L2: Where do I go from here?

I’m discovering that the journey I’m taking, at the stage in life I’m at, promotes introspection. Hurtling along at highway speeds, alone, hour after hour, inspires the mind to wander in a variety of directions.

One of those directions, for me, has been Family.

I am the elder child of an eldest son and an eldest child… each of them a member of a large loving family.

My sister and I grew up taking those family ties for granted, and, since becoming adults, we have learned to appreciate them.

The Saturday before I left Winnipeg, my sister and brother-in-law hosted a farewell barbeque in their back yard and invited a microcosm of our extended family. In attendance were one of our mother’s remaining brothers and our father’s three surviving sisters.  The “baby” of that group was 82.

Two of the four senior siblings were escorted by an offspring; another by a daughter and her husband; the fourth (NOT the “baby”) drove herself.

Additional guests included Max, a friend of more than 20 years who became an honorary member of our extended “family” as a result of sharing a house with my sister and brother-in-law when they returned to Winnipeg; Theresa, his partner; my friend, Nuo, who has been a major factor in my decision to go to China to teach English (Chengdu is Nuo’s home city, and she initiated my contact with CUIT, where I will be teaching); and Bob and Jeanette, the parents of my daughter’s boyfriend (whom I will meet for the first time in a few days).

Written down, the guest list appears complicated; the reality was anything but. It was a “family” party - my favourite kind - a mosaic of unique individuals who, for a few hours, merge into a harmonious whole.

That phrase, “a harmonious whole,” sounds very Chinese, as does the link to family. I’ve spent my recent days reading a book about China by an author who grew up in and around Chengdu. The importance of “family” is a strong, recurring theme in her story, and I am hoping that it is something that I, and my Chinese hosts, will have in common.

I bring with me to China one piece of jewelry, a gift from my immediate family at the barbeque. It is a pendant, custom-made to my brother-in-law’s design. On the front is a book (books, and reading, are my addiction), a pen (writing is my vocation, and my avocation), and a tiny opal (October is my birth month); on the back are the words, “On to your future,” and the first initials of my two children, my sister and brother-in-law, and their two sons.    

      I will miss them terribly, but I will also KNOW that they are just beyond the horizon.

My current stop is in Calgary. I arrived last night, after two days of driving. For anyone not familiar with driving cross-Canada (and to quote the singing group, The Arrogant Worms), “Canada’s really BIG!”

Note: My previous blog SHOULD have been posted on August 10 - one of the things that didn’t happen quite on schedule.

I left Winnipeg on Monday (August 11) - almost on time, although I didn’t actually leave the city until about 1:30 p.m. - crossed the first half of Canada’s Prairies, and spent the first night of my journey with my friend, Sharon W., in Regina. I spoke of Sharon in a previous blog - she’s the historian that has been a friend since our university days.

Sharon and I met in a first year Economics class - when we simultaneously turned to each other and shrugged - “What IS the man talking about?” In spite of that inauspicious beginning, we both passed the course… although neither of us majored in economics.

                    Sharon W, then and now

Sharon made me welcome in her home - gave me her bed and her underground parking stall for the night, provided me with access to the internet, served me a chicken dinner and tea when I arrived and porridge and tea before I left . We discussed our families, the Olympics, our respective computers (hers is in for repairs, mine is new), and our faith (Sharon is an active member of her congregation, I’m lapsed).

As always, ours was a spirited and interesting exchange. The friendship between Sharon W and I is a curiosity. We are two very different people, but over the years we’ve always managed to find enough points of intersection to maintain a connection. It is one of those friendships that are like “family” - no matter how much time lapses between visits or conversations, the foundation stays solid and the friendship remains in place.

One of the important elements in this friendship “mix” is a third friend, Sharon H, who, with her husband, runs a bed & breakfast on Hecla Island in Manitoba. Sharon H has provided a vital link between Sharon W and I over the years, keeping in touch with both of us, and keeping each of us informed of the other.

