50+ Lifestyles

Just Saying…

Life from a Different Angle

By Q.C. Jones

Long ago, I had a random meeting with a grizzled old country preacher. He was the kind of guy who could quote Scripture, provide tips on car repairs, and roast you with the same sentence. We were the only patrons at a rural coffee shop and somehow, both possessing the legendary gift of gab, we got into a conversation. Between the second cup of coffee and the halfway through a gigantic Iowa cinnamon roll, he leaned across the table, wagged a finger, and out of the blue said, “You know, retirement in the Bible wasn’t a blessing. It was punishment.”

Now, I nearly choked on my coffee. Retirement? Punishment? How did we get onto this subject?  Generally, those words don’t usually sit in the same pew.  In my world, retirement meant a gold watch, grandkids crawling on your lap, maybe a Winnebago with goofy bumper stickers. But the preacher was adamant, and, wouldn’t you know, he quoted the Good Book to ad nauseum. Here are some highlights.

Take the Levite priests. Numbers 8 tells us they had to stop their temple duties at age 50. No more sacrifices, no more leadership. They could still hang around and lend a hand, but the heavy lifting was handed over to the younger bucks. That’s not exactly a retirement cruise. It’s being benched. In a culture where honor came from service, being forced out was closer to punishment than pension.

Then there’s another priest, Eli. Poor Eli, old, blind, fat, and with sons who made televangelists look saintly. By the time the Philistines swiped the Ark of the Covenant, Eli’s authority was gone.  He died not as a leader, but as a bystander.  Retired before his time, and not by choice.

King Saul is another cautionary tale. Still sitting on the throne, crown polished and all, but God had moved on.  David was the new one chosen. Saul became the first “retired king” of Israel.  Though he still had the title, the fire was out. No wonder he “fell” on his spear.

History outside the Bible sings the same song. In Greece, old hoplites who couldn’t heft a shield anymore were sidelined. No ticker-tape parade, just irrelevance. In Rome, senators were “retired” when emperors wanted them gone.  Cicero, one of the greatest orators in history, ended his career not with applause but exile. And Emperor Diocletian, who voluntarily retired to grow cabbage in 305 AD, was treated like that weird uncle who’d lost his marbles.

Cross the ocean and you’ll hear echoes of the song from the Mayans and Aztecs.  A Mayan elder who couldn’t keep up with rituals slipped into the shadows. Aztec warriors lived for captives taken in battle. Once they couldn’t fight, they were done for. Even on the American plains, old warriors who couldn’t ride or raid anymore found themselves living on the charity of younger hunters. They shifted from provider to dependent, and while they were still respected, the shift was sobering.  And let’s not forget the number one pastime of Eskimos (Inuit for the PC crowd). I think they call it ice flow riding.

Perhaps, the preacher’s point wasn’t so far-fetched. Across cultures, retirement was less about gold watches and more about being set aside.  It was the end of usefulness, the exile from relevance. They became FIPs (Formerly Important People).

Of course, somewhere in the 19th and 20th centuries, we flipped the script. Prosperity, pensions, Social Security, and retirement parties rebranded the exit ramp as a victory lap.  Companies invented the retirement party just to make the exile look festive. Instead of disgrace, we call it freedom.  Instead of irrelevance, we promise bus trips and golf.

Regardless of how I try, I can’t break free of that preacher’s warning. Despite qualifying for retirement at just about any moment, I push forward.  Is it fear of the unknown? I don’t know.  Is it a definite lack of hobbies that don’t involve strong liquor? Perhaps. I have witnessed “retirees” who migrate to their favorite chair and never come back. And that scares me. I am already at the point where I repeat myself and stretch stories of long ago to ridiculous lengths.

At the same time, I see folks who shine brightly in their retirement. For them, retirement isn’t an exile. It’s more of a reinvention. If Eli, Saul, Cicero, or some old Aztec warrior could whisper to me, I suspect they’d say: “Don’t just quit. Find a new way to matter.”

So next time somebody asks me about retirement, I’ll tip my hat and say: “Depends. Do you see it as a punishment? Or is it your next calling?” This week I received three communiques mentioning retirement from very dear friends. It is my wish that they refrain from tending cabbage patches.

Finally, paraphrasing a personal hero, Douglas MacArthur: “Old writers don’t die, they just smell that way. I shall return.”

Just saying,

QC Jones…