“Jesus knew their (Pharisees) thoughts and said to them: ‘Any kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and a house divided against itself will fall.’”

Oxford NIV, Luke 11, v, 17
Excerpted by Abraham Lincoln on June 16, 1858, his House Divided Speech

There is no question that we the people in America are disturbingly polarized. Much has been written and pontificated by pundits that the tribalism of today has us on the brink of destruction. And as one who tends to exhibit some of the eager-to-please, let’s-all-get-along, golden retriever-ish friendliness and loyalty attributes psychologists ascribe to the middle child of a family, I am shaken by the amount of rancor. I prefer life in harmony and where there is conflict, I seek reconciliation. The divides that separate us are unquestionably significant. Politics, religion, race, socio-economic status, education, environment, inalienable rights (just what are they, i.e. is health care a right or a privilege?) are all bubbling at the surface.

So, on this crucial mid-term election day when the fate of our Republic is in the balance, if we are to believe the conservative and liberal pundits breathlessly opining on Fox News, CNN and MSNBC – and to a slightly lesser degree on various co-called mainstream media, why am I so hope-filled about the election and the future? Two things other than a naturally sunny outlook some might characterize as Pollyannaish: 1) I grew up in a house divided that is still standing strong and 2) I’ve read a lot of history.

Conventional wisdom is that politics and religion are topics best avoided if you want to keep your family, friends and business relationships. Our family clearly did not fear losing a family member. Dad was an FDR Democrat proud to pay social security, believing it helped secure his family’s future. Mom was a Republican who sat on the Election Board. They canceled each other’s vote every election (the exception to the rule was Harry Truman – neither liked him). They dutifully voted any way because voting was a precious liberty and a civic duty. Political views were exchanged in our household, but never was there a hint of acrimony. Conservative and progressive were merely two views of the same world. My family seemed to understand that the world needed progressives to make sure that we moved forward as a society and that we also needed to have conservatives to make sure we didn’t lose important values, traditions and policies. Compromise was not a dirty word as it is in political circles today.

Politics, civics and history always grabbed my interest. It was fueled by family discussions, scout leaders and a few outstanding teachers at De Soto High. In spite of my great respect for Dad, I gravitated toward Republican politics – until I heard Bobby Kennedy speak in Allen Field House in May of 1968. I was taken by his eloquence and passion as he espoused justice themes. My campaigning for him was brief as he was assassinated less than a month later. However, at the same time, I helped put Republican Bob Dole over the top in De Soto in his bid to replace Senator Frank Carlson. I joined the College Young Republicans as a freshman that year and campaigned in the Democratic stronghold of Wyandotte County for the Republican candidate for governor, Rick Harman.

I began seeing my party of first choice drift away from me in 1994 with the Newt Gingrich-led Republican Revolution and watched it sail further away with the subsequent Tea Party movement and its successor wing led by President Trump. Meaning no disrespect to any of the various iterations of the two major parties, I no longer self-identify as Republican, RINO or Democrat. Controversial Republican strategist Jeff Roe once said, “I only need to ask one question to know which party you’re with: ‘Are you liberty or justice?’” I proved the exception to his rule. I am equal parts liberty and justice, perhaps the stereotypical middle child. In my growing-up family, there was room for more than one party. Yeah, we fought some and argued some, but at the end of each day, we were together as one. In my American family, I see a place and a need for more than one party. We can still fight some and argue some – and at the end of the day, come together as one.

Our nation was founded on high ideals that it has yet to live into. We have experienced challenge and difficulties on an epic scale over the sweep of 200+ years. But a more prosperous and generous country is always hovering on the horizon, tempting us to stretch for something that today seems impossibly beyond our reach. But history tells us that the vitriol and division of now is nothing compared to that of earlier generations. Read about founding father Thomas Jefferson. He fought bitterly with John Adams but they made peace with one another in the end (lest we forget, his vice president killed his secretary of the treasury in a duel); the Jackson presidential campaign of 1828 was brutal and he came perilously close to the nation splitting during his administration; Lincoln presided over a nation engaged in war with itself; FDR dealt with the Great Depression and World War II; Truman left office with the highest disapproval ratings in the entire history of the presidency and now is regarded by historians as one of the top five presidents of all time. So take hope my fellow Americans, as I do, in the good of your fellow citizens that simply go about their business, performing acts of kindness, generosity and heroism every day. And trust that this electorate of your neighbors will right the ship of state even though it sometimes seems to be crashing ashore. Perhaps it will be in this election, or the next, or the next.

