Retiring Into the Forest

I am not happy with my parents. Or my wife’s parents. Or your parents, even though I’ve never met them, because they’re probably like mine. 

Throughout our lives, we’re always planning ahead for what comes next. Getting our ducks in order. Then we retire and stop making adjustments. We settle into a comfortable routine and let life go on without us. Except that life doesn’t stop changing.

Your nutrition is probably iffy. You likely have no daily exercise regimen. You’ve stuffed possessions and trinkets into every drawer and closet in your house, and your food pantry has a backlog of expired and stale food. Retirement is supposed to be your wise time of life, not the “I don’t have to do anything” zombie zone. Are parents so busy doing nothing in retirement that they can’t get rid of things they no longer use? Or are they expecting us clean everything up after they’re gone?

In the Hindu tradition, there are four stages to life. One begins as a student (brahmacharya), learning how the world and relationships work. Stage two is living as an adult with a job and family, exploring dreams and passions and developing skills (grihastha). Stage three is when one retires (vanaprasthr – “retiring into a forest”), takes an advisory role for others, and gradually withdraws from the world. The fourth stage is spiritual (sannyasa) when one becomes an ascetic. 

In western society we basically have three stages, and the first two line up nicely with the Hindu focus. We differ in our understanding of stage three where we have two ideas about retirement. One is that it’s a time of finally relaxing and doing activities that are fun like spending time with the grandchildren and playing as much bridge and golf as we can. The other thought is to keep ourselves active with projects to keep our minds sharp, so we end up doing things all the time and we’re not reflective.

            The third stage should be a time of putting our lives in order before we die, of looking back and remembering who we were and who we have become, and sharing our wisdom with others. 

            Neither of my parents experienced the grace of the third stage, although, in a shortened way, my mother did. When she retired from nursing, she returned to college, earned her Bachelor in Fine Arts degree, and spent the next twenty years painting. This could be viewed as withdrawing from the world to enter a time of reflection and creativity. It wasn’t completely this because she stopped painting years before she died from dementia that took her painting, and her self, away.

            Dad was a projects man. After his retirement he had a list of things he wanted to do, and he kept busy doing them until a few months before his death at age 94. He continued to be curious about life, and there is much to be admired about this, but he didn’t relax. He didn’t share his insights with us or what he thought about his life. He just kept working on his projects until, one day, he couldn’t.

            There will never be an end to work that “could” be done, but people, they move away, they die, and they do not come back.

            In this remembrance of things future, I realize that I am like my dad, and not enough like my mother. Let this be a lesson for me.