Hopping off the Bullet Train

Putting on the brakes of retirement screeches your brain.

Interesting week. Once you start opening up to people about what you're really thinking and feeling - even the bad stuff - they reciprocate. And often have the same thoughts and emotions. So much for thinking I'm the small town girl living in my lonely world.

So - I set out alone this weekend to visit friends from Germany that I hadn't seen in person since 2002. We were all in the Army or working for the Army during one of the best periods of my life. But I lost touch with them when they moved, sort of standard stuff for those of us attached to the military life. Everything changes every three years, and people move on.

When I lost my mind in February, I panicked over all of these lost friends. We'd had such good times, travelling, drinking, telling tales, feeling invincible. Where did they go? How did I lose them? Why didn't I realize I'd want them again one day? So I found many of them. And these two invited me to drive six hours and spend Labor Day weekend at their mountain house. Actually, they asked my husband as well, but he's not going ANYWHERE unless he's sure he is welcome, especially with the deep divide over COVID and politics. Fortunately, I am more of a risk taker in that area and I can get along with pretty much anyone.

I called another old friend while on the road to get in a quick visit. We ended up talking for over an hour. She was driving to Florida, I was headed in the opposite direction, but mentally we were in the exact same place. I took a deep breath and jumped in. "Do you think about death all the time? Or is it just me?"

This was especially tricky since she'd lost a brother and a daughter in the last 18 months. But we're good friends and I didn't want to tiptoe. Surprisingly, she said YES, I have thought of death so much more often once I turned 60. I think about whether I'll die of a heart attack, or a stroke or cancer, will it be painful, will it be quick. Crazy stuff.

We laughed about it for a while, then I jumped again. "Why do you think our brains are doing this NOW? Okay, here's my theory. It's like we're on a train, and when we started out, you could hop off any platform with an open door and head an entirely new direction. And now we're running out of doors and it feels like we're on a bullet train with no stops left, so we're thinking about the BIG stop."

She liked the bullet train analogy. We talked about getting older, even though 60 shouldn't feel this old. We both feel thirty and twenty five in our heads, and she opened up some about her losses. She emphatically stated that she was NOT going to be one of those people whose friends said 'remember when she was fun, before all of this happened?' Exactly. We talked a little longer, then she had to take another call and I started with my podcast list.

When I arrived at their mountain house, I had a great reunion with my friends. My husband will definitely be coming with me next time. On the first night, after a few glasses of wine, the same topic came up with the same outcome. Yes, my friend from Germany had also started to think more about death and what this part of life means. We laughed about worrying when you get a pain in the middle of the night at 60 - heart attack? blood clot? should I wake someone? - as opposed to when you're thirty and just got up and took a damn aspirin and went back to sleep.

I've been thinking about these two conversations a lot these past few days. It's reassuring that I'm not the only one going through this little existential phase. I guess everyone hits it and it takes longer for some of us to figure it out.

As I was finishing this morning's long walk with my Nordic walking sticks - Aside, GREAT for your arms and upper body if you're looking for another way to work out - a song started to play, The Chemical Workers Song by Colm R. McGuinness. I wasn't a chemical worker, but parts of the song are pretty universal.

[Chorus]
And it's go, boys, go
They'll time your every breath
And every day you're in this place
You're two days nearer death
But you go...

[Verse 3]
There's overtime and bonus opportunities galore
The young men like their money and they all come back for more
But soon you're knocking on and you look older than you should
For every bob made on the job, you pay with flesh and blood

[Chorus]
And it's go, boys, go
They'll time your every breath
And every day you're in this place
You're two days nearer death
But you go...

When you're already anxious about running out of time, this little ditty at least drives home the point that I'm two days closer to death whether I'm running myself ragged at the office or completing an oil painting on my easel at home. I guess I should count my blessings, instead of letting this ruminating brain try to switch to the negative track. All. Fricking. Day. Ugh, it's tough to rein it in.

My therapist made me laugh. He said he'd rather ride Thomas the Tank Engine than the bullet train. Agreed! Much friendlier, you can wave and see people wave back, feel the breeze through the open windows and you go slowly enough to take in the view and the rolling vibration. The bullet train is for workers, busy looking at cell phones, computer screens, reading a book rather than looking out the window at the almost dizzying view as they speed along to the station.

Maybe being on the slower train will give me time to find some more off ramps and doors, a new station or two. Hmm. We'll see. But I still need an attitude adjustment. Maybe vedic meditation class? That might be an interesting place to start.