Identity Categories

Stage of Life: Baby, Boy Toddler, Child, Teen Male, Man, Kindergartener, Pupil, Student,
Adult, Senior citizen

Family/Relationships: Son, Brother, Nephew, Cousin, Husband, Uncle, Father, Parent, PaPa,
Friend, Boy friend, Acquaintance, Stranger, Employee, Coworker, Colleague, Mentor,
Volunteer, Officiant

Career/Work: Newspaper boy, Farm worker, Gas station attendant, File clerk, Assembly line worker, Weed crew worker, Construction worker, Retail liquor store sales, Retail advertising and marketing director, Hotel marketing director, Hotel public relations director, Creative, Writer,
Designer, Content Provider, Entrepreneur (marketing communications agency), High school track coach, High school XC coach, Nontrepreneur, Retiree, Substitute Teacher

Affiliations/Community: American, Kansan, De Soto native, Christian, Methodist Church, Seeker, American Baptist, Disciples of Christ, Child of God, Masonic Lodge, Scottish Rite, Boy Scouts of America, Democratic Party, Republican Party, RINO, KU Jayhawk, UDK Advertising Staff, Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity, University of Kansas Alumni Association, Plaza Club, USA Track & Field

 Aspirations: Farmer, Tycoon, Millionaire, Olympian, KU Football Player, Astronaut,
Adventurer, Musician, Eagle Scout, God & Country Award-winner, Renaissance Man, Cattle baron, Lawyer, Accountant

Memories light the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories of the way we were.
Barbra Streisand, The Way We Were

Memories are what we carry with us in a way that defines us, identifies us. If you are like me, the vast majority of memories are pleasant, perhaps nostalgic. Many show only a partial view of what actually occurred and need to be filled in by others who were with us in the moment. A few are painful; some so painful we repress them. They come back to us romanticized as in the manner of Streisand’s beautiful phrasing. Or fuzzy, as images depicted in Brownie black and white snapshots. Others as vivid Kodachrome prints. Still others as selfie-styled digital reproductions. They all combine to create the life we’ve lived and how others remember us and how we see ourselves. So when I set out to free myself of identities memorialized in an album of activities and personas that are reflected at various points, I am not running from them or forgetting who I’ve been and where I’m from. I am simply acknowledging that some things in my past life are over and I am ready for something new.

What I’ve learned in sabbatical is that trashing stuff, though difficult, is easier than trashing the myriad ways in which I self-identify. It’s been 12 weeks since I wrote about identities and how shedding them might key the uncovering of purposeful, new life. It’s not that the topic has been far from thought. But, for good or ill, I am the introspective sort who wrestles long and hard over things that matter to me or impact those I love. The first go-round of cuts was easy. The second round (in bold) was much harder. If there is a Part III, as seems likely, it will be difficult because the identities cut will be those closest to my soul. For friends and loved ones who may be inclined to worry, please don’t. I am not averse to struggle. I’ve come to embrace the stoic philosophy. And the Kansas motto: to the stars through difficulty.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, growing up in De Soto, Kansas was one of the best things that could have happened to me. I was raised not only by two loving parents, but many in the village who took an interest in me. I grew up in a patriotic culture, influenced by people committed to ideals and values beyond self. There seemed little distinction between the haves and have-nots. Wealthy families, dirt-poor families and those in between – we all got along for the most part. Our doors were never locked. Friends and others were always welcome in our home and dinner table. I love the De Soto of memory, and have no quibble with the De Soto of today, but I can’t see me going back.

My dad was my hero and inspiration. He was well-liked in the community and gave his time to many civic and social organizations: School board (president), Rotary, Masonic Lodge, VFW, City Council, church, school bus driver, little league coach, scout leader and volunteer fire department to name a few. Somehow, he always found time for family. His name was Homer and so I was referred to as “Homer’s boy.” The last time I heard the term was during the 1992 BOTAR Ball. My wife was introduced as “Mrs. Richard T. Hughey, Belles of the American Royal president, escorted by her husband, Mr. Hughey.” As we proceeded down the runway and approached our seats, I heard the familiar voice of one of Dad’s former customers – a prominent Kansas Citian who owned a farm near De Soto and had shown kindness to me when I serviced his car at De Soto’s finest gas station – exclaim “Why that’s Homer’s boy.”  Dad died in 1986, but I will forever proudly identify as Homer’s boy.