            Sharon H, then and now

When Sharon W and I first met, the two Sharons were sharing an apartment close to campus, and, through a series of circumstances, I ended up joining them for the summer of 1967. Subsequently, the three of us travelled together to Expo ‘67 in Montreal in the fall; a trip that we “re-visited” last fall, 40 years later. The difference was that, this time, we could afford beds on the train.

I spent one of my final nights in Manitoba up at Hecla visiting with Sharon H at her B & B.

Today and tomorrow, I’m in Calgary, at the home of another long-time friend - Judi G - where I arrived last night following a seven-hour drive across the remainder of Canada’s Prairies. Like I said earlier, 

      “Canada’s REALLY big!”

My friendship with Judi began when she joined me as one of “Jean’s girls” at the Winnipeg Free Press. Judi was a new grad from the University of Toronto, job-hunting in Winnipeg because it was her boyfriend’s home city. Like me a few months earlier, she didn’t have a clue about being a reporter. She’d applied for a job in the Classified section, and been referred to Jean when she admitted she had a university degree. Jean hired her, we connected immediately, and she’s been my “little buddy” for about 38 years.

Like me, Judi eventually left reporting for organizational communications - in her case, to handle public relations for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. Some years later, when her marriage broke down, she moved back to Calgary (her home city) to work for the Calgary Public Library. She’s accredited (APR rather than ABC, to my chagrin), and, for some years, she’s been a successful independent consultant. Recently, her career has taken a back seat to her role as a daughter - she’s serving as primary support to two aging parents.

This journey of mine is turning out to be more than a drive across the country…

Tomorrow, my adventure starts.

Like most journeys, it begins with a single step. In this case, a “step” to Regina, a distance of 571 km, a drive of about seven hours.

It’s a drive I’ve made many times before, although it’s years since I drove it solo.

I travel with all the modern “toys.” My 2007 Saturn VUE is equipped with air conditioning and cruise control. The portable Garmin GPS on my front dash will supply directions as needed, and satellite radio and an in-dash CD sound system will provide a source of “company” to help me stay alert. Personal favourites from my CD collection are available via my iPod Touch, which connects directly to my vehicle’s sound system and eliminates the need to “fiddle” with individual CDs. Four audio books are loaded into the iPod for those times when I need a voice to talk to me.

To anyone not familiar with the drive from Winnipeg to Regina, staying alert can be a challenge. We are talking true “Prairies” here. As my sister once described it, “miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles.” I may be a Prairie product born and bred, a true child of the “Big Sky,” but I freely admit this is NOT the most exciting scenery to drive through. It is also driving in summer, which, in Canada, is tantamount to driving through construction zones. 

I know, I’m dithering… talking around what’s actually on my mind.

By the time you read this, I will have departed. After weeks/months of waiting, planning, preparing, my adventure is about to begin.

My “jet plane” awaits in Vancouver, scheduled departure August 26^th.

I’m being “re-invented.”

A friend’s daughter is helping me go through everything I’ve collected in the years I’ve lived in my current residence and separate the “wheat” from the “chaff.” Our objective is to clear personal effects out of the areas of my home that I’m going to turn over to someone else while I’m out of the country.

Who that person or persons will be is still in flux. Until today, I thought it was going to be one of my son’s friends, but now it looks like it will be one of my nephews.

No matter, it still means clearing clothing, photos, and “knick knacks” out of my bedroom, my closets and, to some extent, all the living areas of my townhouse. It is amazing the amount of “stuff” a chronic packrat like myself accumulates in six years. At times, it is also extremely embarrassing.

My sister says I should MOVE every five years.

I’m undecided as to how I feel about a comment made by my “re-inventor” as she pulled yet another bag full of bags out of my closet. She said she now understands why her mom and I are buddies. At least, I know her mother would understand - after all, you never know when you’re going to need another bag. 

At the outset, I declared my book collection sacrosanct, but agreed that everything else was negotiable. So far, what seems like massive amounts of clothing, shoes, and purses have already gone to Goodwill. My current assignment – while my “re-inventor” is taking a few days to care for her own life - is to review all the excess paper in my office space and identify it for “re-cycling,” “shredding,” or just plain “garbage.”

