Where do I go from here?

I turned 60 over the summer, and let me tell you, it was not a happy day.

The weather was as miserable as my mood, with thick dark clouds prowling across the sky and sultry air that persisted through cycles of thunder and sheets of rain, interspersed with fleeting moments of sun and blue sky.  “Partly cloudy with a high probability of rain” was my inner forecast too, even as I tried to be grateful for the sunshine in my life.

10 years ago when I turned 50, I felt like I was winning life.  Our eldest was in college, and our twins were one year away from graduating high school and moving onto college themselves.  Ken and I were both working hard at his thriving business and we maintained a full circle of friends and activities.  We were both healthy and engaged in our community.  I wasn’t afraid that youth was behind me, and was looking forward to The Empty Nest…when I could finally stop putting the needs of others first and start pursuing a path of my own.  I felt energized standing on the cusp of a decade of change and happily welcomed the start of my late middle age.  As part of the celebration I took three trips that year without Ken: one with my sisters and one with each of two friends who were also turning 50.

Suffice to say that many of the major changes of the following ten years were not part of the plan.  Ken’s health started to fail and my nest was emptied but only after we had to ask our sons to move out.  The joy of my early 50’s slowly morphed into the realization that things were not turning out the way I had anticipated.  Looking back, it all seems like a slow decline since the day in February of 2017 when we received the call that Ken’s last living sibling had died of ALS.  So turning 60?  I had no interest in even acknowledging the milestone.

I didn’t expect to be retired at this age and I sure didn’t expect to be retired without my husband.  And while it sounds obnoxious to be complaining about something as fortunate as early retirement, perhaps it is the way I was dumped into it which has me disoriented.  While there are no guarantees in life, I see many of our friends cruising into their retirements, living the sort of life that Ken and I once talked of and planned for.  He doesn’t get to experience having Saturday every day, and I am not sure what to do with these endless Saturdays on my own.  I hear of friends planning and taking trips with other couples, sometimes with other mutual friends, and this stings.  My membership in the couples club has been quietly revoked.  Now I have to work on creating something new on my own.  It is hard to start over for anyone, and while at my age it seems almost comical, 60 also feels way too young to retreat into a quiet dotage.         

Ken and I loved to travel, and had so much fun together exploring new places.  In an attempt to stay engaged with this part of my life, last year I vacationed with my adult children in a familiar place, and also accompanied my parents overseas on a guided tour.  This year I feel drawn to travel on my own, not only because it is a long-time passion, but because I feel obligated to live extra hard for Ken.  Even though I was our travel agent, I’m finding that planning travel is harder without my fellow adventurer.  Maybe it was easier to tell someone what we were doing instead of only having myself to boss around?  Whatever the case, I have managed to make plans.  Shortly, I will begin walking part of El Camino in France and Spain with a grief support group.  After 115 miles of pilgrimage, I will leave the group to spend a few solo nights in Santiago and Madrid.  To be alone in a foreign country, at a time of year when darkness is lengthening, I am apprehensive even before I leave the USA.  But I’ve been following a group of solo women travelers on Facebook, my children and friends remind me that I can do hard things, and I know Ken wouldn’t want me to give up.  It is ironic when retirement seems like work.

Travel, particularly in an unfamiliar place and culture, can be scary.  It was easier to face that fear when I had a partner to share it with.  But if I let fear control me then this phase of my life is going to look even less like what I imagined.  We learn a lot from travel, and not just about other people and their worlds but about ourselves and how we fit into our world. And I feel like I have a lot to learn.

Here I am at 60.  And while moving forward while I grieve the loss of my husband and the loss of the life I expected will not be easy, I am ready to start.  There may be detours and I may not end up where I thought I was going, but since I’m familiar with unmet expectations, how bad could that be?  Perhaps literally walking on a new path will give me some inspiration and direction.  I am not sure what lies ahead, but soon I will take that first step.  Ready or not, here I go.