Retired

Retired.

For the first time since I was four years old I am neither in school, working nor looking for work. I’m done. Finished. I’m walking a tightrope to nowhere. It’s not as if I've nothing to do. I’ve got queries for novel to send to agents and their rejections to read. The first of which came Monday, my first day of retirement. It simply read: not for us. What a bunch of assholes, I thought. Not. For. Us. Three fucking words to reject years of work. You bastards don’t have a form letter that is polite? I’ve subsequently received three other rejections and each one has thanked me for my submission and encouraged me to carry on. They were still rejections but neither curt nor cruel. One of the rejections said my novel was not “a good fit” for them. The term “not a good fit” has been around for awhile now. It’s a euphemism. When used for rejecting a book proposal it means: we don’t like it - or - we think it sucks. It’s used between employers and employees too and there it can mean, we don’t like you - or - you suck at your job.

I’ve sent out about a dozen queries so far and a third of them had gotten the thumbs down. I may never hear from other agents. I was very careful in writing my query letter and the synopsis and all the other things some agents ask for such as a one sentence pitch, an author’s bio, a list of similar books and target audience. Some agents want the first three pages, some the first ten, others the first 50.

It’s discouraging to be rejected, regardless of whether you’re told “not for us” or “yours’ is the greatest novel since Moby Dick but it’s not a good fit for us.” But there seems to be an infinite number of agents so you just keep plugging away. Eventually I’ll go over my query letter and all the other crap they ask for and see if I can buff them up, make ‘em even shinier. I’ll also probably go over the beginning of the book and see if there are any revisions that will make it more appealing. I won’t be giving up anytime soon, though. Lots of authors have piled up dozens of rejections before getting their proverbial foot in the door. Right now all I’ve got is a view of the door. Sometimes the door looks like it has a sign on it saying “entrance” and other times the sign seems to say “not for us.”

But there’s more to retirement than having life long dreams dashed. For instance, not working. This is something I’ve been practicing for on weekends and during vacations for decades now. I’m actually quite accomplished at not working. The simple trick is to not go to a job and to do nothing for which you might get paid. Easy peasy.

The problem is that I loved my job. I loved interacting with students from all over the world who were eager to improve their English and who enjoyed my class. I liked the vast majority of the co-workers I had over my seven and half years at the school. I loved teaching, I even liked grading tests and correcting writing. I loved planning lessons. Getting to work was another thing entirely, I had been goddamned sick and tired of commuting for years and was hating it more and more with each passing day. I also didn’t like having to pack a lunch almost everyday. I didn’t like rushing out the door in the morning and I didn’t like having to get up at the crack of dawn and I didn’t like having all my time consumed by a job.

So now I don’t have to commute, I can get up when I damn well please and I can stay up watching movies on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights. I don’t have to go to the gym at night after work when it is most crowded. I have more time to write, to read and do whatever the hell else I want, like being told “not for us.”

In my last days at the job I received a great deal of cards and notes detailing what a wonderful teacher I was and how enjoyable I made learning. My boss and co workers sang my praises. On instagram I posted some farewell pictures and former students from all over the world and a couple of former colleagues wrote very nice messages to me. This felt very good. I was always uncomfortable being praised when I was teaching but when it was all said and done I welcomed it and appreciated it far more than I’d ever have imagined.

I am a lucky man.

One thing I miss is the countdown. I spent a year counting down to retirement. Now it's here. Nothing to countdown to. I've arrived.

How’s retirement going? Three days in (not counting weekend) I feel a bit numb. Empty. Not happy, not sad. I look back at my last job in the same way that as a youth I would reflect on a great party. It was a great time but it had to end. I’m going to be writing a lot more now. I’ve got a prequel to write to the novel that is not a good fit for some and to others is not for them. My workouts will become more intense as I try to prolong the great physical health I’ve enjoyed. I’ve no idea what’s to become of my mental health which is always in dodgy shape. Retirement could be the best or worst thing to happen to my emotional state since I got clean and sober. It’ll likely land somewhere in between, as things do. Just as with work I’ll keep showing up and doing the next thing in front of me to the best of my ability. I’m not working but I’ll stay busy and active and I’ll keep trying to be a published author, if I ever quit trying it’ll be because I’m dead, a condition that seems inevitable eventually but I’m not going to worry about for now.

I’m still here.