This will not be a long entry, just long enough to record for myself the fact that I am today officially retired from the profession for which I worked for almost four decades.
As I drove my blue pickup truck homeward from the place of my last assignment, so many thoughts and memories ran through my mind that all bolts seemed to collide and leave me feeling numb.
I am glad. I am relieved. I am nostalgic. I am myself.
The future feels once again like a mystery, and I like accepting what’s to come just that way. Unknown. Unpredictable. Uncertain. Nervous. Hopeful. Resigned. Accepting.
Jobs tend to feed upon themselves. Routines conquer souls and encourage the heart to pump blood in only one direction. “Tomorrow morning I know what will occur, and when, and almost how,” our habits try to tell us.
And perhaps our habits acquire the cloak of truth. Perhaps all habits someday need to be broken. A slap and a shake backward into the rainstorm.
During these, my final years on Earth, I will not lie down and suffer melancholy or paralysis.
My fingers hover above this keyboard, biding time until the right moment arrives for telling my short list of readers what I thought about my profession all along. Soon enough I’ll speak of my frustration with holding secrets just because to scream the curdled blood away might have threatened my position.
My camera waits at the ready, batteries charged, viewfinder searching for the landscapes that my eyes reveal to me.
Books and stories that for far too long have gathered dust upon my shelves.
The crunch of fruits and vegetables.
The warmth of time spent with friends.
The softness felt when holding a lover.
All of this awaits my eager senses.
Until tomorrow then.
Tomorrow, when I’ll walk along the ocean’s edge.