I can traverse our neighborhood on cross-country skis.

Yes, I mourn the loss of our trip, but in addition to the fun of snow play, perhaps Pax can help bring the peace and calm that I am looking for and hoped would come from the road trip. Because, while I’ve been retired six months and so much has changed, so much is the same.

I still make daily lists. I still get up early (okay, the dog is an accomplice). I still think I should have something to show for myself at the end of the day. And, no, neither clean and folded laundry nor polished floors provide the same satisfaction as a finished speech, a published opinion article or a mentored colleague.

Do other newly minted retirees feel the same way? Or, do others make the transition more smoothly?

Perhaps, in my case, the added relocation wrinkle makes the retirement adjustment more difficult.

I am still amazed and awed by people who retire and move to a place where they know no one. We followed friends.

Thankfully.

I still struggle to find my place in my new community.  I’ve taken up yoga, go to personal training (and, yes, it was by accident), joined a gym, attend political meetings, and Saturday I may just be elected second vice president of a women’s auxiliary organization.

My sister calls this planting seeds. While I may feel like an uprooted tree in unfamiliar territory, one or more of these seeds may sprout and grow into new connections and relationships.

It takes time.

I take comfort in the advice from a dear friend who tells me to give it two years. She should know. This friend takes up several pages in an old-fashioned address book.

Yet, Pax is bringing me peace from my impatience. There’s nothing like a blazing fire inside and falling snow outside to make you stop in your tracks and stop worrying about where you’re going or whether you’re headed anywhere at all.

Now, where did I put the skis?