In an earlier post, I mentioned the impact my mother’s retirement at age 59 had on me. She was utterly transformed by the experience — in a good way! I am now planning her 100th birthday DANCE party! What does this have to do with black history?
I imagined that I would engineer my retirement in early to late spring of whatever year, just as the days were getting longer and warmer here in the mid-Atlantic. I reasoned that this season of growth would have an equally hopeful impact on my ability to manage the variety of moods I would surely experience as I transitioned to my new life. But instead, I came face to face with the "bomb cyclone"!
The name “Unexpected Retiree” is how I have come to refer to myself, not because I did not expect to retire, but because that is the look or exclamation I get from others. I retired at 59, on the very cusp of 60 — early by many standards. People, in their surprise, always ask why, what happened, what are you going to do? Travel with me on my journey from my corporate employee to my new life on my terms. I don't have it all figured out, but that is half the fun!