It occurred to me today that I have a real expiration date. Professionally, I’m under five years from becoming obsolete. In a very real sense, that is reassuring.
Let me explain it all.
First, safety net healthcare – which is my sole area of expertise – is changing significantly. Decades of funding spikes and valleys, chronic underpayment, alternative payment methodologies, long-term clinical staffing shortages and heavy consolidation have dramatically changed the landscape. For the healthcare consumer, some of this is good and some of it is bad. For health centers, which is what I used to run, the ability to survive will be based on the strength of their balance sheet now, the support of their communities and a creative grit and resilience at the leadership level. I wish them all the greatest of luck as they navigate ever-changing tricky waters.
But for me? As we change fundamentally how we pay for healthcare in that awkward, half-assed way we tend to pay for healthcare in this country, it changes what I can offer my former peers. Those keys to success that I deployed still have some value but that value is rapidly diminishing. I’m an expert in surviving, true. But not an expert in these new funding streams which require a whole new playbook. The upshot here? I’m becoming irrelevant.
At first glance, that realization is a bit of a sinking, sad feeling. A lifetime of work and at least a decade of my life that was dedicated to learning as deeply and quickly as I could has resulted in this: old knowledge. I’m like that computer which runs too slowly, that software program that is missing the new buzzers and bells and that home or car that is, well, not “smart.” Obviously, I still have some value. I’m a calm negotiator, an insightful master of emotional intelligence and a fairly deft hand at finance. So, I’ve got a little left in the tank for a little while. And yet, I know my days are numbered.
Before last week’s (and this week’s, I guess) market sell-off, I was adjusting well to my newfound obsolescence. In a way, it was comforting. Obviously, you never want to quit too early and you want to leave all of your value out there. But you also don’t want to stay too long and if my value was petering out at just about the time that my will to work was petering out, it felt reassuring. There was a simple karma to it. In the end, the ending of my professional life would be a mutual severing of ties; a gentle goodbye where we would both be leaving feeling like the relationship had run its course. Each of us would leave with good feelings and I’d be off to enjoy my less-than-golden but still plentiful retirement years.
Now, all of that was predicated on the fact that it would be financially feasible for me to leave in about 1-2 years. While I’m not panicking yet, there is a growing sense that my ability to retire and my professional value may be slightly diverging. If recent trends continue, I need to hold on for a few more years. One wonders if my skills will still be needed or wanted past my original “use by” date.
And since I don’t want to face my financial future (or even look at my recently mailed investment statements), I decided to ponder the gentler side of this question: what happens when we become obsolete?
The connotation is a bit negative and yet the concept, genuinely, is a bit freeing. Being obsolete means that you did your part. Like a player who leaves at the end of the game with five fouls but played his best or the car that served yourself and the next generation through college, obsolescence can be a grateful retirement. You did your time, you served your purpose, you gave your all… you can rest.
Even against my will at times, I’m ready for that. I take tremendous pride in supporting those I love so that they can shine. I love smoothing the path for them, providing a bit of wisdom at a downturn and generally getting out of their way so they can make miracles happen. I also love whatever little quiet time I get. Whether it’s a quiet, uninterrupted morning or a full day all to myself without any significant work demands, the quiet is wonderful. It unrings bells, slows my breathing and lets me focus on the easy in life. Honestly? That’s what I’m ready for: the big easy. No, not New Orleans (though we are headed there). Instead, the big easy of retirement.
If I get my druthers and my usefulness wanes at the same time that I can afford to safely retire, I’m ready for life to get easy. Right now, it’s a bit hard even though I work part-time. Our current gig is that my husband also works a little more than full-time and with a big house, big yard, big garden, five pets and renovations, our life is – well – hard. But, if we could retire together or even both just work a few hours a week, life could get easy. Renovations could be finished and with the reduction in both work and renovation time demands, we would have plenty of time for the good life.
And that’s when the fun would start. By being obsolete, I wouldn’t be concerned as much about making a contribution; I could rest my mind with the thought that I had done all the good I could. Now, I could indulge. Bike ride on a Tuesday afternoon? Sure! Going to the garden store Wednesday morning before the fog lifts so I can plant pots later that day? I’m in. Long, hour-long walk in the evening? Try a new recipe or a new restaurant? Expand my home preserving repertoire? Finally preserve the hydrangeas for Christmas tree decorations? Play with each kitty everyday? Take care of all of the drycleaning or the messy basement or painting the deck furniture? Yep. Yep. And Yep.
Here’s my real deal though: I think there is a bit of a Zen to this whole process. I think, deep down, your heart, mind and soul know when you are reaching the end of your professional expiration date. Initially, it seems sad and frustrating and scary, all at the same time. But then, acceptance slowly grows and suddenly, it’s not so scary (when the stock market isn’t tanking, that is). Leaving friends and colleagues will always seem a little sad, but the free time that beckons to renew old friendships soothes that small ache. And while it dings all of our collective pride to realize we are not the scion anymore (and that can be a little frustrating, to be honest), it’s also reassuring to see the new minds that will be the new leaders take over.
Finally, at the end, there is such a profound joy. There is the moment when you realize you have so much of life left to live and without the pressures and constraints of work, you can now fully experience it. That’s when you start to breathe deeply and look forward to the future.
Yes, I’ve got an expiration date. Nope, I’m not sad about it anymore.
The Yuppie Homesteader 