NOTES TOWARD A THIRD ACT
NOTES TOWARD A THIRD ACT
My Pal
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
October 15, 2015
I called my pal, Pat, yesterday. He retired last month after more than a few years of a punishing commute of his own, and I've been wondering how he was doing, so when I came out of the supermarket and saw that I had a missed call from him on the iPhone, I opened it and without actually intending to, returned his call. He picked up a few seconds after the call went to voice mail, and of course, he had not intended to call me either, had been dicking around on his phone and called me on accident.
So ... now that I've got you here, I've been wondering how you've been doing with retirement.
He's been doing fine. Kind of interesting how the days seem to open up and breathe more now that he isn't under constant pressure of his old schedule. Been puttering around doing his Felix Unger thing.
Yeah, I've been amazed at how they've filled up. With giving the boys rides everywhere.
And I was going to mention how, in fact, I had just gotten out of the grocery store and was heading over to pick up Charlie from piano when I judged that would be too many words to get out with any ability to articulate them clearly, so I just let it go, and let Pat go with a Well, nice talking to you.
Yeah, nice talking to you, too.
Bye.
Bye.
And that was the sum total of that conversation between a couple of boomers retired after a lifetime of more or less rewarding work.
Are ya depressed yet? Because I'm not. I've been hanging out with Pat for more than 40 years now, for all of our working lives, I guess, and that conversation was pretty typical; even taking into account the decades when I might've been able to generate a bit more wind, I probably would've found one reason or another to keep our phone time to a minimum. It's just in the nature of our friendship, that he might talk more freely and easily in my presence while I would be at my tersest with him.
I remember very well when we first started hanging out, sitting around at his house on Andre St. in Saginaw listening to "Everybody's In Showbiz" by The Kinks, and I would be yammering away about nothing in particular when finally I realized that it was okay if I did not talk. I'm pretty much certain Pat didn't tell me For Christ's sake, would you shut the fuck up, man, as I'm sure he had every right to do when you consider how little anything I was saying had to do with sharing something of value with him and how much it was about me talking to hear myself talk. No, I think I just realized sooner rather than later that I could just sit quietly with this person without feeling awkward or strained.
Can you imagine what a blessing?
“It's just in the nature of our friendship, that he might talk more freely and easily in my presence while I would be at my tersest with him.”