As I type this, 10 years ago today was my last day as a working lawyer. After nearly 31 years in the courtrooms in many of the 64 Parishes of Louisiana, or actually mostly in preparing to go into those courtrooms, I was ready, more than ready, to shout [in the words of Lumiere from the song, “Be Our Guest” from “Beauty and The Beast”] - “Enough! I’m done!” In those 31 years, I had seen, and done, enough “Justice” to last me the rest of my life. 10 years ago tomorrow, I stepped out of what had consumed much of my life [actually, it was 38 of my 55 years if you also take into account the time spent in schools getting educated enough to become a lawyer. Good grief! I just figured out that that was nearly 70 percent of my life up until that last day of work!], and into the “brave new world” of retirement.
But now I am wondering about the costs. Now I’m wondering about the price I paid for my career. I know, it’s a little late now to be thinking about that. But maybe some reflection is worthwhile. We learned some Latin in law school, and one of those Latin phrases comes to mind – “Caveat Emptor” – “Let the buyer beware”. In addition to the dollars expended for schooling, fees, dues, etc. – you know, the measurable, quantifiable costs in becoming and remaining a lawyer - it also “cost” me virtually 70% of my life to "buy", that is, to create my career as a lawyer. How do you measure, how do you quantify the value of 70% of one’s very life? Was it worth it? Did I get what I paid for? Was the game worth the candle? Would I pay that price again if I had the chance?
Well, I don’t know if there are any real answers to those questions. But, here’s something interesting about the math of retirement – the longer you are retired, the percentage of your life that you “paid” to create your career becomes ever smaller. For me right now, after 10 years of retirement, the “price” I paid for my career is closer to only 63% of my life. With each passing year, the “price” I paid as a percentage of my life goes down, which means the value I received for the price I paid goes up! Not many things in life work that way - just ask the guy who bought a new car which plummeted in value the minute he drove it off the lot. That means that if I live long enough, there is no doubt that I will someday be able to confidently say – “I got what I paid for” in my career.”
So, “yay”, I guess?
Tomorrow I will begin decade number two of retirement. And, I guess, in some ways, it hasn’t really been retirement at all – not in the traditional sense of the word. Yes, I stopped working for a paycheck 10 years ago. But I jumped immediately into full-time ministry at our church. So the actions of daily work only changed, some might say “significantly changed”, on that special day ten years ago. They did not come to an end.
I am blessed, I know. Leaving the work force at 55 is a rare thing, and this great gift gave me over eight years to spend in my kind of retirement with Renee. No, those years were not spent in traveling the world, and seeing the wonders of nature and exploring distant lands as many retirees enjoy. We knew such things were not going to happen, and so we didn’t “miss” or regret that such journeys were not a part of our retirement. What we liked was the ability that retirement gave us to devote ourselves much more fully into the life of our little church, and to our families. And, while there were still deadlines to meet, and things that had to be done, there somehow seemed to be so much more freedom, so much more breathing room, so much more life to enjoy and celebrate than at any point in our previous 30 years of marriage. Oh how we reveled in it! Oh how we thought we had so much more time to revel in it. What might I now give in exchange for a little more time with her?
And yet, while I am thankful for eight and a half years of that kind of blessed retirement, I cannot help but feel robbed that it ended so abruptly, without warning, without time to prepare for what was next. It’s almost like I’m living a Biblical story, except in my story, there was no dream to warn me that there would only be eight and a half years of plenty. There was no dream to warn me of when the lean years would arrive. There was no dream to tell me how long the lean years will last. There was no dream to warn me of what to do during the years of plenty to prepare for the lean years ahead.
Just like that, it was all over. No, retirement wasn't over. But all the hopes, all the plans, all the things we had spent all those working years dreaming about doing in retirement, and scrimping and saving and investing so that retirement could begin - all of that was over. All of that was gone, just gone. The invasion of Death had forever changed what retirement, and what Life, was now going to be. And it is like the cost of retirement has skyrocketed - the cost as measured in Joy. For eight and a half years of retirement with her, Joy was seemingly always available. If I had a rough day at the office, or on the golf course, I knew that my Joy level would be restored at home, just by her presence. And I think, I hope, it was the same for her. Now, without her, it is like there is a tax on Joy, and it is being drained away from my account a little at a time.
Not that I find no Joy in my work and in my days now. I can, and I do, I promise. But still, there is a difference when you can't share the Joys of life.
Of course, the truth is that none of the tomorrows since she died were ever promised to me; none of them were ever really mine even though I was, foolishly I know now, counting on them. So I guess I wasn't really robbed. I guess I didn't actually lose anything. “Don’t regret losing what was never really yours; just be thankful for what you had”. That's what I keep hearing in my spirit. And I am. Or I was. And I will be again, someday. I think.
Until then, tomorrow is just another day. Jackson Browne's words from "The Pretender" say it for me - “And when the morning light comes streaming in, I’ll get up and do it again. Amen.”
Ambrose Ramsey | Pastor and Shepherd
