People often fantasize about life after retirement. Whenever my hubby and I meet with our financial advisor, we discuss where we stand in terms of eventually being able to walk away from office-life while still being young enough to have our wits about us. Yet despite having a good plan, I don’t delude myself. While it is wonderful to daydream about reaching that light at the end of the tunnel, I must be realistic – I haven’t even gotten to the tunnel yet. If anything, I’m still climbing the shear and narrow mountain roads overlooking a steep, cavernous drop below. I won’t even reach the tunnel for a while. For now, I need to just make sure that I steer the course without making a perilous turn which will send me plummeting.

Yet, I have to wonder, what will it be like living in retirement-land? What should I expect? Heck, even if I don’t have the zoom-zoom-zoom overachiever energy that I have today (which frankly, can be rather annoying sometimes), will I still have too much energy to enjoy sitting still for moments at a time? If so, what will I do with my time? 

Paul and I argue over our final destination. Living where we live today, Paul enjoys being surrounded by his Victorian fantasy. And while I don’t honestly believe he will be able to do so painlessly, he has said that when the day comes, he will be able to completely walk away from it so that we can submerge ourselves in my fantasy – living in bungalow splendor. Eventually, the plan is to live in a (hopefully 100%) restored arts and crafts bungalow. With less space to care for, less stuff to dust, and a single story to avoid the treacherous stairs that plague our aging bones, our little retirement home will grant me the serenity that only an artsy little home can grant. Now to just figure out where. I tend to favor Pasadena because of its artsy downtown, charming neighborhoods, and pure peace and quiet. Paul prefers to return to the land of his youth – San Diego. I guess we have decades in which to argue and explore our options. Heck, anything is possible, right?

No matter where we end up, I still have to wonder about what life will be like. Fast-forward. We’ve worked hard. We’ve slaved away for the corporate and the gub’ment man. And now, our time is our own. Now what? For Paul, I think this will be pretty easy. As long as he has a book, he’ll be good. Heck, today he is all set just having a Kindle in hand. By then, who knows what technological advances there will be? He might have some sort of implanted device that projects the images of the pages on the interior of his eyelids. He’ll be able to lie in bed with his eyes closed, while reading away at the latest novel. Like a citizen of Brave New World in a Soma-induced coma, he will be set. Me? Not so much. Even though the effects of time make themselves known in various aches and pains when I overdo it, I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be a sit-my-butt-on-a-couch kinda guy. I feel like I’m always going to need to be working on something – doing something. Maybe I will spend my time as a gardening fiend. Perhaps our perfect arts and crafts bungalow will be in the middle of a bare and neglected lot, demanding of a Japanese serenity garden with coy pond, rich red maples, flowering lantern plants, fuchsias, and an elegant teak outdoor breakfast patio. Maybe I will find myself in the midst of either some new artform or a rediscovered one. Maybe I’ll finally get that pottery wheel that I’ve always wanted so that I can make my own versions of Ephraim pots and Bachelder tiles at an affordable price. Or maybe I’ll work part-time or volunteer at some local center working towards bettering the neighborhood, or helping those in need. Worst case scenario, if I am too broken and owie-plagued to do any of these things, maybe I’ll find a way to get my butt down to the local coffee shop to order some fancy-schmancy java concoction, and watch humanity as it passes by. I’d like to think that, as time goes by and I become a regular at the local shop, I will begin to hold court with some of the other regular faces that I meet there. As the elderly king of the coffee shop, I will share with my court stories, anecdotes, and my rather strong-willed (read that as stubborn-assed) opinions of the world as it will be some distant date in the future. I hope that I can grow old with some sense of grace, a high regard to health and well-being, and the ability to look back happily at the days when I was young and turned heads when I walked by.

In thinking about it, it seems a little bit silly that a stubborn, strong-willed, arrogant, s.o.b. like myself can sum up his grand aspirations by ending up as the king of the local coffee shop. But for some reason, such a vision really makes me smile. It isn’t the cure to cancer. It isn’t the betterment of the human condition. It isn’t a form of art that changes social consciousness. But somehow, it represents to me the earned calm relaxation that comes with having done what needed to be done, and having led a good life guided by the right decisions. In my fantasy-world, it isn’t about having a grand mansion. It isn’t about luxury cars. It isn’t about running with célèbretants. It isn’t about having a portrait hanging in some corporate boardroom collecting dust. It is about holding court in a little coffee shop, surrounded by a couple of people who enjoy your stories, smiling as the world goes by. 

And when all is said and done, I’ll walk back home (assuming I am able to easily walk), and get back to pruning some of the roses along the sidewalk that have gone a wee-bit out of control. “Le Sigh,” I will think to myself while smiling. “The Coffee King’s work is just never done!”