I have always been eager for the next stage. I never liked being babied. Self-reliance was an intuition, control over where I was going an innate desire. Mom was shocked when I climbed out of my crib at a particularly young age. Her graying started shortly thereafter when she saw that l had pulled out kitchen cabinet drawers to create a ladder to the countertop. At four, dad lifted me to the first branch of our giant oak tree. I climbed up a short way and froze. Dad couldn’t reach me so he got his wheelbarrow, placed a bucket upside down in it, and stood on top of it. As he stretched and I looked down at him, I remembered a Rice Krispies commercial in which Snap, Crackle and Pop were in a similar circumstance and one of the characters simply leaped to his partner in a wheelbarrow. Yes, I jumped into his arms. He caught me but we both tumbled off the bucket, out of the wheelbarrow and to the ground. Miraculously, neither of us was hurt. It was the first time he referred to me as a “crazy little sh!t.” It was the first in a series of life lessons on the topic of considering options on how and where you might land before you jump. Sometimes a leap of faith works or is your best option; more often it is better to have a plan.

One of my earliest memories is of gleefully toddle-racing away from Dad as he chased after me saying “I’m gonna get you.” I’ve always loved running and racing – the feeling of freedom, the release of energy, the feel of my heartbeat and breath, the wind generated by rapid motion, the sense of earth propelling away from my feet, the joy and, of course, the satisfaction of outracing someone. I am still a joyful runner. Although I failed miserably at my fantasy goal attempt to run my age in the 400 this year, I had the pleasure of running in a relay race for the first time since I was a kid. It was fun! The other team shattered the US Track and Field Master’s Division record for the 4X800 relay and we finished second, just missing their tram’s previous record by 1.3 seconds. My love of running has never garnered much success, but the intrinsic rewards have been immeasurable over the entirety of my life. Even in the smallest niche segment of the running community – my tribe of track athletes – few can claim to have run competitive sprint races against their peers in every decade since the 1950s, as I have. So I am still a runner. For how much longer, who knows? We all know running will be taken from us some day. We just don’t know when. What we do know is: we are not giving it up. When it’s taken from us, we’ll deal with it. But why should we ever give up something we love out of fear of losing it?

Most of my aspirations were like a lot of kids in terms – few were ever achieved. I grew up going with my dad to deliver gas and agricultural chemicals to farmers. The farmers were always nice to me and I liked the barns, equipment and animals. My cattle baron fancy passed when I took the $500 purchase price for my first angus steer to the farmer, then discovered it the same price as the hot, red 1962 Ford convertible he had for sale. For reasons unknown, I started reading in middle school about the early Greek philosophers and the mind/body/spirit connectedness they espoused. Later readings about the Renaissance movement and the rebirth of Classicism it ushered in reinforced my interest. I worked at developing my mind, body and spirituality. I played sports, exercised regularly, tried to expand my horizons in academics and the arts, and read the Bible daily as I worked toward my God and Country award. Of course, Renaissance man was a naive fantasy, but I was so blissfully ignorant that I continued striving. The fantasy eventually collapsed under the overwhelming evidence that I was lacking in skill in what is no called STEM subjects and devoid of artistic talents. I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket as a singer and could not hit the right notes or rhythms on the baritone, piano, cello or drums. I still like hanging out in art and other museums, listening to classical music occasionally, reading a diverse array of literature, exploring my spirituality and, of course, exercise, but Renaissance man? I’m no longer quite so naive.

The dominant threads woven throughout my life are family, work, friendships, civic/charitable responsibilities and recreational pursuits. I am fortunate to have in my life mom, age 97, my wife of 41+ years, two sisters and their husbands, two daughters and five grandchildren. I cherish the moments I spend with my girls, seeing them go through the ups and downs (mostly ups) and the challenges of parenting and navigating their way in their careers.

My favorite grandchild moments are the one-on-ones where I can meet them in their unique space. I am blessed with friends from ever stage of life. Notable among the friendships are those I grew up with in De Soto, some of whom I’ve known since kindergarten; college friends, some of whom are among my closest intimates and with whom I’ve shared love and life at March Madness gatherings, an annual Christmas tradition of over 20 years and travel experiences; church friends, including a men’s group that has helped inform my spirituality and expanded theology; colleagues past and present; and running buddies. And while I love meeting strangers, I am always eager for them to become acquaintances or friends.

