Friday Feature: A Roadmap for Couples in Retirement

Six years ago, I retired. I was 51 years old, my daughter was just entering high school and my husband was still working full time.

It was an adjustment, especially since my first year was a limbo year. Retiring at 51 meant exiting my primary profession, but it didn't mean leaving the work force entirely. Since I hadn't stepped out of one job and into another, however, I had a lot of figuring out to do and, suddenly, plenty of time in which to do that. For a while, my husband and my daughter maintained their schedules while I tried to carve out a new one for myself and to figure out who I was now that I'd left my career behind.

These days, I'm firmly ensconced in my second career and very happy where I am. At some point, though, I will retire for real and so will my husband. My daughter, now a college student, will be on her own, making us empty nesters for real. It will be transition time again.

In her Next Avenue article, "An Emotional Playbook for Couples in Retirement," Joan Fischer acknowledges the challenges of this transition, and offers some suggestions for navigating it. Sure, it's supposed to be a time to relax and have fun, free from the entanglements of a work life, but it's also an entirely new way of life. Schedules change. Priorities change. We change.

Fischer's article is worth a read for empty nesters, too. It's so easy to assume we should just know how to do this and that it all should be fun and games as our responsibilities fade away and we have time for ourselves. But, as Fischer says, "Most of us don’t blithely stumble into marriage or childbirth, perhaps because those transitions carry so many obvious red flags."

If we prepare financially for these transitions, why not prepare emotionally too? Acknowledging the enormity of the change is the first step, and Fischer's practical suggestions offer guidance in navigating the new terrain.

What are you looking forward to in retirement? Why not take some steps in that direction now?

Falling for Fall

I am trying to stave off a cold. My daughter is sick. My students are dropping like flies. Germs abound and sleep is in short supply -- a surefire recipe for defeat.

Still, I love this time of year. Cool, crisp mornings. Sunny afternoons, perhaps with a hint of a breeze. Sweatshirt weather. The time of year when, depending on the time of day, I may need a blanket if I want to curl up on my patio with a book or my laptop.

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I have always loved fall. The juxtaposition of fresh starts against leaves in one final display of glory creates an energy that inspires me to make new plans. Optimistic, far-reaching plans that excite and that I foolishly believe I have the energy to carry out. Inevitably, they become part of the reason I succumb to the sleep deprivation that invites illness, but that doesn't make them any less fun to contemplate.

We all need a season in which to contemplate. To create new things with hope and a sense of complete possibility. Without renewal, life grows stale and we feel more like the crumpled leaves on the ground than their celebratory siblings on branches just out of reach. Maybe those plans will fade and wither, or maybe they'll spark something as long-lasting as the tree itself, nurturing generations of leaves to come.

So I will continue to plan. And if experience is any indication, I will make plans that tax my energy and patience, no matter how realistic they may seem at the start. But no one ever promised that life would be free of challenges.

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And along the way, I may just curl up under a blanket on my patio and take a nap. I'm going to need energy for all of those plans, after all, and I can't afford to get sick.