The results are amazing; I almost wish I was staying home to enjoy them. 

But, China still beckons. The flight tickets are purchased; the documents I require for a travel visa are in transit; my suitcases are lined up waiting to be packed.

The flurry and fanfare is finished… the parties are over… the gifts, the cards, the flowers, have been received and acknowledged… my personal independence “moment” has come and gone… I’m officially RETIRED!

Manitoba Public Insurance, the place of employment I retired from was my professional “home” for over 12 years, longer than I’d ever worked anywhere else. As with all jobs, there were “good” times as well as “not-so-good,” but, “bottom line,” it was a good place to work. 

My knowledge and skills were treated with respect; my efforts to learn and “grow” were encouraged and supported; my work was interesting and satisfying. I worked with, and for, some great people. I had a lot of fun and enjoyment. I was reimbursed fairly. I will remember my years at MPI with pride, and pleasure.

As I’ve said over and over during the past two weeks, even though everyone listening was grinning and smiling, it’s scary!

Thank God for China. There is a small “me” inside who keeps popping up her head and starting to go into panic mode, “What do I do now? What do I do now?” So far, because China is waiting in the wings, I’ve been able to calm her down and get her back in her “box.” Hopefully, by the time I get back from China, I’ll have some new plans to keep that side of my personality under control.

In the meantime, L Squared has LEFT THE BUILDING!

After all the advice on career “planning” I’ve given over the years to communicators just starting out in their careers, I wish I could say I’d planned it all, but I didn’t, I just “lucked out.”

In my home province of Manitoba, most communicators are graduates of the Red River College Creative Communications program. I’m not. I’m a graduate of what I think of as the “Jean Brown’s training program for journalists.” This “exclusive school” operated out of the old Winnipeg Free Press building at 300 Carlton Street in the late 60s and early 70s, masquerading as the “Women’s News department.”

Jean was a journalist of the “old” school. At a time and in a profession where women seldom received respect, she honed her craft “on the job.” When former Ottawa mayor, Charlotte Whitton, once said, “Whatever women do, they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily, this is not difficult,” Ms Whitton might have been talking about Jean.

Other denizens of the news room challenged Jean’s knowledge and expertise at their own risk. Jean was never loud, or vulgar, but when she spoke, everyone listened. Even the publisher, Richard S. Malone, the “Brigadier” as he was known out of his hearing, treated her with respect.

As the editor of the Women’s News, she taught a string of green young female want-a-be journalists how to identify a “news” hinge, create a “lead,” and write a story that was accurate, informative and interesting. We were “Jean’s girls,” and NO ONE hassled us. If someone had something to say about how we were doing our job, that person spoke to Jean. If Jean felt there was valid criticism to be passed along, she did so. If the comment was complimentary, the person was usually allowed to speak to us directly.

From Jean, I learned to be a reporter, how to edit someone else’s work without re-writing it, and, by example, how to be a boss.

Being a “journalist” sounds fascinating, from the outside. It impresses the hell out of people you meet, but the “fascinating” aspect wears off quickly for the practitioners, especially when the money is poor, as it was at the Free Press. It is day after day of doing the same old things: making the phone calls, doing the interviews, attending the events, returning to the news room and writing the story, then repeating as required. I lasted for three years, mostly because of Jean.

As 1971 was coming to a close, I applied for the job of Executive Director/Editor of the Psychiatric Nurses Association of Canada (PNAC), largely on a whim. After all, who advertises a job at Christmas time? I didn’t think I had a prayer of getting it, but I was frustrated, the year was ending, and the ad said being an “editor” was an important part of the job. Editing was one aspect of my job that I still enjoyed.

One of the questions at my hiring interview was whether, if the association decided to publish a book to mark its upcoming 25^th anniversary, I could write it. “Of course,” said I, thankful that they couldn’t see my knees shaking underneath the table. The chair of the hiring committee told me afterwards that they knew I was bluffing, but, “You did it so well!” I was the committee’s second choice; they couldn’t afford their first. For me, coming from what was notorious for being the lowest paid paper in Canada, the salary seemed like a fortune.