My professional career was rewarding. I LOVED my work in advertising, marketing and
public relations at Jack Henry, the Alameda Plaza and Raphael Hotels, The Ritz-Carlton and eventually my own marketing and communications agency.

Pre-adult work was just that. I didn’t love it or hate it. It was a means to an end; each menial job served its purpose. I call myself a nontrepreneur, but do not expect to be one for long. I will become something else, perhaps retiree. I chose the nontrepreneur title for two reasons: 1) I am no longer an entrepreneur; and 2) I never thought of myself as a real entrepreneur, but rather as a free lancer with several part-time jobs. What are the possibilities for 2019 and beyond? Permanent retirement is a possibility, as is an unknown entrepreneurial pursuit yet to present itself. Coaching high school sprinters and cross country athletes gave me more joy and satisfaction than I ever imagined, so I will consider returning if a position becomes available. I will also consider expanding my role in high school or middle school education as a substitute teacher.

As a tendency to be a forward looker, I paid close attention to the people I admired and tried to emulate their behaviors and learn from their experiences – be it in the classroom, sports, work or life. Although I have generally tried to appreciate each stage as it happened, I sometimes got caught up in the future more than the present. Now I am at the truly awkward stage of life – looking for places where my experience and skills meet today’s relevancy. I am sanguine about the possibility of rewarding life, even while being acutely aware that the majority of my learning, growing and contributing to society is actuarially behind me. I may be old by life stage standard – about which I am unafraid and unapologetic  – but I don’t identify with any of the terms like senior citizen accorded those who have lived a good while. I am more attentive to the significance of “moments” and being fully present to the people in them. I have a more profound sense of gratitude than at any point in my life. In spite of the disturbing chaos and conflict in our world right now, I am thrilled to be living in this time and am filled with hope for the future of humankind. Can’t wait for what’s next.

Identity Categories

Stage of Life: Baby, Boy Toddler, Child, Teen Male, Man, Kindergartener, Pupil, Student,
Adult, Senior citizen

Family/Relationships: Son, Brother, Nephew, Cousin, Husband, Uncle, Father, Parent, PaPa, Friend, Boy friend, Acquaintance, Stranger, Employee, Coworker, Colleague, Mentor, Volunteer, Officiant

Career/Work: Newspaper boy, Farm worker, Gas station attendant, File clerk, Assembly line worker, Weed crew worker, Construction worker, Retail liquor store sales, Retail advertising and marketing director, Hotel marketing director, Hotel public relations director, Creative, Writer, Designer, Content Provider, Entrepreneur (marketing communications agency), High school track coach, High school XC coach, Nontrepreneur, Retiree, Substitute Teacher

Affiliations/Community: American, Kansan, De Soto native, Christian, Methodist Church, Seeker, American Baptist, Disciples of Christ, Child of God, Masonic Lodge, Scottish Rite, Boy Scouts of America, Democratic Party, Republican Party, RINO, KU Jayhawk, UDK Advertising Staff, Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity, University of Kansas Alumni Association, Plaza Club, USA Track & Field

 Aspirations: Farmer, Tycoon, Millionaire, Olympian, KU Football Player, Astronaut,
Adventurer, Musician, Eagle Scout, God & Country Award-winner, Renaissance Man, Cattle baron, Lawyer, Accountant 

Names/Labels/Traits:  Homer’s Boy, Ricky, Richard, Rick, Runner, Climber, Sprinter, Boy Scout, Eagle Scout, God & Country Award recipient, Child of God, Baseball player, Athlete,
Actor, Diabetes Patient, Cancer Patient, Masters Track Sprinter, Scout Oath virtues practitioner, Encourager, Citizen

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” Steve Prefontaine

For those unfamiliar with Steve Prefontaine, he was a mythical figure, a legendary University of Oregon and Olympic track and field runner who raced with his hair on fire and died as he lived at age 24 in 1975. Perhaps it was Pre from the great beyond that channeled the subject of gifts to me on June 12, 2017. After previous days’ visits to Hayward Field in Eugene, Oregon where Pre gained his fame; a run on Pre’s Trail; and a visit to Pre’s Rock, his crash site-turned-memorial, I was running a trail toward Tamanawas Falls near Mt. Hood when I heard the words that would factor in leading me to my nontrepreneurial journey: “…Enjoy these gifts I have given you. Trust.”

