I worked for Honeywell in the eighties. They had 98,000 employees. On average, they only sent out 18 retirement checks. That meant the average employee died 18 months after retiring. I knew people who retired and lived much, much longer. I noticed a difference between those who died and those who lived. The ones who died had their identity tied to their job. If you asked them “who” they were they’d say, “I’m a radar engineer for Honeywell.” Those who lived would say, “I’m an aspiring author,” or “I love fishing more than anything else.” Those who died early derived their identity from their work. Those who lived much longer derived their identify from family, church or from some deep well in the mountains of their mind.
I’m so glad I retired. I had developed so many physical problems I don’t know how I’d function in the workplace. I often see men much older than me bagging groceries or manning a register. They aren’t doing it for something to do. They’re out of money and must work to eat. Bagging groceries was my first ever paid job. It wasn’t fulfilling then, and it would be agony now.
Uh oh. I'm screwed.