How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, to not shine in use, as if to breathe were life.
Now I must tell some of the saddest retirement stories I have heard—but I guarantee that if you stay with me to for the next few pages, you will find a happy ending.
One of the saddest retirement stories I have ever heard was told by a financial planner whose physician client had committed suicide only 45 days into retirement. He had left a note that read, "45 days ago I was Dr. Smith; today I am nobody." Another story that grieved me was an article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune called "The Elephant's Graveyard"—a story about a downtown office address where retired executives would rent space and try to simulate a working life. Sadly, many were aimless at this stage of life.
An epochal movie that captures the existential crises evident upon retirement (especially for males) was About Schmidt, the film starring Jack Nicholson. Nicholson plays a retired insurance executive whose plans for retirement include going to the office now and then to guide those who have taken the baton from him, visiting his daughter, and driving his RV to various sites. One by one his plans prove to be flimsy, vacuous, and unwelcome. In short, he's really not needed anymore. In the end we find Schmidt hanging by one small existential thread—a drawing from a little African-American boy whom he supports through a charity. The portrait is at once pathetic, profound, and portending for those who are not quite sure where they are headed upon their retirement.
We can do better than this.
Having enough money for your retirement years is important—but just having enough money won't give you a sense of purpose. A well-heeled wanderer fares no better than the moderately heeled wanderer. I was struck by this reality when talking with a retired CEO from a well-known company. He had been retired (a little earlier than he had wished) for almost a year when we conversed. Knowing my views on retirement, he offered this:
Mitch, after nine months of this, a reality has settled upon me. If you don't have something to work toward, this thing becomes nothing more than a floating cocktail party with people reminding each other of who they once were. The only thing that seems to differ with the money is the size of the boat the party is on.
We can do better than to simply pickle ourselves as "has beens" in the final season of life.
I do not buy into the idea that my life ends with whatever career decision I may make at age 65. I do not buy into the idea that a corporation has the power to tell me, hint to me, or subtly influence me to believe that my usefulness is up in this world. I do not buy into the idea that the aging process has anything to do with significance on the world's stage.
As a collection of experiences, lessons, relationships, wisdom, and understanding, I am infinitely more valuable at age 65 than I was at age 45, and less a collection of value than I will be at 85. We live in a warped culture that has it backward—worshiping youth and inexperience, marginalizing maturity, and discarding wisdom.
I do believe that every person reading this book (as well as those who never will) is on this planet for specific reasons. If you struggle with the idea of a Creator God, then you will have to bear with me here because this is the font from which these ideas flow. I believe that each one of us is unique—not just by virtue of DNA but also of a DNO (a Destined Noetic Order). I base this idea of a unique DNO on the term noetics, which is defined as "of or having to do with the mind or intellect," but which Viktor Frankl (author of Man's Search for Meaning) and others used to describe the study of man's existence.
Here, I would like to use DNO as the sum of what is learned in mind and spirit—or who you have become on the inside. Your unique life experiences have shaped not only your decisions but also your thoughts and views as well. You are who you are. You care deeply about the things you care about, precisely because of the unique path you have traveled and the unique environment you were developed in.
Think of your personal DNO as the emotional code—unique to you—that reveals who you really are, and what you have become. If you are living your life to grow, you cannot help but notice a progression, brick upon brick of realization, taking you from one stage of life to the next. This is the divine order of life working itself out into your mind and consciousness. DNO is composed of the following:
Your unique experiences in this life and the realization attending those experiences.
The growth of your capabilities and the interests and needs driving that development.
Your most visceral reactions, both critical and admiring, throughout your life (some of your observations have brought you great sorrow and anguish, while others have brought you great joy and contentment).
What you have observed about the world's systems (which ones are working and which ones are not).
Where do you feel you have a made a difference? Whose lives have you impacted?
DNA is a code used to explain every aspect of who you are in a physical sense.
DNO, however, is a code used to explain who you have become intellectually and spiritually—which are the aspects of your person that make the most impact on others.
This larger, transcendent plot playing out in your life becomes more apparent as you look back upon your story and evolving life story and come to awareness regarding the patterns playing out in your life. By "your life" I intend to convey the starting point as when you were born and the ending point as the day your influence on this planet ends, which can and will be beyond your death.
