As a lifelong Baby Boomer, I am used to being included in a major cohort of Americans. I've gone through all the angst that my generation experienced, and I did fairly well, right up to this year. But this year, you see, is the beginning of my final five--the five years before Social Security.
This year begins the final lap of my life as an employee, and every day seems to be a greater challenge than the day before. Like all living beings, I have spent my lifetime adapting to change and wondering if I can still learn more. I find that yes, I can learn more; I just can't learn it in 30 minutes or less. Every physical challenge makes me ask: can I do that? I still can, but sometimes I have to rest.
Adapting to change is tough. I remember my mother wondering, in her seventh decade, why everything moved so fast. Why was everything so complicated? And could I please send her granddaughter over to program her television for cable? We offered to buy her a VCR to watch movies, but she declined the gift, saying it was just too complicated. My mother, who never toiled in the computerized workplace, didn't want a message machine on her phone, either. If it's important, they'll call back. She loved movies in the theatre, loved to read, enjoyed listening to cassette tapes of pop and show tunes, and wrote letters by hand to everyone she cared about.
Lest you think my mother was a slacker, you're wrong. She owned her own business--a consignment store-for 20 years, and she did all her recordkeeping by hand. When she closed that, she worked as a dorm mother at the local university, keeping her "girls" safe and sound and offering direction when asked. But her working years ended in the early 1990s, and she never made the leap into the digital world.
I, on the other hand, was forced to slowly absorb, over the course of my working life, the ever-changing digital technology that is now my daily existence. My first professional job was in an academic library, where I sat down to work at a desk with an IBM Selectric typewriter. Six months later they took my typewriter, replaced it with an Apple 2e, and sent me to classes every month for the next ten years. When I left there and went to another university, I still took classes, because every year saw a change in programs, software, hardware, and protocol. At my third university, courses are offered all the time, but now, I just ask my students to help me with anything difficult.
Constantly adapting to the world is so easy at 30; at 60, I question everything. Because I have a meaningful liberal arts education, I find my self placing everything in context: is this good for children? good for students? good for the environment? I look at my students and see not their errors, but their personalities, their parents, and their peers. I go to church and actually listen to the sermon, and sometimes I disagree. It's okay; God understands me well.
When you question everything, the workplace can be frustrating. Speaking from experience seldom gains respect from younger colleagues, and not speaking means you don't respect yourself. I expect these last five years will be a rollercoaster of ups and downs if I can manage to remain employed. Close mouth, apply duct tape!
In future hits of Final Five I want to talk about other subjects that are pertinent in these final five years before retirement: time, health, recreation, grandchildren, children, nursing homes, money, location, living space, and even more. Please stay tuned.
This year begins the final lap of my life as an employee, and every day seems to be a greater challenge than the day before. Like all living beings, I have spent my lifetime adapting to change and wondering if I can still learn more. I find that yes, I can learn more; I just can't learn it in 30 minutes or less. Every physical challenge makes me ask: can I do that? I still can, but sometimes I have to rest.
Adapting to change is tough. I remember my mother wondering, in her seventh decade, why everything moved so fast. Why was everything so complicated? And could I please send her granddaughter over to program her television for cable? We offered to buy her a VCR to watch movies, but she declined the gift, saying it was just too complicated. My mother, who never toiled in the computerized workplace, didn't want a message machine on her phone, either. If it's important, they'll call back. She loved movies in the theatre, loved to read, enjoyed listening to cassette tapes of pop and show tunes, and wrote letters by hand to everyone she cared about.
Lest you think my mother was a slacker, you're wrong. She owned her own business--a consignment store-for 20 years, and she did all her recordkeeping by hand. When she closed that, she worked as a dorm mother at the local university, keeping her "girls" safe and sound and offering direction when asked. But her working years ended in the early 1990s, and she never made the leap into the digital world.
I, on the other hand, was forced to slowly absorb, over the course of my working life, the ever-changing digital technology that is now my daily existence. My first professional job was in an academic library, where I sat down to work at a desk with an IBM Selectric typewriter. Six months later they took my typewriter, replaced it with an Apple 2e, and sent me to classes every month for the next ten years. When I left there and went to another university, I still took classes, because every year saw a change in programs, software, hardware, and protocol. At my third university, courses are offered all the time, but now, I just ask my students to help me with anything difficult.
Constantly adapting to the world is so easy at 30; at 60, I question everything. Because I have a meaningful liberal arts education, I find my self placing everything in context: is this good for children? good for students? good for the environment? I look at my students and see not their errors, but their personalities, their parents, and their peers. I go to church and actually listen to the sermon, and sometimes I disagree. It's okay; God understands me well.
When you question everything, the workplace can be frustrating. Speaking from experience seldom gains respect from younger colleagues, and not speaking means you don't respect yourself. I expect these last five years will be a rollercoaster of ups and downs if I can manage to remain employed. Close mouth, apply duct tape!
In future hits of Final Five I want to talk about other subjects that are pertinent in these final five years before retirement: time, health, recreation, grandchildren, children, nursing homes, money, location, living space, and even more. Please stay tuned.
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