I was 25 years old.

I immediately found myself traveling the country and responsible for a national organization’s member relations, government relations, media relations, intra-association relations, etc. etc. etc. Of course, I was also responsible for my own typing and filing, but the Federal Minister of Health and my counterpart at the Canadian Nurses’ Association didn’t know that.

I was terrified! I had a ball!

It was during this period that I joined Corporate Communicators Canada, the professional organization that would eventually merge with the International Association of Business Communicators (IABC). As I said, I was terrified and I knew I didn’t know what I was doing, so I asked a friend if there was a course I could take, or an organization I could join. She told me about Corporate Communicators.

My job with PNAC lasted for two years; it turned out they couldn’t afford me either. Shortly after it ended, I “fell” into the newly created position of Communications Officer for the Manitoba Government Employees’ Association (MGEA), which has since become the Manitoba Government Employees Union (MGEU). At that point in history, the MGEA was in the process of morphing from a social club into a union, and its enthusiastic communications committee wanted a communicator on staff.

I was the candidate chosen. I suspect it didn’t hurt that I was known as an active volunteer in the local women’s movement – the YWCA, the Manitoba Action Committee on the Status of Women. The MGEA (motivated by an assertive young female communications committee chair) was anxious to improve its image among its women members. I suspect I am still one of the few non-members ever hired to communicate on behalf of a union. Like most member organizations, unions tend to hire from within.

As MGEA’s new communications officer, I was responsible for communications with both the membership and the public during its first round of “nose-to-nose” labour negotiations with the Manitoba government. Every morning during negotiations, I met with Executive Director John Halliwell, who was the union’s Chief Negotiator. John would give me a play-by-play of what had happened at the negotiating table the day before (including his commentary on the mistakes made by the government negotiator). We would then work together to decide what should be included in the union’s daily report to the membership. I got a crash course in labour management relations and negotiating from one of the best.

It was also during this period that IABC came to Canada, and I have to admit that I was dragged into it “kicking and screaming.” As an ardent Canadian nationalist, I did not like the idea that we were being “taken over” by an American organization. Little did I know; in the years since, I’ve sometimes thought our American colleagues should have complained about being taken over by the Canadians.

The first Canadian IABC conference was held here in Winnipeg. Immediately afterwards, the eligible members of the conference organizing committee (of which I was one) wrote IABC’s accreditation exam. I DO mean immediately; we commenced writing at 8 a.m. on the Saturday morning following the conference’s closing banquet. I still can’t believe I passed.

This was also the period when I took a foray into a very different kind of communications… writing an opinion column called Feminist.

1975 was International Women’s Year, and Feminist was my own private International Women’s Year project. It appeared in the Free Press for three years under the byline of Linda Shirray, my married name. My first paycheque went to buy a dishwasher.

I took great satisfaction in what I wrote; I still occasionally meet someone who remembers a column. A lot of “me” went into it, but also a great deal of my grandmothers, my mother, my teachers, my sister, my friends (and not-friends) in the movement. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was writing it, not just for those of us who were living the issue at the time, but also for my daughter and the generations of young women who were going to come after us.

Believe me, we HAVE come a long way!

1975 was also the year I left Manitoba to practice what was becoming my profession in Saskatchewan. I didn’t intend to do it. I just intended to demonstrate to the federal government that I was a good communicator who should be carefully considered the next time a job came up here in Manitoba. Of course, I really LIKED the job description of the position that was being offered in Saskatoon, and the director of the department that was hiring really LIKED my qualifications, but my husband had just started a new job, we’d just bought a house, I didn’t want to MOVE.

It’s the only time in my career, I’ve ever negotiated well! After all, I didn’t want the job; I just didn’t want to REFUSE. I got the bright idea of demanding top dollar on the salary scale and pricing myself out of the running. HA! What happened was that I was offered the top dollar, and ended up accepting both the money and the move. The DOWNside was that the job didn’t end up being quite what I’d expected; I learned the hard way to treat government job descriptions with extreme skepticism. The UPside was that the benefits of my salary negotiations continued to pay off for my entire time with the federal government.