Whether it was God or Pre speaking to me or simply my own inner voice is unclear. What is clear; I heard the words again on August 8, 2018 in the Rockies near Breckenridge. It was past the mid-point on a hike up Spruce Trail, one that wends through aromatic pine forest, past an alpine meadow with ponds, upward to a scenic waterfall and long abandoned log cabins, and ends above timber line at the Lower and Upper Mohawk Lakes. However, this time I wasn’t alone and the message was more expressive. Although similar to the one in the Cascades that said “the gifts” were specific to me and that they were the simple gifts for appreciating nature and having the physical ability to run through it, this message was expanded and had a harder edge. It included the gifts of family, friends and even strangers. The gifts weren’t for me exclusively. And an obligation was attached. The gifts given to me were to be shared. And the delivery was more a harsh scolding than wish. It was like being a kid and having your parents throw up their hands and say, “Are you ever going to learn?”

Had I been enrolled in an English lit. class recently, I would have recognized the foreshadowing. Shortly after I, my elder daughter, and her three children arrived at the trailhead (in separate vehicles as my daughter planned to head back early with the 17-month old toddler), the eight- and 10-year-old boys were raring to go. Just not necessarily on the trail. I called them in for conversation about dos and don’ts of the trail to make sure we all had a safe trip and respected the space. The 10-year-old was focused on throwing rocks (likely what I would have been doing at his age in his situation) and didn’t seem to hear me. I used my coach voice to make sure he heard the next call. Uh-oh! I sounded mad or mean to my family, upsetting everyone – including myself. The cool morning became chillier as we set off – my daughter saw no need to record our experience with a selfie. Much of the walk was in uncomfortable silence. I was disappointed in myself. This was a rare opportunity to do something special with loved ones. I had looked forward to it and I blew it. I sacrificed the gift.

I contemplated my mistake, seemingly with each step. Fortunately, by the time we reached the meadows, the gifts of reconciliation and forgiveness had begun. Unbeknownst, Emily had already snapped a few shots of the boys and me hiking along the trail. We talked at the meadows pleasantly. It was time for Emily to return with Adeline. I asked the boys if they wanted to go on. Johnny decided he would go back with his mom and baby sister. Gabe said, “Let’s do this PaPa.”

As Gabe and I progressed up the mountain, we shared observations, thoughts, pleasantries – as well as moments of silence in which we listened to nature’s and our own heartbeats. I continued to think about what I had done, the opportunity missed and how I needed to change. For most of my life, I’ve considered patience an overrated virtue. No more. If I had shown more patience earlier, I wouldn’t have to deal with regret. If retirement/sabbatical isn’t the right time to practice patience, when is? I’m working on it.

Gabe’s energy and curiosity fueled my own, though I did not feel his urge to climb atop every boulder along the path. At Mayflower Lake, we took a break for a snack. I asked if he was still game to continue upward, he replied with his new refrain, “PaPa, let’s do this!” We proceeded up to a scenic overlook of the falls and explored some of the rough-hewn log foundation structures and the one ramshackle cabin that you could still enter, theoretically seek shelter from a storm, and even sign your name as a visitor. In our exploring, we got confused about where the trail picked up. It appeared there were three different trails going up the mountain. After probing all three for short distances (we later discovered all three came together further up the trail), I suggested we consider heading back down the trail. To be sure, stopping short of a goal is not something I am wont to do. But reaching the top would mean climbing a rocky trail in the heat above timber line and facing the possibility of afternoon storms on the descent. I felt the lakes goal was minor compared to the major goal of giving him a good first-time mountain hike experience. He was still game to press on but OK with the decision. We had a great, relaxing trip back down the mountain, stopping occasionally to play or dip our fingers in the icy mountain stream water. I worked at being more patient the rest of the trip. And being more the non-anxious presence I had promised to be – with the possible exception of our scrabble game the night before we departed our mountain vacation home.

My takeaway: Recognize a gift when it is presented, show gratitude, be generous in sharing it, and never sacrifice it.  

I’m bored. I’m restless. I’m uncomfortable. And this is a question I’ve wrestled with for months. The premise is that while our identities – both those ascribed to us by others through our life and career and those we claim and hold dear as self-concept – are foundational to the person we are as well as to the career and financial successes we’ve earned, we may need to shed them as we move into the next act of our biopic. Life changes dramatically when we enter life’s latter stages (that can stretch to decades) after our peak achievement years. According to SSA’s actuarial table, a boomer male retiring at the normal age of 66 has a life expectancy of 17.09 years, a female 19.55 years.

