By Barbara Neal Varma //
I recently retired after 30 years of government service to pursue my writing dream.
No pressure.
I say that because for years I’d been the town crier, telling anyone who’d listen that come that happy day, I’d write full time and catch some really big bylines. Magazines and such so well-known, Mom would’ve been proud to parade them in front of all our friends and relatives.
Of course, 2020, with all its baggage and distractions, got my retirement plans off to a rocky start. But the real kink in my calm was the weight of great expectations I’d placed upon myself.
You know the song: If only I had more time, more energy, better hair; why, I’d get my stuff published in a New York Times minute! If only I could say goodbye to the day job, I’d often lament, I’d be a real writing girl.
Instead, I was a hot mess, often sleeping in until a lazy 6 a.m. Some mornings I’d get the grand idea to kick-start my day with a little social media, why not?
Big mistake. Huge. Before I knew it, a few hours had flown by without my writing a thing beyond some pithy comments on others’ Facebook posts. And somehow I didn’t think that counted.
I found myself longing for the way things were. Reminiscing, tear in eye, about the glory days of gainful employment when I had a set schedule to show me the way, every day.
And were I to be totally honest with myself, I even missed the handy-dandy excuse that working 9-to-5 had given me. Before retiring, every time I put off writing the next great American novel or missed publishing a piece in Cosmo, I could blame the day job, right? Now the only one to blame was me.
This was messed up, man.
Years ago, after my dad retired, he’d surprised us by getting another teaching job right away, and then several more after that, becoming a consummate educator well into his seventies. I’d asked him back then why he didn’t put his feet up and relax a little, watch another episode of 60 Minutes. He said he liked teaching too much to give it up, and besides, he wanted his weekends back, having discovered that Saturdays and Sundays weren’t so special when every day is a day off.
You know what, Dad? I thought after a particularly long and sobering Facebook binge, sometimes fathers really do know best. Because I wanted my weekends back, too. And a set schedule. And some structure in my day. Goals! I wanted goals!
So I officially re-launched my new writing career—but this time with all the trimmings. I added completion dates, target word counts, and 15-minute tea breaks to my daily routine. I even set a company policy limiting social media during working hours—which I mostly adhere to with the exception of potty breaks. (Oh, like I’m the only one.)
There is a key difference, however, between my dad’s post-retirement employment plan and my own. While he went back to a 40-hour workweek, I’m mornings only, starting at 6:30 a.m. and writing or marketing my stories until high noon, Monday through Friday.
So, essentially, part time.
I am retired, after all.
BARBARA NEAL VARMA is a contributing writer to Orange Coast Magazine and has appeared in other notable publications, including The Atlantic. Her easy-humor personal essays have proven popular with readers, one gaining numerous hits on Orange Coast Magazine‘s website. (Hello: Desperately Seeking Donny.) You can learn more at BarbaraNealVarma.com.
Your outlook and self discipline is inspiring and admirable. Don’t be too hard on yourself, but just enjoy all that you “are” doing and be proud of all you have done, and continue to do. I really enjoy reading your articles of self-inspection ( if that’s a thing). Keep writing as your words tell most relatable stories!