For someone as tightly wound as I am, I am remarkably laidback about how other people conduct their lives. If people are living a relatively healthy physical and emotional life, and seem happy and reasonably productive, I am good with it. They might be changing jobs every year, partnering but not marrying, travelling without saving, spending retirement in an RV, or working until they drop dead at their desk at age 93.
It is true that my non-judgmental attitude has never been tested by my family, friends, or co-workers. To my knowledge, none of them has an open marriage, has failed to pay income taxes for many years, forces their dog to sleep alone outdoors at night, or enjoys a furry fandom lifestyle. It might give me pause to find out that they want their heads removed when they die for cryogenic cold storage, but time will tell, I suppose.
But here’s the quid pro quo: I am not the least bit interested in what others think about how I live my life.
I am amazed at comments from others when they are not prompted by a “what do you think?” query. For example, one would think that by now, I would be competent to predict that I will be more comfortable in long sleeves inside an air-conditioned restaurant even if it is 80 degrees outside. But some folks challenge my indoor clothing choice as if it is a test of my basic morality.
How much I work is no one’s business but mine. In the past, I have been criticized by people for working on weekends or not taking enough vacation time – all by commenters that have no first-hand understanding of the commitment that self-employment demands. Retired folks are adamant that I need to stop working; that it is the best decision they have ever made. I am delighted for them; it is just that what makes them joyful may have nothing to do with what makes me brim with happiness. They have plenty of advice about how I should conduct myself when I do retire – how much I should travel, whether I should work part-time, where my husband and I should live, and when we should draw social security.
Some friends think I run too much, that I am going to get hurt, even though I have been running for 50 years with few injuries. Most folks my age would tell you that their bodies provide an infinite source of feedback about its wellness, endurance, and vulnerability. I know mine does.
My least favorite advice is the fervor with which people tell me that, “you should try to slow down,” as though energy is a finite resource that I am depleting too rapidly. I feel happy, productive, and positive virtually every day of my life, so I just wonder why I should change. (This reminds me of my favorite story about my oldest son, whom I admonished as a teenager for texting, emailing, listening to music, and talking on the phone while studying. His response, “Mom, I get straight A’s; what would you like me to change?”)
I have a dear retired friend who raves about how she loves the luxury of drinking wine with her husband in the evening, with nothing pressing her. I cherish that she offered the statement as an expression of what experiences are important to her, but not as lifestyle advice.
I could do that, I think. Well, except for the wine, and only if the dishes are done, the dogs are fed and walked, I’ve responded to the last family on-line chat, and everyone is taunting me for being lazy. That would be the perfect comeback.