These Florida retirees have it figured out
Instead of asking what if, focus on what is
I had drinks with a colleague last week, and admitted something I’m pretty uncomfortable talking about. I told her that although the work I’m doing these days feels incredibly rewarding, I worry—a lot—that I haven’t accomplished enough since Jamie’s death.
This wasn’t something I planned to reveal during our meeting; our conversation veered off course with the aid of our happy-hour old fashioneds. My companion, who’s older than I am and also happens to be a widow, set down her drink and looked me square in the face.
“What you have been through is the most adult thing many of us will ever experience in life,” she said. “Most people don’t experience it until decades later, and even then, they’re not equipped to handle it.”
Her words comforted me, but the nagging feeling of falling short in life persisted.
Jamie died when I was 31. I’m now 33, and will turn 34 in a few weeks. Instead of continuing forward—advancing in my career path, growing my family, tackling additional home improvements, looking for the next big project—it feels like I took a significant step back, opting to quit full-time work in favor of a routine and schedule that allows me to rest more often. I’m not a mom, a wife, or a salaried employee, and that sometimes leaves me feeling lost.
The feeling of falling behind in life is heightened right now, as I’m in the midst of running a week-long academy for women leaders in journalism. The selection process for this academy is rigorous and competitive, which means the women in the room are impressive. Many of them are around my age, but instead of working through grief, they are navigating things like how to be new mothers and new managers; how to face budget cuts and layoffs, and explain difficult decisions to teams; or how to respond to a never-ending news cycle while simultaneously avoiding burnout.
They are hard-working, empathetic, and inspiring, and I truly believe they represent the future of journalism. I am so incredibly honored to get to work with these women. But every time I meet a new cohort, I wind up battling some extreme feelings of being less than.
I’m well familiar with the adage that comparison is the thief of joy. I get it. What I don’t get is how not to compare. Comparing myself to others seems not only natural, but oftentimes beneficial—a way to push myself to work harder. I’m not the only one who feels this way: just last week, Taylor Lorenz made the case for having a nemesis in The Atlantic, an article that was widely shared in my professional circles.
Of course, that adage is true. Comparing myself to other people also makes me miserable. Whenever my insecurities take over, I wind up closing myself off from connecting with others—and that sucks. It would be a shame, for example, if I let my worries about being behind in life stop me from getting to know the amazing women I’m spending this week with.
I recalled my happy-hour conversation the next day with my friend Ren, who laughed at the idea of me being behind in life.
“In some ways, you just skipped ahead,” he said. “It’s like you figured out the importance of retiring and enjoying life that other people realize once they’re old and all their friends start to die.”
His perspective made me laugh, and helped me to reframe what progress and success can look like. In many ways—minus the soul-crushing sadness and trauma of losing a partner without warning!—my life is enviable.
I still have to work, yes, but I’m working an average of six hours a day, with plenty of breaks for walks or snuggles with my dog. I don’t have to deal with a commute or difficult office politics. The top priority on my to-do list every day is to get 10,000 steps—something I religiously do, and have seen many mental and physical benefits from. I also live in Florida, which really strengthens the whole retirement comparison.
I am making less money, but life feels abundant in other ways: I have lots of time for my partner and friends; I’m able to listen to my body when it’s strained and needs to rest; I have the flexibility and freedom to travel; I get to read and write more than I ever have before.
That’s not to say life is always glorious. There are plenty of moments I feel sad and inadequate compared to my peers. Sometimes I let myself go down the rabbit hole of how vastly different my life would be if Jamie never died. We’d be married for 10 years at this point, and would likely be parents to a toddler. I’d be a salaried employee, and we’d spend whatever money didn’t go towards childcare on improving a house we love. I’d feel right in line with other professional women my age.
But that’s not how things turned out. And while Jamie’s death is incredibly tragic, that doesn’t mean that my life has to be tragic, too. Life isn’t linear, and—despite what society may tell us—there’s no set path that we have to follow. I get sad when I compare myself to others or get mired in the what-ifs, but whenever I’m able to simply focus on my own life, I’m happy with the ways I’m spending my (limited) days and honoring my (limited) energy. It feels intentional, and that feels good.
It’s taken me a while to get here, but this idea has helped me a ton lately: Instead of asking what if, it’s better to focus on what is.
What is isn’t that bad, if I’m being honest. I’m 33, soon to turn 34, and proud of the life I’ve created for myself. It’s different from what I expected, and from what most of my peers are experiencing, but there’s plenty to enjoy about it. And, if nothing else, I have a hell of a lot of steps to show for it.
xoxo
KHG
p.s. I wrote an essay for Modern Loss about the troubling dreams I’ve been having lately about Jamie, and how I’m coping with them. You may notice some similar ideas from today’s newsletter, which illustrates how much writing helps me process things.
Good job, brain
I'm currently reading: No Happy Endings, by Nora McInerny. Because, duh. It’s wonderful to read someone else’s experience of falling in love with a new person while also being in love with a dead spouse.
I’m currently inspired by: The latest issue of “Foreign Bodies,” a newsletter by my friend Fiza Pirani. Fiza shares her reactions to the Christchurch shootings, and offers some incredibly valuable and empathetic tips on how to take care of yourself when it feels like the world is falling apart.
I'm currently aiming to: Drink less. I’ve been drinking less in general this year, but tend to slip back into bad habits in a week like this with lots of networking events (which winds up making an already exhausting few days more exhausting). I’m opting for ginger ale or water instead of wine during a few nights out this week.
Additional resources
By working freelance I’ve been paying closer attention to how much time I put into work, and how much energy I have for work. I haven’t gone as far yet to create an energy map, but it’s a cool idea!
I needed to read this: “I’m going to offer a bit of advice for anyone who might need it: take your time. Do things—but you can do them at your own pace. You can weave them into the life you have rather than forcing your life to mimic someone else’s.”
Repeat it one more time for the people in the back! We should stop being so hard on ourselves, because the consequences aren’t pretty. (OK, who am I kidding? I’m definitely repeating this for me.)
For your sweet dumb brain
There’s a lot of power in admitting your fears out loud, and inviting other people to do the same. Make a date with a friend you admire, and ask them if they feel insecure about anything in life. Then share what’s weighing on you. When people are willing to share their vulnerabilities, I find it leads to some pretty meaningful conversations. And the next time you’re feeling behind in life, you can remind yourself that your badass friend feels that way, too.
My Sweet Dumb Brain is written by Katie Hawkins-Gaar. It’s edited by Rebecca Coates. Photo by Adriel Kloppenburg on Unsplash.