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All it takes is ten days, 3,000 miles, and a raging river of inspiration 

In the dark and dank of the morning, we hurriedly packed our suitcases, snacks, and cooler into the car. Scurrying back and forth, in and out of the house with load after load, we managed to get the car on the road by 6:07 AM, a few minutes later than planned.

“Did you close the garage and leave the hallway light on so it looks like we’re still home and lock the downstairs door oh and what about the windows I think we had them open yesterday did we close them oh my God where’s my phone never mind here it is you just passed the coffee shop but it’s not open yet we’ll find another I hope the cat’s going to be okay I don’t think I brought enough underwear wait we have to go back I forgot my glasses oops no I’m wearing them are you okay what’s the matter?.”

“Relax, you’re retired now,” I reminded her.

A new beginning

My wife retired recently from a high-pressure job where she lived 24/7. Nighttime, dinner time, weekends, it didn’t matter, she was there whenever anyone needed her. Her entire career was about other people, never about herself.

It’s tough enough changing from one job to another but transitioning to no job at all is devilishly hard. Particularly when one spends their entire career caring for others and then suddenly there’s no one to care for.

Her retirement celebration was to be a long and relaxing cross-country trip from our home in the San Juan Islands of northwest Washington State to the Nova Scotia coast on the opposite side of the continent. It’s a trip she’s been dreaming about for years. The drive would take us across Canada on the exotic-sounding trans-Canadian highway. When we got to the other side, we’d find our way to Halifax and spend a week hiking, boating, and exploring the coast.

It was to be a special time for us to rediscover ourselves and ease into a new, slower lifestyle without the worries and frenzy of a powerful career.

Depressurizing

You can’t snap your fingers and be magically settled into retirement, it doesn’t work that way. It’s a process, often time-consuming, conflicting, and fraught. She didn’t expect a miracle, but a long drive with a lot of time to contemplate life would be a great start.

After eleven hours of driving on our first day, we arrived in the stunningly beautiful town of Banff, Alberta. Even in September, it held the cavalier charm of a ski resort mixed with a frontier town. We’d been here before and enjoyed it immensely, but on this trip, it was just a pitstop to recharge.

One pizza and a few selfies later, we hit the sack. The dreaded alarm would ring in the wee hours, and we’d be back on the road again pressing forward with urgency.

Western Canada is spectacularly beautiful, and we enjoyed the drive through canyons and mountain passes. We talked about work as little as we could, but no matter the distraction, it was always in the back seat of our minds.

Once past the mountains, the rest of the drive across Canada was a mind-numbing landscape of rocks, dirt, and scrub. It was an improvement over billboards and high rises I suppose, but it would have been better if we’d had the time to stop and visit some of the local towns and townsfolk. Sadly, we had our agenda and a rigid schedule, and we were sticking with it.

We tempered the boredom with music, podcasts, and speculation about our upcoming visit to the coast. We looked up hikes and restaurants and read stories about the area. We were smitten and eager to arrive.

Excitement and anticipation kept our feet pressed firmly on the gas pedal, eyes on the road, and minds on the target.

Twist of fate

Fiona is the name they gave to the sixth major storm of the 2022 season that ultimately twisted itself into a violent counterclockwise vortex called a hurricane.

She was a doozy and cruelly chose to land exactly on the coast where we were headed. Predictions were that she’d flood the towns, damage the quaint old structures, and toss the local’s fishing boats around like peanut shells. The aftermath would be devastating, they said, and so we made the painful choice to alter our plans.

Throughout our careers, we became accustomed to the idea of corporate executives changing priorities and we’d grudgingly pivot to new projects like a rusty weathervane. It gets old and annoying, but that’s how it goes when you’re working.

But retired? We shouldn’t have to redirect and reprioritize, we should be able to enjoy ourselves and realize our dreams. It’s not easy driving across the continent and we don’t expect to ever do it again. Unless we take a flight sometime in the future, we’ll never be able to see the harsh, craggy coastline we’ve heard so much about. “It’s not fair,” my wife groused.

Reluctant redirect

“Now what?” I lightened the pressure on the gas pedal a tad as we discussed our options.

“How about Quebec City, New York City, Niagara Falls, the Catskills, or the coast of Maine?” we debated for hours. Nothing we could think of measured up to the dream. We were ‘settling’ or ‘compromising’ her retirement celebration that she so rightfully deserved.

The fact that we have the uncommon privilege to even make this trip was hardly an afterthought. Too many people retire with tight resources and sparse savings. Too many others have to work so late in their lives that they have little time left to enjoy. Billions of people around the world are so poor they’d consider our tragic problems to be a gift from God.

We turned the steering wheel to the right and dropped into the Catskills for two nights in a mountain lodge, an epic and fortuitous compromise.

Cornered

The tiny town near our lodge in the Catskill mountains had just one restaurant. Pizza and Chinese food were their two discordant specialties, so a Hawaiian pizza it was that night, a safe and affordable choice. Then it was a brief drive past the cemetery to the restored farmhouse, up the creaky stairs and into the creaky bed, followed by dreams of a coastline we might never see.

The morning sun sparkled between the thin trunks of the hemlocks and backlit the magnificent colors of the deciduous leaves. No photograph could ever capture the brilliant splendor of the canvas mother nature had painted for us that day.

With the eyes of a child, we embarked upon a steep hike up and along the crest of a mountain, and our spirits were rejuvenated. The view of the colorful Hudson Valley was unbelievable from the soaring viewpoints, and the sky was bluer than it’s ever been.

Acres of prehistoric sedimentary rock plates jutted up from a thousand miles below us to give the impression that the mountain range was tipping to one side. It was invigorating and disorienting all at the same time.

For the first time since we started this trip, we sat quietly, minds and souls relaxed as we dangled our feet over a rock precipice as high as the heavens. Our sense of urgency was replaced by tranquility — temporarily.

We still had a long drive to our new destination, the coast of Maine, and there was nothing short of another gargantuan storm that could stop us from reaching that goal.

Whirlpools of retirement insight

The coast of Maine is a sight to behold. Having never been here before I can only imagine that it’s quite similar to the hurricane-injured coast of Nova Scotia that we originally longed for. We hope the residents are recovering well and didn’t lose too much to the cruel whims of nature. We’ll try to come and visit another time.

The original dream of Nova Scotia is far behind us now. It’s been replaced with a rocky Maine coastline that laps at our imaginations. The local towns are filled with quaint hotels and colorful shops. We spend our days hiking rivers, exploring the rocky coast, and investigating inlets that look like Norwegian fjords.

From the sky, the landscape of Maine looks like a celestial Ursa reached down and clawed up a piece of paradise to keep for herself. Long crooked channels carve from the sea to the inland forests and farms, giving the land an appearance different from any other.

Yesterday’s hike took us to a remote bay far up a channel from the sea. It was two hours past low tide, and the water was rushing chaotically past us with no desire other than to get to the bay where it could relax until the next cycle began. Whirlpools and eddies fought each other tossing leaves and sticks around like confetti. Whitewater waves struggled up the rocks on the shoreline in a futile attempt to escape.

We sat quietly on a bench and watched the frothy water commuting to work in an endless cycle of torrent-to-calm and back. It was like the careers we left behind — a perpetual struggle in the circle of life.

Retirement feels much better now. It’s a place that’s hard to understand until you’ve stepped out of the flow and stood by to watch.

“I like this,” my wife said. “I feel retired now. Let’s stay here forever.”

“We will,” I replied. “Forever. Then we’ll go get some ice cream.”