The Rest of My Life: Retirement Day!

            When my alarm went off at 5:05 am this morning, I switched it off.  For the last time!  Today was my last day at work.

            Retirement Day!

            I went through the usual work-day routines.  Got washed and dressed.  Fed the cat.  Had breakfast.  Then sat for a half-hour in the armchair, with a mug of turmeric tea, and with Daisy (my cat) settling contentedly on my lap. 

            This is one of my favourite times of the day, when things are generally quiet and still outside, and when the daylight is still some way from completely breaking through the gap in the curtains.  With the tea drunk, I sit back, close my eyes, then briefly run through my thoughts: about dreams I'd had and what they might have meant, about people I know, about the day ahead, about things I intend to do when I get home again.  I imagine the scene in other households at this time, with people huddled over screens of one sort or another - checking the news, catching up with messages, scrolling content. What was it that early Facebook funder Roger McNamee said? "Do you check your phone before you pee in the morning or while you pee?  Because those are the only two options left now."  Not for me!  That stuff can wait until the evening, when I'm on the computer.  I find it more centring and energising to just switch off first thing.  The final fifteen minutes are usually in full meditation mode, with my head emptied out at last and the only sounds being the clock ticking, the birds outside... and Daisy purring.

            I read a piece the other day that said that by 2030, AI will have worked out all animal communication: birdsong, whale song, the grunt and snuffle of the pig, the raucous bu-bu-bu-BAAH-bu-bu of the hen, the bark of the dog (according to Gary Larson's Far Side, what we hear as bark-bark-bark as the dog runs after a car is actually Hey! Hey! Hey! in dog-speak!)  Maybe that'll be a useful thing, enabling us to communicate with our furry, feathered and slippery friends better.  But I don't think Daisy's purr takes much figuring out.

            I'd intended that today should be as normal a day as possible - apart from it's also being my birthday, which hasn't been an 'event' for me for many years.  So I set off at the usual time (6:30 am), cycling around the local roads, then down the seafront hill to the town centre, then south along the main drag, then back up a parallel hill to the respite unit where I work(ed).  The unit is less than a mile from where I live, but I like to take that more indirect route (almost 2 miles) to get a bit of exercise in and wake me up properly.  Killing two birds with one stone!  Getting there first as usual (apart from the night staff already on site), I unlocked the main gate, then the main reception entrance.  I signed in, checked the daily diary, then headed downstairs to get ready for the day. 

            Windchimes is a small council-run respite unit for children with autism and learning disabilities.  Up to 4 children usually stay there for 2 or 3 nights to give their parents a short break.  Of the many, many jobs I've had (alright - 35) over the fifty years since I started work, it's been one of the best places I've ever worked.  So it's more than appropriate for it to be my last job.  I can leave on good terms, with smiles, hugs, pats on the back... and with promises to return now and then for cups of tea and catch-ups.  They're friendly folk.  And I feel a natural affinity with the place - not least because of my own autism.  It's one of those rare places where understanding is high, so there isn't much need to explain behaviours, reasons, needs. 

            In my 20 years (and 10 jobs) in social care, I've spent most of the time as a care and support worker.  Like many (sadly, I know), I got out of the care side after Covid.  I worked all the way through the pandemic, and was quite simply burnt out at the end.  So I made a sideways move (some might say downwards, which it was financially) into the housekeeping and domestic side of things.  A cleaner, in other words.  A few people said to me at the time "Why do you want to do a job like that?"  Well, firstly, it was a job that I thought would be more manageable for me now.  Secondly, it would give me what care work didn't: autonomy, the ability to plan my own day... and with no one looking over my shoulder.  It was more regular hours, too, which suited my need for routine and structure.  And finally.... what's wrong with being a cleaner?  Like care, too, it's a much under-rated and under-valued job.  I suppose it has less cachet, of course.  But that sort of job-status nonsense has never bothered me.  I don't mind who knows I'm (or I was) a cleaner.  It gave me its own level of satisfaction and fulfilment.  I took a spiritual approach to it, in fact - feeling 'cleansed' myself as I worked each room of a day, going into them when they were dirty and messy and leaving them clean, tidy and smelling fresh.  Zen Buddhism places high importance on the daily ritual of 'Soji', or 'cleaning the temple'.  And I found it quite a Zen-like activity.  I could do it on auto-pilot, too, which would enable me to indulge in two other things that are important to me: day-dreaming... and singing!

            And so, in 2022, I came to Windchimes as a 'domestic', and have been settled and happy there.  It gave me the best of both worlds, really.  I still got to interact with the children, play games with them, take them on outings in the mini-bus.  But I could leave their more direct care and complex needs to my colleagues, whilst I went about my daily mopping, vacuuming, dusting, and bin-emptying.  Sure, I didn't earn much.  But then I've never been a high-earner - and in good part because I've never particularly wanted to be.  I've always taken that Micawber-ish approach that as long as I earn enough to cover all my bills and basic needs, then that's all I want.  I can honestly say that whenever I've been in better paid work and have been able to afford more things, it hasn't actually made me any happier.  If anything, it's done the opposite.  More money has usually given rise to discontent for me  (What shall I spend it on?), and having more things has likewise led to stress and a sense of having a cluttered life.  I like to keep things simple and minimalist.  That way, I don't have to waste too much mental energy on it.  That way, too, I can turn my attention to other and more important things.  Simple pleasures, that actually give the true meaning to my life: reading, writing, doing art, meditating... and getting a restful night's sleep!

            My colleague on the domestic crew said to me first thing "You don't have to do much today, as it's your last day."  But again, I wanted it to be as normal as possible.  So I took my cart and did my usual round - though at a bit more of a relaxed pace, it's true.  And then, at 11, the phone in the downstairs kitchen rang as I was passing it.  No one else was down there, so it was what I'd been expecting (and, if I'm honest, slightly dreading) - not just all morning, but for the last few weeks since I gave notice.  I answered tentatively. 

            "Can you pop up to Reception, please.  You're needed."

            I'm not a big one for 'farewells' - all the hugs and stuff - but I went up.  And there was the bunting, draped around.  And my photograph plastered around like Wanted posters.  And all of my colleagues who were in at the time singing Happy Birthday!

            And it was actually lovely!  They had a big card for me, and a large bag of gifts.  A bottle of Jack Daniels Apple and a special 'Retirement' glass for it.  A neat 'Swiss Army Knife' type tool for my bike.  And a mug, which you can see in the above image.  They'd obviously picked up on a few things about me over these almost 3 short years!  In return, I gave them a big box of special chocolates (which emptied very quickly).  And another gift, which I hope conveyed how much the place and its people meant to me:  a set of hand-crafted windchimes, with flame-shaped glass 'chimes', graded with the colours of the rainbow spectrum.  One of the maintenance guys took it straight outside and hung it on the branch of a cherry tree in our garden, and we could hear it tinkling softly in the background in the gorgeous summer breeze that was blowing then, and see the sunlight sparkling on each flame's edge.

            When my shift finally ended at 1, I handed over my badge and keys and my manager gave me a huge hug.  "You'll be sorely missed," she said.  And I was really touched, because I knew she meant it and wasn't just saying it.  It's that kind of a place.  Like a family, really.

            Or maybe better than a family in some respects.

            Which is why I'll look forward to popping back for those regular catch-ups over tea.

            But meanwhile... it's back to getting on with the rest of my life...