Unofficial Retirement

Such has been my status for the past three years. I never pictured myself as the sort of person who retired early. But somehow events and chance brought me to this point. Two corporate mergers in four years left me out of a job at age 60. At that age professional options narrow considerably, especially when you’re as specialized as I am and unwilling to relocate. 

At this point the relocation issue hardly matters. Most corporations don't spend tens of thousands of dollars to relocate a well-paid professional who is less than 2 years away from normal retirement age.

Interviews for several local jobs in my chosen profession produced no results, and also confirmed what I already knew: I have lost my appetite for corporate life, with the attendant stress, anxiety and long hours I endured for decades. 

I thought I was prepared for this situation. My fallback plan was to finish my working years in a less demanding job, or even a menial one: limousine driver, casino employee, night watchman, or something of that sort. But I can’t bear to think about the drudgery and poor working conditions of such a job, especially when there is no financial need for it. 

On a lark, I applied for a job with the Transportation Security Administration (TSA). As I worked my way through the application process, I found myself warming to the idea of being an airline security officer (i.e. bag screener). I knew I would do that job properly and thoroughly. I pictured myself as a man doing important work, protecting our nation. A commanding figure in a uniform and badge,  directing air travelers to take off their shoes and step through the metal detector. I stated that I was willing to work nights, weekends, part time, full time, overtime and split shifts. But the TSA had no interest in my candidacy, as recruiters say. What’s the big deal? I’m only 63 years old. 

So, here I sit, weighing the remaining options: Community service? Volunteer? Start my own little business, doing God only knows what? I'd better begin by pulling  myself out of this funk. A trip to the gym would be a good place to start.