What my time with that first federal department did do was give me a chance to balance my experience (remember that earlier Executive Director title) with my age (I was still in my 20s). Also, before I got too frustrated, another “lucky” opportunity opened up. The Correctional Service of Canada posted a communications opening: it was English language only, in Saskatoon, a grade level above the position I was in. I was a little nervous about a job with Corrections (talk about a bastion of male supremacy) but, after all, if I wasn’t guilty of anything, what could they DO to me?

I discovered what they could DO to me. They could give me my DREAM job! A communications job that REALLY mattered!

Realistically, in most circumstances, when communications pulls a “blooper,” the worst that happens is that the boss and/or the company gets embarrassed. While this may mean a permanent career decision for the communicator involved, it’s not much more than a ripple in the greater scheme of life.

Corrections, on the other hand, had documented proof that, when communications “blew” it, people died. The job mattered! I was responsible for media relations and crisis communications in a region that covered three and half provinces, plus a huge territory; I learned about managing staff and handling a budget; I taught an interested staffer how to write “news style,” and helped to create a seminar that trained wardens, deputy wardens, and directors of parole to better understand and deal with the news media and the public. When a crisis hit, the stress level skyrocketed! I discovered I was an adrenalin junkie. My skills envelope expanded exponentially. I loved it.

Unfortunately, the time came when the Powers That Be at headquarters decided to centralize communications in Ottawa. I was a Prairie product born and bred, I knew if I ever went to Ottawa, I’d never get out, and I didn’t want my two little kids to grow up thinking Ottawa was “normal.” I put out “feelers,” and, lo and behold, the Manitoba Attorney-General’s department had an opening because the existing communicator, a fellow named Brian Phillips (now an IABC colleague of many years), had just got a new job.

From a professional perspective, the position of Director of Communications for the Attorney-General’s department was a great job. It gave me the opportunity to become acquainted with the “rest” of the justice system (law enforcement, civil law and criminal prosecutions, courts, the judiciary). It opened the door to the world of desktop computers and electronic publishing – I spent my first three weeks on the job learning my way around the keyboard of my new personal computer (a Macintosh) and getting acquainted with Pagemaker. I polished my skills in media relations, crisis communications, and planning and implementing a communications campaign; I also learned to write speeches for others (I’d been writing my own for years). I won my first IABC award, a Silver Leaf in Marketing in 1989 for Manitoba’s Tough New Driving Legislation. Eventually, when the provincial government created Manitoba Justice and transferred the corrections division to what we in the “business” believed was its natural “home,” I even got Corrections back under my umbrella.

It wasn’t the “same,” but it was good. Too good to last, I guess.

In 1991, the province decided it didn’t want to communicate anymore. That may not be the official description, but, from my perspective, that’s what happened. A new centralized communications unit was created, all the directors of communications in the departments got their pink slips, and some of us learned very quickly that we were NOT welcome under the new regime.

I decided it was time to experiment with new ways of using my old skills. I accepted a position with the Human Rights Commission, first as an Intake Counselor, later as a Human Rights Officer. It was interesting, I learned a lot. One of the most important things I learned is that I’m a communicator. In 1994, after a brief stint with the Law Enforcement section of Manitoba Justice, I decided to do what I’d always said I wouldn’t do – go into business for myself.

Several years earlier, I’d started doing some part-time teaching for the University of Winnipeg’s continuing education division, and I’d discovered I loved it. My mother, a retired teacher, thought it was a “hoot” because I’d made the mistake of declaring as a teenager, “I don’t know what I’m going to be, but I’ll NEVER be a teacher.”

Teaching others to do what I loved to do supplied me with my communications “fix” during my years outside the field. When I decided to return to communications, and there were no fulltime jobs available, it seemed natural to explore a career as an independent consultant and instructor. I enjoyed many aspects of the experience, but I also found that succeeding financially required too much “selling” of myself, as opposed to “selling” of the function. I decided I was better suited to working for someone else than for myself.

