Had the fates and COVID-19 cooperated, I wouldn’t be here to write this.
My fat, elderly buns were to have been in Italy today, part of a two-week jaunt with family and friends that we’d been talking about for years. We decided that September of 2020 would be the perfect time to execute said mission, and all systems were “go” as the new year began.
Then March happened. And after that, NOTHING happened.
All of us had to scuttle plans for trips large and small as the pandemic set in. In a time when people have suffered the ravages of the coronavirus, lost friends or loved ones to it, gotten laid off or furloughed from long-time jobs or perhaps even lost a business…well, having to postpone a trip is obviously small potatoes. “A new normal” awaits us on the other side of the pandemic. It’s just a matter of time until it gets here and new plans can then be made for all manner of self-indulgences.
My days off were limited to but a few over the past year, having taken more than a month off last fall to get my knees re-done. 2020 has been a year like no other in my professional life in terms of news, and it didn’t feel right taking extended time away, what with the current-events cycle churning at a ridiculous rate. As 2019 became 2020, coronavirus was a big, fat unknown. It was on the radar, but it hadn’t reached our shores. We were pre-occupried with other things in January, like a Presidential impeachment. Then there were the sports: the Pack coming to within a game of another Super Bowl berth, the Bucks tearing through the NBA. Remember Kobe Bryant? That happened January 26th. It feels like it was a decade ago. Among its other attributes, it seems COVID-19 can also warp our concept of time.
Time is what I had plenty of this past week, having finally decided to step away to re-load, re-tune and re-boot. Almost every vacation I’ve ever taken involved a trip somewhere–and this was certainly the first where you literally couldn’t go much of anywhere. Days took on a certain sameness–when I woke up Wednesday morning, I seriously had to think for a minute as to what day it was. Then, it came to me: THIS must be what retirement feels like. Every day is Saturday, if you want it to be.
And, that’s not a bad place, even in a pandemic. I nibbled a bit at the endless honey-do list and got a few things done for myself, too. When my wife reminded me mid-week that this would’ve been around the time we’d have been taking off for Italy, I marked the occcasion that night with a 12-pack or Peroni (shared with friends). You can do that when you don’t have answer a 2:00 a.m. alarm the next morning. I binged on “gray” TV–I can almost recite those Tom Sellick reverse-mortgage ads by heart–and dipped into what’s passing for pro sports, finding that it’s kinda cool to have baseball, football, hockey and hoop happening all at once. It almost kinda-sorta-almost feels “normal” until you see the virtual NBA fans, the empty seats in the bleachers, the acres of tarp covering vast expanses of a vacant Canadian arena. All remind you that these times are anything but.
Math isn’t a personal strong point, but the numbers tell me I’m less than a year and a half away from 65. Other calculatons will have to be made in the days and weeks ahead to see if and when it’s time to stand down, shut up, and let younger more talented folks take my place. The last thing one in this business ever wants to do is to hang around too long, when you no longer have the fastball and before the folks at home exchange knowing glances before they turn the dial. You have to know when to get off the stage.
There’s another mathematical reality: this long, dreadful year is far from over. We have a little less than three and a half months of 2020 to slog through, with no guarantees about what ’21 will be like. Rest assured that there is no big switch to flip come midnight, New Year’s Day, one that’ll suddenly bring us back to last January when travel, dining out, the office cubicle and the school classroom weren’t considered hazardous to one’s health.
The past week gave me a taste of what that other life will be like, a vacation like no other during times none of us could’ve ever imagined. It wasn’t bad, not in the least. I understand the allure of the rocking chair (or in my case, the sunroom couch) and mildly envy those of you who’ve already made the transition. The job is still fun, the people I work with keep me young and it’s a privelege to do what I get to do. I’ve never had to “work” a day in my adult professional life, such is the case when one gets to do what he/she loves. And, I get a ringside seat to history on a daily basis. No two days are ever alike.
Unlike that other side I just got to sample, the one where every day can be Saturday.