Have you noticed, as you’ve gotten older, that you seem to be a little more impatient, less apt to stand calmly in line, more apt to be irritated by a slow down. Have you raised your voice in protest, just a little, when a sales clerk insists you can fit into a size 8 when you know darn well that you’ve never worn a size 8 and never will? Have you felt like walking out with your hair half cut when a hair dresser says: you “need a wax” on your eyebrows and how about a pedicure and wouldn’t you like a manicure, too? Have you snapped at the person at the end of the phone line at dinnertime who wants you to buy tickets for “the underprivileged to attend the rodeo” or to vote for the wonderful, better-than-the-last one candidate of the moment?
Has there been a barista who is young enough to hear you, and surely has better ears than you do, who gives you a soy latte when what you’ve said is, “Oh,boy, I need a latte this morning!” Have you lost patience in a line because the person three in front of you has decided this is the day she needs to catch up with the check-out person, who is an old friend, and they can’t possibly talk on the phone, because who does that anymore? And have you actually yelled at the driver in front of you because the light has turned green and the driver’s attention is on the text he’s reading?
I think I used to be lots more forgiving and patient. I used to do buttocks tucks when I stood in line, not caring how long it took to get my groceries. I used to accept the soy latte and not complain. I used to say “okay” to the eyebrow wax. But nowadays I’m not as nice. I want good service. I want courtesy and competence. I want the hairdresser to cut my hair, charge me for it and let me go without the menu of what else she would like me to buy from her. I want all drivers to pay attention. I want friends to chat on their own time, not on mine.
Ick! I’ve become a cranky old lady! When did that happen? It’s funny—I wasn’t like this when I was working. I must not have cared. If I was standing in line, at least I wasn’t behind a desk, answering phones or emails or talking to grouchy customers who were just like I have become. Was my time not as valuable to me? Now I want to get out of that line, away from that hair salon and get on my way, because I have good things to do and I don’t want to waste a minute. Time. It’s more important now. It’s finite, it won’t last, there is an end to these days and years. I have too much I want to do and now that I have the time to do it, I don’t want others using it up.
Time hasn’t changed, but my attitude toward it, my perception of it, certainly has. No day is long enough to check off everything on the list of things I have set out to accomplish. Most of what’s on that list is pretty fun—the ratio of fun to not fun (chore) is about 3 to 1—three creative projects to one clean the floor. Let’s see, how do I decide? Shall I make a greeting card using one of the photographs I’ve taken, or shall I dust? Duh! Not going to pick dusting unless someone is coming to see me. Then I’ll relent. Hmmmmm….shall I write a piece about being a cranky old lady or should I wash the dishes? Eventually I’ll wash the dishes but for now I’ll just put a few paragraphs down—the dishes can wait. Shall I plan a lunch with my aging mother, my even more aging aunt and my long lost cousin or shall I spend that day in the garden? Lunch wins every time. Having to stand in line when young, seemingly untrained, clerks try to solve the problems of their customers, who either want to make trouble or chat, is not on my agenda of fun things to do. It comes under the heading of CHORE. For me being retired is not about chores. It is about making the very most of the time I have left on this earth, in the way I find most satisfying. There may be some who find it wonderful to have more time to do what I consider to be chores: waxing furniture, making their toilet bowls sparkle, shining their floors, passing a white glove test. I know some women like that, but I’m not one of them. I have to admit to thinking it’s nice to have more time to spend on housework because I don’t like a dirty house. Since retiring I do give more time to cleaning, but I draw the line when it gets in the way of creativity, because cleaning has never given me the satisfaction of creating something, a garden, a photo, a piece of writing, a lunch for friends or family, a gift.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not an angry driver, I’m not someone who is impatient with old people (older than me) who are having trouble getting the coins out of their pockets to pay for their bread and milk. I’m not a person who wants to deprive a small businesswoman of her fees. I don’t get cranky out loud or push my way to the front—but I do find myself wanting to get on with things, get my business done and on to the fun parts of life. It’s a new, raring-to-go me—excited to get to the next enjoyable part of the day.
No comments:
Post a Comment