At just the right time, Manitoba Public Insurance was looking for a Senior Media Relations Officer. Everything happens for a reason. Over my 12 years at MPI, I’ve moved from Media Relations to Coordinator of Information Services, to Broker Communications Officer and, finally, to Supervisor of Broker Communications. I was a member of an exceptional communications team that won a whole “slew” of awards from IABC and others in 1997. I’ve worked for some great people, hired and supervised others.

MPI has supported my involvement in IABC (which has been an essential support to me at every step in my career) and encouraged and supported my commitment to lifelong learning. During my 12 years at MPI, I’ve completed a corporate certificate in Supervision and my provincial Certificate in Adult Education. I’ve almost completed my Certificate in Management. Ironically, the courses I’m missing are Effective Oral Communication and Effective Written Communication, because I’ve never got around to assembling portfolios for the prior learning assessment process. Maybe I’ll do that next year.

Now I’m moving on to the next stage. After July 4^th, I will no longer have to get up in the morning and go to work in order to earn a living. It’s a very scary reality to contemplate. I will, however, continue to be a communicator, and a committed member of IABC.

It’s been a “slice!”

p.s. The preceding may be “too long” for a post, but it’s here to share with friends and colleagues who couldn’t make it to my retirement “bash.” L2

40 years ago this spring, four friends and I (along with a few hundred others) graduated from the University of Winnipeg… the first batch of students to do so (the university had been given degree-granting privileges in the fall of 1967, Canada’s centennial year).

Two of us, cousins, knew each other from birth, but the rest of us connected in class, at coffee, as accidental roommates. We shared a certain commonality of background, a certain mutual “thread” of understanding, somehow we meshed. 

Over the years, our relationship has ebbed and flowed… as youthful friendships are apt to do… but we’ve retained contact… sometimes directly, sometimes through one another. We’ve pursued diverse careers (entrepreneur, archivist, communicator, comptroller, historian), experienced various degrees of success in personal relationships (the current score is two married, one widowed, one separated, one single), and propagated our contribution to future generations (between us, we have seven children; two have grandchildren).

When we last gathered, it was to mark the 25^th anniversary of our graduation. Rather than attend the formal events organized by the university, we held our own private celebration, gathering with our spouses to barbeque in one of our back yards. We shared a raucous evening updating each other about developments in our individual lives and reminiscing about our “glory days” of university.

More sadly, on this 40^th anniversary, we gathered for the funeral of the mother of one of us. It was comforting to discover that the links we forged so casually 40-some years ago still hold true. We still take pleasure in each other’s company; we still hold values and opinions in common; we’re still friends.  

I signed it yesterday.

Starting September 1, 2008, and running through June 30, 2009, I am contracted to teach business and conversational English to students on the Longquan campus of the Chengdu University of Information Technology (CUIT) in China.

Founded in 1956, CUIT is considered a key university in China’s Sichuan Province. It has approximately 25,000 students enrolled at three campuses. Although its main specialties are in science and engineering, it also offers programs in economics, liberal arts, management, law and philosophy.

According to my preliminary discussions with the university, I’ll be teaching three or four classes of business and economics undergraduates who wish to improve their English language skills. I’m told that they will be able to read English, and know the grammar, but will find speaking and listening a challenge. The description of their skill level reminds me of my own French-language skills after six years of instruction in middle school and high school. I hope they were more diligent language students than I was.

At this point, my feelings about my adventure are equal parts anticipation and anxiety.

The classes I’ll be teaching are “optional,” which means I’ll have to “impress” in the first few days, or my classroom for the rest of the term may be very lonely. On the plus side, I’m assured that Chinese students are very respectful of their teachers and honour their elders, so I feel there IS hope. I’ve also been doing a bit of research about the differences in learning styles between China and “the West,” and I’m going to do my best to adapt.

I’m also experiencing some “there but for the grace of God,” thinking. Chengdu is very close (about 60 miles) to the centre of where a very severe earthquake struck at 2:30 p.m. on Monday, May 12. I admit to relief that it struck in May rather than October. Having lived my entire life until now in the geographically stable centre of North America, I’m not sure how well I’d cope with earthquakes and aftershocks. I sincerely hope the tectonic plates of the region have finished their shifting and quaking by the time I arrive in late August.   

