In a few months, it will be 7 years since I retired. I retired early, at age 62–as soon as I was eligible for Social Security. I’ll be honest, I really didn’t want to retire, I wanted to work as long as possible and amass a nice little nest egg, maximize my Social Security benefits as much as possible, and the retirement plan at the County rewarded me handsomely for staying in as long as I could.

But it was pretty clear that my working days were over–for a variety of reasons. It was painfully obvious management was doing everything they could to clear out all the old timers, they were making life miserable for us, and our careers were pretty much at a standstill. They would have fired the lot of us if it wasn’t for the law and union regulations (I was a lower-level manager, not in a union, but we professionals always helped ourself to all the bennies our unions fought and bargained for). Work became one humiliation after another, and the County was hiring youngsters right out of college to do our work for us at half the salary, and we were expected to train them how to do it. So even if they couldn’t dismiss us outright, cut our pay or fire us on trumped-up charges, they could still give us demeaning dead-end jobs or reclassify our positions, (I was one) and keep our raises and promotions to the minimum. Its pretty fair to say an entire generation of seasoned workers was forced out and replaced by hungry young kids, all desperately eager to pay off their student loans. You guys are all about my age. You know the drill. The legislature in Tallahasse was starting to make some BIG changes in the Florida Retirement System that covers County employees. No one knew exactly what was coming, but everyone agreed it was not going to be good.

I was one. As much as I would like to say I contributed as long as I was able, the truth was I had not been in any position to contribute anything commensurate to my abilities. The job I had loved and enjoyed for years, and the profession I had been enthusiastically doing for decades, now became a meaningless paper shuffle, and it bristled with land mines, any one of which could go off in my face and leave me with nothing–no job, no reputation, no respect, no pension. So essentially I caved in and did exactly what they were trying to get me to do, I quit. I know I’m not unique. This is happening to millions of American men. No one’s out to get me, there is no one to blame. I, like they, am just redundant.

Unlike many of my colleagues, at least I was in a position to get away with a shred of my dignity. I had just enough time in the Plan to get my pension, since I had worked at other Florida State and County jobs in the past. My wife already qualified for Medicare, and I had my Veterans medical benefits until I turned 65 and my own Medicare could kick in. We were out of debt, had some savings, and the house and cars were old, but paid for and well insured. We both had Social Security now, so we were free to go. I take no credit for any of this, I had many colleagues and friends just as smart and hard-working and frugal as I was who were trapped in the system. They either had to stay and put up with it, or they were soon on their own as their positions were re-classified or simply written off. I was simply born at the right time, and I had no kids to put through college. I can’t help it if I’m lucky.

At first, I was terrified. What would I do with myself? Would I hang around the house, becoming increasingly irritable and cranky and grow fat until my heart choked on its own cholesterol? Would I become a boring and bored couch potato? Its what everyone, and the society, was telling me. I had to “remain active”, “get involved”, “volunteer”, “travel”, “start a business”, in other words, do something to replace the stimulating mental activity I was supposedly getting from my job. I imagined myself learning a foreign language, a musical instrument, to finally get around to reading all those books I never got around to. Maybe I would go back to school, or even read all my old textbooks again and this time, learn something. Perhaps I should cultivate a new hobby, or at least get back to an old and neglected one.

As it turns out, nothing of the sort came to pass. I sit around the house, read, listen to music, watch TV and play on the computer. I exercise about an hour every day, cycling or swimming, and I keep the house maintained and liveable (I supervise professionals who do the work, I am no handyman or do-it-yourselfer). I have become a Hobbit in my dotage, a mildly eccentric and somewhat curmudgeonly pillar of my community. I collect star atlases and astronomical catalogues, even though all that information is now freely available on the internet. I go to bed when I’m sleepy and get up when I’m not. I wear what I like, and at home often nothing at all. And I’m getting along better with the old lady than I have in years. I’d love to get back into sailing again, but I have made the conscious decision that the effort to own and maintain a boat is simply not worthwhile for the few hours a month I’d spend alone on it. The same goes for my astronomy. If I owned a house in a dark site in the desert or the mountains I’d probably build an observatory, but I don’t, so I won’t.

I realize now I have spent my entire life waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to leave home, get home, get laid, get out of school, waiting to get drafted, get promoted, get discharged, waiting to graduate, waiting to get out of the job I’m in and into the next one, waiting for that next career move, waiting to pay off the mortgage, Well, I’m done waiting. This is life, this is what I was waiting for. And yes, I know it won’t last forever, but I am here now, and I’m enjoying it, and I intend to enjoy it as long as I can. I am a happy man, perhaps not a deliriously happy one, with a life full of purpose and adventure, but a happy one nonetheless. I am content, I am at peace, with myself and the world, and I plan to enjoy it now because I know perfectly well nothing lasts forever.

I’m comfortable and I live in exciting times. What else could a man ask for?