It is easy to get stuck in our past and ignore current realities. Clinging too firmly to what we’ve been can – and likely will – result in disappointment at the least with more severe possibilities looming, such as isolation, loss of identity, feelings of hopelessness, depression and failing health. So what do those of us who need to be needed or have the need to achieve do? As you might suspect, experts agree there is no one-size-fits-all solution. Regardless of the circumstances with which we left the familiarity and comfort of the workplace, our world is going to change. We can feel threatened by whatever losses we incur or encouraged by the opportunities the future holds. If we are fortunate, we will find a new identity to embrace. If we’ve been a ruler, perhaps it is time to become a servant. If we’ve been a servant, perhaps it is time to be captain of our ship.

I envy those who can sail blissfully into retirement and find contentment in leisure pursuits. I wish them joy and happiness. For those of us not interested in the “golden years” idea, voluntarism can provide the meaning in purpose our happy lives require. Others will need to find a “second act” occupation, either full or part time. I am likely in this cohort but am open to exploration of permanent retirement. At the heart of the matter, I liked being contributor, albeit a modest one, to our nation’s economy. And call me Crazy Rick as my friend OJ did during our college days, but I felt good about paying a portion of my earnings as taxes to support schools, public services, national and local defense and all the other governmental functions that have made our nation the greatest land of opportunity in all of history.

Two years ago, I read a book given to me by a client (one he gave to his management team) that asked a haunting question: “When was the last time you did something for the first time?” Other than the myriad insignificant ways we do “firsts,” coaching high school track and cross country athletes was the only thing I could come up with – and that had been three years ago at the time. Now seems a good time to discover something new, interesting and fulfilling for what could be the penultimate what’s next.

Lately I have been clearing out stuff in the basement – which means going through tons of client binders, files and memorabilia from an entire lifetime. It has been both a laborious, unpleasant exercise and a wonderful stroll down memory lane. To give you an idea of my packrat credentials, I kept every canceled check I had written since high school until two years ago. Every item I ran across reminded me of someone, a story, fond memory or a time or an experience that made me smile and feel proud, nostalgic or happy. A few revealed me in my lesser self. Everything connected me to either an attributed or self-proclaimed identity. The number of titles, labels and identities one can accumulate amazed me. Some are inherited; some are given to us by what we do or are at various stages of life, and some are the way we choose to think of ourselves. I’m giving a lot of thought to those identities and have concluded many are no longer useful and some never were.

My metaphor for clearing the way to future growth is rooted in three visits to a particular trail in Rocky Mountain National Forest: The first when it was fully forested with giant pines and low growth vegetation; the second shortly after a forest fire left it in smoldering charcoal stumps and scorched earth; and the third approximately 10 years later during its beautiful transformation into mountain meadows with saplings, grasses and wild flowers. The ecosystem was completely different from the first visit and in many ways more spectacular and interesting. I can’t bear to make a “Bonfire of My Identities” or eliminate all vestiges of the work I’ve done or memories I hold dear. Some of my identities exist at the soul level – and I will rely on them to remind me of who I am and want to be wherever the path leads. So my plan is for a controlled burn of identities and artifacts no longer relevant or helpful to discovering the what’s next.

Below is a quickly compiled list of what I was called, did or aspired to be at various stages of life. Most, if not all, served their purpose to varying degree. After all, we need building blocks in life and work. We also need to know when and how to adapt and move forward. There is always risk in letting go of something secure. But there is greater risk in standing still. The identities I’ve easily put behind me are indicated by a strike-through. Most require no explanation other than they were preparatory for a future stage of life or career. Some deserve an explanation down the road in a Part II or even Part III. And some are way more difficult than they might appear on surface. I have more sorting to do.

