Dear reader: I don’t know where you are in this retirement experience – enjoying it, dreading it, denying you’re in it, can’t wait for it? But if you’re like me you definitely find it puzzling. Which is what I’ll be writing about from time to time under this post My So-Called Retirement. I hope you weigh in because as always, when it comes to change and challenge, we need each other.

The word retirement definitely has image problems. Google “retirement” or look it up in the dictionary and you’ll see a basic definition: withdrawal from one’s position or occupation.

It follows, then, that to be retired is to be withdrawn, in retreat, backed off, removed. On the outside. Synonyms for retire include: to stop, adjourn and to dispose of, as in, “She retired her white zip-up boots.” Then there is “retire” referring to a type of behavior - meaning overly modest, often linked by the adjective “shy,” as in, “He yearned for the days of shy, retiring women.”

Look, too, at what the media does with the word. In a story about Harrison Ford’s movie career still going strong at age 67 the headline read: “Ford says he’s not retiring, still feels useful on set.” So what does that say about being retired? That you are no longer useful?

So far, my favorite alternative is “jubilada,” the Spanish word for retired.

Other synonyms for retirement include: ending, termination, seclusion, hibernation, rustication, solitude, obscurity. When connected with a graphic image, there is often a picture of a hammock suspended between palm trees.

The hammock is a nice time-out image, but do you want to spend the rest of your life in one? Feeling terminated, rusticated and obscure? Of course, that might seem perfectly glorious to people. But for me and I suspect for many the word retired and its stereotypes don’t fit.

And so we make efforts to tweak the R-word. Martha, a minister emeritus, tells people she is on a “re-adventure.” When I asked on Facebook for alternative words for retired, I got suggestions like: rewired, released, renewed, rejuvenated, revised, remodeled, recycled. There’s also recalculated, like what your GPS does when sensing a detour.

If you look for books on retirement you’ll recognize attempts to gloss up the image by referring to retirement as “the third age,” or “the encore years.”

So far my favorite alternative is jubilada, the Spanish word for retired. It sounds like well, …jubilant. Euphoric, elated, giddy with freedom.

And some people are.

My very smart sister-in-law retired last year from teaching elementary and middle school and is delighted to be done. She took her car to get serviced and sat next to a woman with a fat stack of papers she was grading. “I don’t miss that,” she said.

I met a woman who used to be with the FBI and adores retirement. The image, the word, all of it. She spent her working years being refined, she said. “But now I get to be outrageous.”

But then I asked a friend, who retired to Mexico how she was enjoying her new freedom.
“I spent all my life thinking only about wanting free time. I must have thought I had a million things to accomplish. Now I’m not sure what they were.”

But yes, she does prefer to call herself “jubilada” rather than retired.

DEAR READER,
I don’t know where you are in this retirement experience – enjoying it, dreading it, denying you’re in it, can’t wait for it? But if you’re like me you definitely find it puzzling. Which is what I’ll be writing about from time to time in My So-Called Retirement. I hope you weigh in because as always, when it comes to change and challenge, we need each other’s help.

I used to sympathize with my friends who didn’t work but stayed home and raised kids and who dreaded the “What do you do?” question at parties. Their answer “I’m a mom,” would get them little but a polite smile from others who would then turn to scan the crowd for someone more interesting.

I could argue on behalf of those women that anyone who didn’t respect the hard job of being a mother wasn’t worth talking to. I, too, was a mother, and I was on their side.

But I was on the other side, too. I didn’t have to avoid the question at parties. I, in fact, looked forward to it. I had a better answer. And did that make me feel a little bit superior? Sure.

“I’m a newspaper reporter,” I said and later, down the road, I could add the even sexier, “I’m a columnist.” That usually got their attention. If a person recognized my name they might try to be flattering and mention something I’d written. Or they might become a little antagonistic, like the guy who said he liked my writing except for when I sounded like a feminist. Sometimes a person would use me as their chance to rant about the media. But they never just turned away.

I was advised by a friend to never answer “retired” when asked what I did.

When I first left my regular newspaper job more than a year ago, I was advised by a friend to never answer “retired” when asked what I did. “Tell them you do something,” she said. “It makes you seem young.”

That’s part of it, isn’t it? To say you’re retired creates an image attached to an age (old), a lifestyle (sedentary) and value (past). People envy retired people their time, but not their standing.

