I’m exhausted. In a good way. It’s early on a Friday morning and this is the first “normal” morning I’ve had in a while. I kicked the cats out of the bedroom at 4:30 AM when Bridget started gnawing on my hand and Baxter started gnawing on my hair. (They do this to me instead of Trish because they know I get up first.) I dozed until about 5:45. Fed them. Fed myself. Caught up in the morning’s newsletters. Drank coffee. Hopefully, there will be some form of exercise later. That used to be a morning routine that stretched uninterrupted for weeks. Now that Trish and I have put an emphasis on building more community, these quiet days have become more rare and I’m tired. Clearly, I have to pace myself. I’m not as young as I used to be.

As I’ve written about before, the pandemic years were not exactly difficult for Trish and me. We are both homebodies. We enjoy each other’s company as well as have the ability to move to separate parts of the house and enjoy our individual time. We were kind of happy holing up at home. Until we weren’t. As happens when you have a little too much time to think and talk, we made some decisions about how we wanted to live our lives going forward. We talked about what was important in being able to age with continued good health, both physically and mentally. We knew we wanted to travel more, which is the one thing we really missed during the pandemic (not to mention the four different Viking cruises we serially cancelled over the past five years for a range of reasons; that deserves it’s own essay). We have a great group of friends but we’re all a little dispersed geographically. We felt we needed more local community.

Interspersed with regular trips to Atlanta to visit my Mom and sister (and help care for my Mom), Trish and I started involving ourselves in other local things outside of the Y. I wrote last time about affiliating with a local synagogue. Related to that is Trish’s journey toward conversion to Judaism. We also joined a local golf club, although we don’t play golf (yet). You will read much more about The Club. It still cracks me up to read those words: “we joined a golf club.” Anyway, I think we’ve both hit a wall and need to dial it back a bit. Here’s a smidge of what the past month was like:

We finally completed a Viking cruise, around Iceland, at the end of June. It was a fabulous trip, complete with travel nightmares that make great stories, beautiful vistas, fun and interesting people, and many Cosmos. Unlike our trip to Alaska last year, we did not come home with COVID, but being People of a Certain Age we needed at least a week to recover from the exhaustion of the trip. We didn’t get that. First, the requisite appointments: haircuts; dermatologist; glaucoma specialist. There were lunches with friends, new and old. There was the Lisa Scottoline book tour for her new book (she actually remembered us!). There were Shabbat Services and our tendency to close down the Kiddush afterwards. A trip to the DC area to spend time with my cousin for a weekend. And then I headed to Atlanta for five days to see my Mom and sister.

During this time, I also wrote the essays on old friends and reconnecting which led to, surprise, outreach to and from old friends and reconnecting! There was dinner and a movie; a few more lunches with friends; and another medical appointment for good measure. (Trish was smart enough to catch a summer cold in the midst of all this and get a few days rest.) I needed another haircut by then, followed by a trip up the Valley for our financial advisor’s client event (more reconnections and a late night). A late dinner the next night was followed by a lunch yesterday.

A consequence of all this fun is throwing me off any semblance of schedule. And I do love a routine! A night out leads, often, to a restless sleep which leads to a decision to be kind to myself and not go to the Y. Not enough exercise tends to mean more bad sleep and more “being kind to myself,” which has resulted in around 10 hard won pounds returning to my now squishy belly, which leads to drama-inducing monthly weigh-ins at Weight Watchers. This moderate weight gain is exacerbated, of course, by all the eating out and attendant Cosmos. It used to be that whenever we went out, it was a “treat” day because we went out so infrequently. Now I have multiple “treat” days a week which is not good for my energy level nor my waistline. They are “happy pounds,” I know, which are better than “depressed pounds,” but I don’t like it.

“Oh, poor you!” I hear you thinking, as the world’s tiniest violin plays a song. Don’t get me wrong! I am thrilled about having a busier, more varied schedule. I just want to make sure I can really enjoy it. You see, ten or fifteen years ago, that schedule would not have been a problem. I was used to being on the go all the time. But I had a tendency to just go from one thing to the next: work to gym to dinner out to business trip to Atlanta trip. I’m truly not sure how much I enjoyed any of it because, 10-15 years ago, I was living more to get to something in the future. The old “I’ll be happy when…” thinking. If I just kept moving, if I just kept busy, I would eventually land on that thing that would make me happy. I guess I did, because I absolutely love my life now! I want to savor it; enjoy every part. Be present for every minute of every Shabbat Service and the socializing afterwards; enjoy every minute of every lunch and dinner out since they are always with people I have chosen to be with and that are important to me; treasure every trip to Atlanta to see my Mom and sister.

I wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t want to go back to the very quiet schedule we had during the pandemic and shortly thereafter. And that’s a good thing, because the schedule going forward is as packed as the last month. I love the richness we’ve brought into our lives. We just need to give ourselves a little more grace to enjoy this busy retirement schedule. We need to pace ourselves better.