Our lives in New York/New Jersey were hectic, exhausting and stressful. My commute started between 5 and 5:30 in the morning with a ten minute walk to the bus stop, the express bus to the Port Authority, two subway trains and ended with another walk, about 20 to 30 minutes, to the entrance of the hospital.
My last years of working prior to retirement were the most difficult of all. I was struggling to control rheumatoid arthritis and loathing the daily commute that ate up four hours or more of every day. I rarely got to see daylight in my own home.
Saturdays were nearly as bad since our county had "blue laws" that did not allow many businesses to be open on Sunday (an effort to control excess traffic). Nice idea, but that meant that shopping for necessities had to be done on Saturday. Planning for the week/month was essential.
Many times over my working life, I traded time for money. I wanted the time more....time to keep my place as nice as I would like. Time to spend with my beloved companions. Time to cook or listen to music. There was only one glaring exception...while I worked weekend nights at the hospital. Every so often a holiday...Christmas, New Years, Fourth of July...would fall on a weekend. And the hospital paid double time and half. I loved it. One, it paid well and it was actually fun. Two, the doctors and nurses often got into the "spirit" and wore antlers or Santa hats, New Year glasses or red, white and blue regalia. It boosted everyone's mood. And, the added bonus was that it got me off the hook for once. I didn't have to make dinner for 6, 7 or 8 and THEN go to work the next day. For me, that was a holiday.
Something I learned sometime while living in Ann Arbor was that the adage, "work hard and get ahead" is a fallacy and cannot be applied universally. Sometimes you work hard and don't get anywhere. Sometimes you work harder and just manage to cling to the status quo. Sometimes you work hard and get royally screwed. Retirement has been a luxury for which I am deeply grateful.
Even afterwards, though, I worked for a while online writing articles for a medical website. And, there was so much to do. We sold the house and moved to central New Jersey, which entailed emptying scads and scads of stuff piled high in the basement, more stuff in what closet space there was, and yet more stuff in the attic. And everyone knows what a joy it is to move. Then came painting and improvements. Then planning for the BIG move overseas. And another spinal surgery.
Finalmente! I was hoping life would calm down here in Italy. The European approach would be good for us. Take time to smell the roses, as it were. Relax. Breathe.
Naturally, it took months to settle in especially with a whole new language to learn and a notorious bureaucracy to deal with. Instead of relaxing and breathing, my husband seemed more anxious than ever, always worried, always hyper, perseverating about the next perceived crisis.
I, too, had trouble sleeping, calming down. Sometimes I would pace up and down the hallway to the back door to the balcony and look out at the night until I felt ready to possibly sleep.
It has been over two and a half years now. Ironically, the pandemic assisted me, at least, in letting go of the next worry. Life became planning two weeks worth of groceries and meals and then collecting cats, which at first was not relaxing in any way, shape or form.
Whenever faced with any sort of problem or dilemma, my approach is to find a way to deal with it. My husband....not so much. He worries, he frets, he envisions worst case scenarios. Like anywhere else, glitches happen here in "idyllic" Italy, too.
We had our permits to stay delayed due to Covid. It all worked out ("We could be deported!"). Taxes had to be done ("This is a nightmare!"). We found an excellent guy, the taxes are done. We can't access the website for vaccines ("We may NEVER get there!")...it got straightened out and it was done.
He just cannot seem to accept the fact that here, things move a little slower. It is one of the things I adore about it. Expecting someone to show up at 8am? Give them until 10am at least. A restaurant has hours posted that say they open at 6:30pm? Keep in mind, that means you can walk in the door. Expect to have a drink and wait a while until they are set up and ready. They are not slaves to the clock here as in the U.S. That delivery you thought was coming today? Ah, domani. There's always domani.
It is hard to believe that retirement began eight years ago. Only now, eight years out and nearly three years into Italy, and my mind is more at ease. Carefree? Of course not...show me where that is, I want to sign up! But I am learning to just allow the things that happen ...to happen. Without a slight panic attack, without hysterics or curses or a racing pulse.
I ditched my watch. Makeup, if any, is minimal. I have a drawer full of accessories/jewelry I never wear anymore. I'm reading a lot more again. Clothes are for comfort, I don't care what other people think, they are usually wrong anyway. The fridge always has at least two bottles of prosecco chilling. Kittens make me happy. Staring at blue sky does wonders for the psyche.
If you walk outside our front door now, the sweet smell of jasmine fills the air. Sometimes (it has been a strange and chilly spring) I have my morning tea on the balcony.....sometimes a glass of wine in the evening. The rondole circle above (swallows). Finches and crows and jays have their conversations....someone is a songster...a tiny bird...maybe a type of finch. We have our own jasmina growing up a trellis out there.
A different world. Much like the one I recall from distant childhood....where things happen and things are dealt with, where everything isn't decided by a clock, where people have their quirks and that's okay....and the weather isn't perfect but there is music....and sky.....and kittens. "Where everybody knows your name." The scenery, however, is spectacular
