Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

I find myself in a liminal space, straddling one of modern life’s boundaries, not half-in/half-out, but between and neither, caught mid-transformation.

With three weeks to go until my retirement, I’m not really working at work, but I’m also not really not working. Not quite working; not quite retired. Every day feels like Thursday (even today, a Friday), and by that I mean that each day feels like the weekend is about to start, but isn’t quite ready to throw the switch. Every day is Weekend Eve Eve.

At work, management is purposefully not giving me anything to do (well, nothing that can’t be done in an hour, anyway)—a bit of a gift after 33 years with the company—so I’m doing a lot of ho-humming during my work day. My replacement is making the transition from her old team to ours, and I will be able to assist in that, but she’s actually a former member of our team who is returning to the fold, so there’s little with which she’ll need my specific assistance.

As for retirement readiness, the requisite forms have been filled out/submitted/received, our new insurance is ready to take over, our many ducks are waiting patiently in their row.

All is in readiness.

Yet, I am anxious. Nervous. Jittery. At loose ends. Unable to focus. Wanting to start, but without the time to do so.

The weather has not helped. Here in Seattle, spring started off early but quickly realized it forgot something on the stove and had to run home, giving winter another month to hang around and raid the fridge. It’s as if my world is holding its breath.

And yet, all around me, furious activity. Kids play in the street, dogs get walked. Orders are delivered, trash is collected. Speeches are made and votes are cast. Wars and negotiations drag on. Babies are being born, changing couples into parents, parents into grandparents.

Yet, here I am in my chrysalis, waiting to emerge.

When I do,  what will I be?

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