Identity Categories

Stage of Life: Baby, Boy Toddler, Child, Teen Male, Man, Kindergartener, Pupil, Student, Adult, Senior citizen

Family/Relationships: Son, Brother, Nephew, Cousin, Husband, Uncle, Father, Parent, PaPa, Friend, Boy friend, Acquaintance, Stranger, Employee, Co-worker, Colleague, Mentor, Volunteer, Officiant

Career/Work: Newspaper boy, Farm worker, Gas station attendant, File clerk, Assembly line worker, Weed crew worker, Construction worker, Retail liquor store sales, Retail advertising and marketing director, Hotel marketing director, Hotel public relations director, Creative, Writer, Designer, Content Provider, Entrepreneur (marketing communications agency), High school track coach, High school XC coach, Nontrepreneur, Retiree

Affiliations/Community: American, Kansan, DeSoto native, Christian, Methodist Church, Seeker, American Baptist, Disciples of Christ, Child of God, Masonic Lodge, Scottish Rite, Boy Scouts of America, Democratic Party, Republican Party, RINO, KU Jayhawk, UDK Advertising Staff, Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity, University of Kansas Alumni Association, Plaza Club, USA Track & Field

 Aspirations: Farmer, Tycoon, Millionaire, Olympian, KU Football Player, Astronaut, Adventurer, Musician, Eagle Scout, God & Country Award-winner, Renaissance Man,
Cattle baron, Lawyer, Accountant

Names/Labels/Traits:  Homer’s Boy, Ricky, Richard, Rick, Runner, Climber, Sprinter, Boy Scout, Eagle Scout, God & Country Award recipient, Child of God, Baseball player, Athlete, Actor, Diabetes Patient, Cancer Patient, Masters Track Sprinter, Scout Oath virtues, Encourager, Citizen

 

“Congratulations,” they say. “You’ve worked hard, you deserve it.” Well, they may be right – certainly everyone deserves rest after many years of labor. But is retirement right for me? I made the choice, but less than a week in I’m calling it a nine-month sabbatical. The truth is, I need to be active. I need to be needed. I don’t fish, I hate golf (or it hates me) and I have no hobbies. Lots of people love the leisure of retirement. I envy them. But I am me – with a tinge of fear about a future lacking the structure and rhythm of operating a business. Purposeful work gives a meaningful dimension to life. As a newly minted nontrepreneur, there is an enormous task ahead: How to replace the meaningful dimension, not to mention the financial comfort, provided during a 45-year career in advertising and marketing communications. I loved writing and strategizing for my employers and clients. I felt pride in being the anonymous articulator (occasionally with attribution) for a variety of organizations wanting to share their stories, brand their business or increase sales.

So why retire from something you love? Two years ago, my plan was to work right through to the end. I had already accepted that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t maintain the same pace of work. That was clear five years ago when I read about the harmful impact 10 hours a day behind a computer was for long term health. I looked for part-time work to keep me on my feet, landing a job as a high school track and cross country coach, which I loved beyond measure.

So what changed? I heard it in the words of two friends and somewhere in the universe. A fellow Corporate Challenge track teammate and competitor suggested I consider joining him in retirement two years ago. In January 2017 at a planning meeting, he was more insistent: “Rick, you need to retire. You are fit now and can do anything you want. The window for active life narrows.”

The second was over dinner with long-time friends. One had recently retired from a successful career as an educator. As she reflected on her career, she mentioned that her entry into teaching was initially blocked by teachers in place whom she loved when she attended that school, but observed that they were no longer giving their passionate selves to teaching. She meant no disparagement. It was just acknowledgement of gravity. Nor was her comment in any way directed at me. Yet it made me wonder: Are long-time clients who hired a younger, more ambitious advertising and public relations professional getting the same level of energy and service as when they first hired me? I could rationalize that experience and wisdom more than compensated for lost youthful vigor, but still,,, I don’t want to become the aging athlete that stays in the game too long and ends up hurting the team.

The clincher was hearing inaudible words from a presence while running on a trail near Mt. Hood last summer. Whether you call it the voice of God, a message from the Universe or by some other name, I received an unambiguous message: “It is time to leave part of your life behind. Enjoy these gifts I have given you. Trust.” I have never had anything but reason to trust, and so I shall as I explore what the future holds for me

So what’s next? For the remainder of 2018, I plan to do a lot of the things people do when they retire: travel, spend time with friends and family, especially the kids and grandkids, read, do some church or volunteer work, get rid of “stuff” in the basement, and enjoy life free of workplace responsibility. I also intend to do a few things most don’t do. One is this blog, the other I will address in a later post.

If you want to join in this journey, welcome along. Feel free to share some of your hopes or fears and what you are doing that’s adding joy or fulfillment to your life wherever you are in the process, but especially if you are in or nearing retirement. And even more especially if you are one of those need-to-be-needed people like me. 2019, I can’t wait to see what’s in store.