My New Semester of Life

As best I can remember, this is the first August/September that I didn’t attend the first day of school. From day one of ½ day Kindergarten ushering our four children all the way through their school years into their college years, volunteering at schools, serving on school boards, working in school administration for almost 30 years, plus earning my bachelor’s, master’s, and finally doctoral degree at age 60, this is my first start of the school year that I am absent for. Though, of course, no one is looking around and marking me absent.  

Even though I am launching my own business and living in my self-designed dream home (that has been waiting for my fulltime presence for 5 years now) and staying intentionally busy beginning each day in the early morning (a habit I cannot seem to kick), I am still getting used to the idea of watching everyone go back to school without me.  

It is also the first time I am really living on my own. My husband Kim and I married the day after I graduated from college, and we were married for over 40 years. I have lived on school campuses with and without my children and grandchildren since Kim passed six years ago. On my first night in my house, on my own, just a few weeks ago, I remember looking around me at about 11:00 p.m. and wondered if it was time to put myself to bed. There was no one to follow, and no one to ask.

Please note that I am not writing this to be maudlin, or to throw a spotlight on poor, poor pitiful me, but rather to mark another landmark shift in my life. The pace is probably the most notable change. I am not chasing meetings, or spending my days trying to always be appropriate, feeling the pressure of being looked to for decisions and answers, dressing for the most important event of the day, and then slogging in high heels to cheer on my team at a baseball game. Some days I still “go to work” at the office in my house, in dressy casual work clothes just out of habit. Other days I “show up” in shorts and a t-shirt but always with my hair fixed and makeup. Change takes time.

I inherited a bird clock from my mom. She left us at 96 years old (almost) this past January. She would have preferred I rounded up and wrote that she was almost 100 when she passed. She was very proud of being so close to the century mark. This clock has been sitting in a box in my office for some time now, and I came across it a few weeks ago. I thought it had stopped working, but when I dusted it off, cleaned the face, put in new batteries, and hung it on the wall across from my desk, the second hand started moving… a slow melodic tick, tick, tick. My house is now so quiet that the ticking clock and Walter’s (my sweet golden retriever) quiet breathing while he lays sleeping at my feet, are not only audible, they mark time moving forward with a slow steady rhythm. Then, on the hour, every hour of every day, the clock breaks its quiet steady ticking with various bird chirps ringing out so loudly that they send a surprising jolt through the room, and Walter and I are both startled out of our seats. 

The rhythm of my life has changed in my retirement from my school days. I am no longer rushing through a blur of meetings and events with an able assistant paving the way for a successful day. Instead, I am working at my home office desk, reading and writing from the window seat in my loft with my cat Duckie in my lap and Walter at my feet, or sitting on my back porch with a pair of binoculars watching the birds fly over the lake. One thing that never changes is the serenity and strength I gain from the spiritual sojourn I take throughout each day. Walter and I take long walks through the neighborhood each night, and I visit with all my loved ones every chance I get. It is lovely and quiet. 

The writing and coaching projects are starting to trickle in as I launch my next adventure in institutional consulting, executive coaching, and legacy writing. I know the peace and quiet I am experiencing at the moment will change. The gift of this moment in time is that I get to write my own next chapter. I get to choose what I celebrate. 

With all the tributes flowing in right now for one of the celebrities I have always held most dear, I am reminded to take a page from Dolly Parton’s book, Dream More: Celebrate the Dreamer in You, where she wrote, “I make a point to appreciate all the little things in my life. I go out and smell the air after a good, hard rain. I re-read passages from my favorite books. I hold little treasures that somebody special gave me. These small actions help remind me that there are so many great, glorious pieces of good in the world.” 

Every minute and every hour the bird clock ticks and chimes; every eagle, cormorant, and heron that fly over the lake; every word I write, page I read, and conversation I have; every bit of love shared with my family and friends; every moonlit walk I take, fills my time and space. It is all a peaceful and Godlike reminder that, as Dolly wrote, “there are so many great and glorious pieces of good in the world.”