To borrow an analogy from Frankl, think of your life as a novel that is still being written. Your story is an amazing story because of the uniqueness of you and the singularity of your circumstances. There will not be another story just like yours. It is important to understand at the "retirement" stage of life that your story is still being told, the movie is still being shot, and there are many powerful chapters waiting to unfold.
If you desire to live a meaningful life, then it is imperative to envision the end of the story. You can do this by asking yourself questions such as, "What legacy do I want to leave?," "What do I want to be remembered for?," or "What mark do I desire to leave on the people I know and the places I attend?"
Much of the angst that I have observed in retirement is the result of people feeling disconnected from a meaningful existence. Being busy doesn't cut it here. Ants are busy carrying crumbs up hills, but there is no meaning attached to it. There is no story to tell. Your personal DNO is about meaning that is expressed through your activities, through your relationships, and through your observations and conversations.
Begin with the assumption that you, and only you, could ever do what you are uniquely designed to do. You will leave a unique mark upon your family, your friends, your fields of interest, your community, and your world.
What is the unique mark that you hope to leave?
The starting point for a meaningful life story is embracing the ending point, by visualizing the last page of the story—which is not death, but the last echo of your life on those left behind. This long and meaningful view of life is the hallmark of the thoughtfully and spiritually rich life.
The cast of characters that fill your story from now until the last page will be determined by the clarity of your vision for that last page. By starting at the back of the book and working your way back to the present, you will recognize the appropriate plot unfolding in your life. When approached with opportunities that do not resonate inwardly, you will know that they are not part of your story. There will be other characters and opportunities, however, that will cause your heart to skip a beat, and you will know that they are, somehow, a part of your story.
I have observed a related phenomenon later in life that the more people age, the more they feel the need to tell their stories. Why? Because they are finally taking the time to stand back and look at their DNO, or the meaning in their story, and they want it to be preserved. They realize the uniqueness of their person, the singularity of their circumstance, and the irreproducible nature of their life—and they long to capture it for their posterity. It is what I call the autobiographical urge. And it only intensifies with the years.
I recently ran into a fellow who, the last time I saw him, said he was tired of all the travel associated with his speaking work, and was going to retire to Florida and play golf. He was about a year and a half into the experience when I saw him back out on the circuit. His reasoning for being back caught my attention, "I got tired of all the moaning and groaning. You hear it on the golf course, at the so-called "happy hour," and at association meetings. I figured out the problem. These people have insulated their lives to the point that they are no longer contributors—they are strictly consumers with nothing to give. It's all about them and their needs and wants. And when it doesn't go the way they want, they are not happy, ... which is most of the time. Oh, and the other thing. Their lives seem to revolve around drinking now. I'm not interested in being bombed by four in the afternoon."
So ask yourself, "How will I continue to be a contributor?" As long as there are tributaries flowing out from you, you will be teeming with life. When you become a reservoir of consumption, your life dries up. Three questions you may want to consider for the sake of a purposeful and meaningful retirement existence are:
Are there people and causes I would like to contribute my time, passion, and efforts toward?
How can I continue to contribute my talents in a productive and meaningful fashion?
With whom do I desire to build more meaningful connections, and why?
In the book 80 by Gerald Gardner and Jim Bellows (Sourcebooks, Inc. 2007), a number of famous Americans over the age of 80 are interviewed to give their take on what that number means in the day and age in which we live. Mike Wallace, Helen Thomas, Al Neuharth, and others give their sage input regarding this looming horizon for anyone who desires to live long and well. One theme that rises from the interviews is the need to continually have some meaningful pursuit in front of us—something that stirs purpose within every morning.
I remember one octogenarian telling me that a key to successful aging was understanding the fact that we are designed to be striving for something meaningful every day of our lives. Once satisfaction with our journey sets in, the past overwhelms the future, and the present becomes meaningless. I think this wise octogenarian had something powerful in her observation regarding our need to keep striving for purpose. It has nothing to do with working long hours, being under stress, or chasing rainbows. It has everything to do with believing our lives are integral to society as a whole, recognizing that we can make a difference wherever we apply ourselves, and having some worthy goal that stirs our spirit, intellect, and body. It's about having a great north star in our life that makes us want to be in playing shape.
