I am taking a “stay-cation” next week. It’s practice for when I’m retired. I would like to know what it feels like to be at home all day and choose what I want to do.
Luxurious, I’m thinking.
I realize that taking a week-long break from work is a whole different animal than being at home day-after-day. A break from work usually means doing nothing, doing everything, or maybe just wastin’ away in Margaritaville. There will be a small amount of Margaritaville in my week. It’s summer, we have a little pool and a tiki bar on the patio. . .so why wouldn’t I?
There will be fun festivals bookending the week. I have my usual chores. A little bit of de-cluttering. Spiffy up my ride. Exercise. Walk the lake. Lounge in a chair and read. And hopefully, write and stockpile a bunch of articles to keep you entertained in the weeks to come.
A lot of what I anticipate my days will look like in retirement. Regular exercise will be priority on my list. Writing because it pleases me. Writing my book. Yes, there is one of those. I am calling it “Phucensch*tt – Spirituality for People Who Swear”. Yes, really. But I’m not giving out any more info on that. You will have to wait. I plan on trips to the library. Trips to cool places in Denver that I’ve never seen in all my years of living here. Like the Molly Brown House.
I will walk to the grocery store and buy a few things for that day instead of stockpiling from a warehouse store. I will poke in the dirt until it begs me to stop planting flowers. I will chase pigeons off the roof. (Hopefully that problem is already resolved. Haven’t seen them in a day or two.) I will re-ignite my love of cooking. I will meditate. H*ll, I might even take guitar lessons and become a rock chick. Or not. Guitar Hero might be enough. I’ll watch all my favorite movies over and over until I can recite every word, “Welcome to Columbia, Joan Wilder.” And if I feel the need to work and serve, I’ll give readings at my favorite little metaphysical store, For Heaven’s Sake. I just won’t be doing what I’ve done for the last 30+ years.
Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll put on a pair of flip-flops and search for my lost shaker of salt.
Loving Your Sh*T 