My generation of women (the Boomer vanguard) was the first to swarm into the workplace in a big way. We were educated women, trained for careers that came with a business card and status. Then, after 30 or 40 years of it, we stopped doing it. Maybe we had no choice because someone said it’s time to go. Or maybe, like for me, we chose to go. The newspaper business was in a downward dive when I left. It had stopped being fun, and to tell you the truth I wanted to exit before someone decided to take away my column and force me to write cops and robbers or spend weekends covering some NASCAR race.

When people ask me what I do now, I say “writer.” And if they say, “I thought you retired,” I start explaining that just because I no longer go into a newsroom every day and just because I get a pension doesn’t mean I’m actually retired. At least not in the classic sense. I’m doing it my way and I’ll tell them more once I figure it out.

People envy retired people their time, but not their standing.

I was at the beach with my dog and spotted a woman I had once interviewed for the paper. She had been a college instructor and I asked her how it was going and she said she’s never been happier since retiring. And what, I inquired, does she answer when people ask what she’s doing now. “I say I’m just being,” she said.

Now, this woman is at a point where I am not. She looked regal, her long silver blonde hair twisting in the sea breeze, a black poncho wrapped around her tall lean frame. When she and her elegant dog trotted off down the beach I pulled my dog off a rotting seagull and thought, well, there’s a role model. I never thought about “just being.”

Susan Swartz is an author and journalist in Sebastopol, Ca. You can also read her at www.juicytomatoes.com and hear her Another Voice commentary on KRCB-FM radio on Fridays. Email is susan@juicytomatoes.com

People have been asking me, “How do you like being retired?” They’re just being friendly, not accusing. So, why is my first reaction …. “You talking to me?” like the belligerent Robert DeNiro character in “Taxi Driver.”

“Hey, Susan, how’s retirement” yells my friend George from across the street when I’m walking my dog in downtown Sebastopol. And I’m slightly embarrassed, like he’s asked how’s the new prosthesis working out.

Retired. Me?

I rush to qualify: “Well, of course I haven’t exactly retired, you know,” I sputter. “I quit my newspaper job. But I’m not retired-retired.”
I mean, of course, I’m not playing golf, although nothing against those who do.

How’s it feel to be a lady of leisure, they ask. What leisure? Do not think of me as sitting around. I still wake up in the morning and make lists. I still carry my appointment book. I still have to make money.

Keeping busy, they say.
Filling your time? Do I look like I need time-filling?

I know why I’m so sensitive. It is because my generation basically recoils from the word retired. It makes you sound like what your father did when he quit working at his manufacturing plant and moved to a condo in Florida and tussled with all the other former executives over supervising the landscaping and swimming pool maintenance.

Retired is something you thought you wouldn’t be for a long time. But then you were surprised at turning gray. And turning 50. And 60. And have someone call you grandmother.

But retired sounds so final. Like you’re finished. Done. Wrapped up. Certainly, different.

Writer Sara Davidson worries in her wonderful book “Leap,” that retirement is “a precursor to boredom and death.”

What do you say when you no longer do what you did? Who are you when you longer are who you were?

The transition from being on the clock to off does not happen automatically.
It reminds me of the romantic get-away my husband and I planned one week summers ago. We put kids on various planes, found a house sitter to take care of the vegetable garden and feed the cat and rushed to Mexico for one week’s precious vacation . We fought for the first two days.

Baby Boomers, it is reported, have no intention of fully retiring. More than three-quarters of them plan to work long past the age their parents
got the gold watch. Part of this, I know, is because of the money.

The ads ask: can you afford retirement.
Are you kidding, I answer.

But I think we fear relinquishing the identity which comes with work.
Retirement is what normally happens at the end of your career. I still have a career. I just don’t do it for so much an hour certain days a week in an office. I am a stay-at-home writer. And I may eventually get involved in some good work. And take another French class. And do more yoga.

I bet as more Boomers advance into this period we will start to see a new competitive sport develop. Extreme retiring, we’ll call it. . I retired and became a masters swimmer. I retired and became a medical missionary. I took up the cello. I adopt feral cats.
Perfect Boomer business opportunity: Retirement boot camp.

Some of my friends compliment me on my new relatively relaxed life.
I’m more attentive says my friend Alison as we linger over lunch. “This is normally the time you’d be tapping your watch and saying ‘I have to get back to the office.’”
She tells me I look rested, even younger.

But as we start to leave the restaurant, she can’t resist, saying loudly,
“Wait. Now that you’re retired don’t you want to wrap up the bread in a napkin to take home.”

Listen to the audio version of “Are You Still Somebody?” on the podcast page under Another Voice.