However, whatever happens, I have faith that I’ll survive.

That deals with my anxieties.

As for anticipation, I’M GOING TO THE MIDDLE KINGDOM!

I’m going to live in a city once called the “brocade city,” a city known as the capital of “Heavenly State,” the city where the Southern Silk Road began. I’m going to live nearby to the natural habitat of the giant panda. I’m going to experience a culture that was home to an emperor’s capital when my own ancestors were still hunting and gathering in the British Isles.  

WOW!

My initial email to friends and family to announce this blog and invite them to visit acknowledged I was a bit “shy” because its content is geared to my “personal” comments and feelings rather than taking a “professional” approach.

I’m feeling better about that now.

Part of that is just because I’ve launched. I’ve always preferred reality to anticipation. However, I’ve also been able to think about it more, and I realize that being aware of “feelings”… and being able to articulate them is a valuable part of who I am as a communicator.

I believe an essential part of being a good professional (in any field) is being passionate about what you do. You have to CARE, What you do has to MATTER. To me, that means somewhere at your core, even when it doesn’t “show,” you take what you do… and how others respond to it… personally.

To survive as a professional, you develop a shield between your core and the inevitable criticism and opposition you encounter. To be a successful professional, you even learn how to sift through the criticism and opposition for “learning experiences” that add to your skills and abilities. Depending on the source of the criticism and opposition, depending on your self-confidence, depending on your experience and maturity, some of it gets easier to dismiss… some of it gets easier to accept.

However, never be fooled by the shield, even the most ”professional” of us DOES take it “personally.” 

BECAUSE WE CARE! 

Since my retirement became imminent, I’ve discovered that there are three aspects to retirement. Not all of them were anticipated.

Aspect #1 - Financial

I did anticipate this aspect and, basically, I expect to find it simple to deal with. 

I’ve always been a chronic keeper of a budget. You probably know someone who is “my kind” of person: one who records cheques when they’re written, and balances her chequebook at least once a month. My week seldom goes by without at least one on-line visit to my account to see what monies have gone in, and gone out. I also regularly monitor the ups and down of the mutual funds in my self-directed RRSP account and keep track of the results.

I accept that not everyone is like me. I spent more than 20 years married to a man who saw no reason why he shouldn’t write cheques until they started to bounce. However, in my world, you either have the money… or you don’t. Before it was imminent, I summarized my financial plan for retirement as, “When my investments do well, I’ll travel and buy new books; when they do poorly, I’ll stay home and re-read the old ones.” My plans to go to China and teach grew out of a wish to make my desire to travel pay for itself.

For me, dealing with the financial aspects of retirement is a comfort zone… even “fun.”

Aspect #2 - Professional/Business/Activity

One of the “needs” of retirement that’s been fairly well documented is the need for organized, planned, appealing activities to keep your mind and body moving. When you’re a chronic couch potato like myself, the “appealing” element is particularly important. I am NOT one of these people who enjoys going to the gym or taking a daily walk.

My China plans grew out of a recognition that I needed planned activity that would entice me out of my house to “do” rather than enable me to sit back and “observe” others. I love to work with language; I’m proud of how I’ve learned to do it well; I’ve discovered great satisfaction in sharing what I’ve learned with others. Teaching in China offers an opportunity to share my love of language while at the same time experiencing a part of the world that has always fascinated me.

It will also require that I “get off my duff.”

Aspect #3 - Emotional

This aspect snuck up on me a few months ago when a woman I work with asked, “How do you FEEL about retiring?” I realized that I didn’t have an answer to her question. I’d been so busy doing my financial calculations, and planning what I was going to DO to keep my brain and body challenged, that I hadn’t considered that there were “feelings” involved as well.

As of end of day, July 4th… for the first time in my adult life… I will not need to work for my living. I’ll have a steady, reliable, long-term income without any effort or commitment required on my part.

I’m still trying to determine how I “feel” about that…