TIME OUT FOR YOU, YOU, AND YOU

The first ‘time out’ I ever heard came during a grade school basketball game.

Coach: Do you know who you’re supposed to be guarding?

Me: No.

Coach: Guard the other team, not ours.

Me: Oh. Okay.

Time outs are a part of sports, at least organized team sports.

They are part of the strategy on television football.

At other levels it’s more a necessity for injured players who hide their injuries as long as they can.

One kid’s knee bent sideways? He wouldn’t come out.

Player: It’s fine.

Another had an arm hanging off a dislocated shoulder and wouldn’t come out.

Player: It’s fine.

One kid popped an elbow out and tried to keep going.

Player: It hurts a little.

Another time out came along when my wife and I decided not to beat our children.

We gave ‘Time Outs’ instead.

The grandparents responded to those time outs and made fun.

Grandma: Are you going to put us all in Time Out?

Me: Only if you misbehave. And I’m watching.

This time out thing relates to more than Baby Boomers off the clock:

URGENCY

It relates to all retired people, at least those who didn’t ‘retire’ at forty to cruise the world on their yacht with a bale of weed, a keg of beer, and a girl in every port.

Once you stop obsessing about time, you’re lost.

Who Is The Boss Of Your Clock

Eventually a retired person sees more to getting up in the morning than rushing off.

Gone is the excitement of checking weather, checking traffic, checking the gas tank.

Letting go of lifelong habits takes practice. Sometimes it’s sad.

The sad lady who ran the world from a corner office in a luxury high rise loads and unloads laundry and dishes slower and slower.

The sad man who carried a security clearance that impressed everyone in-the-know shows ID at Walgreens for a hard seltzer buy.

Like it or not, we are defined by our habits. If you’re not naturally slovenly and lazy, you’re going to have problems in retirement.

It begins with the word retire.

The first time I heard it related to sports, specifically baseball.

“The young lefty retired thirteen batters on the way to a shutout.”

You might get retired to the dugout, but at least you were at the plate.

Where’s Home Plate In Retirement

My Mom retired after a long career in the Oregon Department of Motor Vehicles.

You’ve been to the DMV?

She was one of them.

On the job she didn’t want to hear your sideways bullshit, your lame excuses, or your current load of poor, poor, pitiful me.

She ran her family with the same efficiency.

At 5’10” and a sturdy 180lbs of fury she ruled her sons and daughters.

And we were all better for it. Besides, the old man, a one time Marine DI, leveled the playing field.

Someone at her retirement party gave a clock with the jumbled number face.

She hung it near the backdoor.

I didn’t like it then, don’t like it now.

Me: Time out, Ma

Just because you’re not scheduled to appear in an office, in a truck, or at a mill, you should still keep a schedule.

Turn the complaint, “you are always late” to “thank you for being early.”

Letting time slide is the start of the slippery slope to misunderstanding and confusion, leading to isolation and aversion.

“We’re leaving at noon, whether you’re here or not.”

“The doors close at 7:30.”

“Last call. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Where’re you going, boomer? What’s the plan?