Think about the need for striving in your life as you look at the Challenge Agenda in Figure 14.1.
Recently, at a dance recital for my daughter, I met Mary and Shirley, who were moving gracefully across the floor during a Latin dance tune. I asked Mary if she had been dancing long. "I've always danced," was her answer. "Right now I'm 96." To see her move was stunning and instructive.
Physical, intellectual, and social agilities are all at the mercy of our will to continually push them into action. One lesson I keep hearing over and over in my chats with successful agers is this idea of never allowing yourself to stop, because stopping gives your imagination the opportunity to make that stop permanent.
A life of meaning and purpose is available as long as we will it to be. In his book, The Doctor and the Soul (Vintage, 1986), Viktor Frankl speaks of the three values of meaning, or the aspects of life that bring meaning to our lives. They are:
The experiential value—those daily or periodic experiences that give meaning to our lives (talks with our kids, walks with our spouses, time we spend observing nature, etc.).
The creative value—the efforts of working with our hands, our heads, and our hearts to bring something of value to the world (working on a lawn, drawing, volunteering, thinking of solutions for a client, or fixing a broken object). Anything that forces creative or constructive action brings meaning to our existence.
The attitudinal value—the example we set for others of what a life lived well is all about. This value comes by the expression of personal virtue through our reaction to what is happening to us. This is a value we can bring even when we are disabled to the point of not being able to harvest experiential or creative value. Anyone who has ever stood by and witnessed grace, courage, and unselfishness from a loved one who was dying fully understands this attitudinal value and the value it brings to life.
Frankl told a beautiful story of being at a symphony with a suicidal patient at his side. As the symphony reached its crescendo and emotion was sweeping over the audience, he turned to his patient, and asked, "How is life?"
"At the moment," the patient replied, "it is very good."
We can experience this personal epiphany on a daily basis as we begin to take joy in the simple experiences of life, in our simple but useful efforts, and in the simple but profound reactions we bring to the things we cannot control in life. We have the opportunity—if we so choose—to live out these values each day of our lives.
Though our outward man perishes, our inward man is renewed day by day.
—Paul's letter to the Corinthians
People in our culture have been led to believe that their worth is discounted because of age, when the exact opposite is true. "It's a young person's world" and other such quips reinforce this misguided ethos. It's a sad thing to meet people who believe that their life has lost its worth simply because they are older. Experience and the accumulation of life's lessons should add to our worth, not subtract from it.
I remember running into a man I had played golf with 20 years previously. He had aged quite a bit, and I wasn't sure at first if he was who I thought he was. Once I was fairly certain, I approached the table where he sat with his wife and I could tell immediately that he was embarrassed of his aged state. So much time had passed, and now I was seeing him like this. He really didn't need to be embarrassed. He was articulate, he was out and about—he was simply well into his 70s now. It troubled me to see this self-conscious and somewhat self-loathing message flash across his eyes and face.
Here again, on this topic of how we view aging, Viktor Frankl in The Doctor and the Soul has a profound view that we would do well to adopt. His take on the passage of time is that rather than lamenting it (as our culture seems to encourage), we ought to treasure it:
Time that has passed is certainly irrecoverable; but what has happened within that time is unassailable and inviolable. Passing time is therefore not only a thief but a trustee. Any philosophy which keeps in mind the transitoriness or existence need not be at all pessimistic. To express this point figuratively we might say: The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who takes life in the sense suggested above is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and fully away with its predecessors—after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life that he has already lived in the full. What will it matter to him that he is growing older?.. 'No, thank you,' he will think, 'instead of possibilities I have realities in my past—not only the reality of work done and of love loved but of suffering suffered. Those are the things of which I am most proud.
This is a healthier view of our lives than that which our youth-worshipping culture will ever acknowledge. Our lives have value at any age because we live and love and strive each day with meaning—a meaning that each of us brings a unique and singular signature to every single day of our lives.
This is what it means to retire on purpose.