Footnotes is a series of essays that build on each other. This one is part of a chapter on the idea of retreat and the image of Halloween. If you haven't read it already, I recommend starting here.
⩩ 22
We hit a point in our lives at which we step back from our work. We resign our post. We step down from our active office, we retire. And in their habits and dress these retirees are worth looking at, since here too is a coat we can slip into.
First of all, they don’t mind telling you what they do or don’t like, and in a simple, matter of fact tone say what they think about something, without looking on all sides for agreement. They aren’t trying to offend you, but neither are they trying to please you. It is rather simply that through long experience with themselves they are familiar enough with themselves, at least, if not the rest of the world, to know their own opinions. Hence they tell you without filter what they think about something, even something of personal concern to you, even your own beliefs and habits. They tell you to your face. What reason could they have for trying to hide? What reason could they have for trying to impress?
And they do nothing but what they want to do, as long as the body still allows it. Done working and with time on their hands, they devote themselves to their interests, to hobbies and play and recreation. For years they have lived and worked, lived and worked and saved up, to the point they can retire. In retirement a person steps into the phase of life where they aren’t saving anymore. What could there be for them to save for? This is it.
They don’t look forward, and make no assumptions about how long they’re going live. No presumptions, no expectations. Taking themselves to have lived a full life already, retirees live on time added, in the afterlives of their own lives. All the days I live, they think to themselves, are as good as the days Lazarus lived after his resurrection, a supplementary clean gain of so many months or weeks, as the case might be. I survived myself. My death and burial were locked up in my chest.
And their favorite form of recreation? Because they’ve lived full lives and because it’s the easiest on the body, they live more than anything in the calling up of events and problems and developments in their lives, joys and sorrows, going over them and reliving them again. They recount their experiences. They tell stories, to their friends or their children or their children’s children, or even to anyone who will listen, and in fact whether anyone is listening or not. They like just as much telling stories to themselves. They look back and tell themselves the story of their lives.
Now we all hit this point, but some hit it later, some earlier, and some even hit this point young. On some bright quiet morning, when the sun rises up huge and still into the sky, they finally accept it and say to themselves: whatever I have lived through and gathered up in my years, however much or little it is, today it is enough. Today I am taking what I have, today I am stepping back. I am announcing my retirement.
These are those who are thrifty by nature, born penny-pinchers and scrap-bookers who make a little go a long way. These are your thinkers-ahead, your worriers and planners, your conscientious souls who have strained themselves, breathlessly, without break. So they have grown old already in their middle age, and fall from the tree. But on this day, in retiring from ambition, from strain, by no longer leaning forward but standing squarely on their feet, they renew themselves and become young again.
What can I have to save for? My time of saving is up. I have lived a full life and am already dead. I will live today and spend lasciviously and tell the story.
And everything that has been put away, pocket dimes and payday checks, gifts, lessons, dreams, everything that has been deposited and thrown into the storage vault starts to dance and sprout, like from a seed in the ground.
You are reading Footnotes, by Garrett Allen, a series of philosophical-ish short essays. You just read ⩩ 22, from the third chapter, on Retreat. Here are some highlights from what came before.
Retreat
⩩ 19 Storytelling
⩩ 17 Halloween
Firsthand
⩩ 16 Revelation
⩩ 14 Yourself
⩩ 12 Learning
⩩10 Habit
⩩ 9 Firsthand
Stagestranger
⩩ 7 Mistake
⩩ 6 Whim
⩩ 3 Speechless
⩩ 1 Headsup
If you enjoyed one of them or the series as a whole, please consider passing it along to a friend. And if a friend passed it along to you, welcome. By subscribing you can have these notes delivered to your inbox, too. If you would like, stay abreast.
A shoutout as usual to Danny at breakfastswerved for his ink. See his drawings for the series here.
If you’ve come this far: thank you for reading my work and spending time with me. I would love to hear from you.
I love the connection to Lazarus and highlighting the way of being in the world is of "added time", nothing to earn, nothing to save for but the present. "I have lived a full life and am already dead." Scripture to live by from our first day on Earth!
Love this, Garrett. I've been thinking about the word "harvest." May 1 was Beltane, the sacred seasonal day celebrating the midpoint of spring. I was prompted to think about what I want to harvest this year. I like the word "harvest" because, to me, it implies I've already been working, planting seeds, growing — I have everything I need — and now it's time to harvest and enjoy the fruits of my labor. The last paragraph of this essay, especially, resonated with me. Thank you for your offering! :)