I need a job–or something

Actually, I don't.  Earl makes a good living, still likes the work and is more than happy to support himself and this high maintenance woman on one salary.  That said, I worked much of my adult life as a registered nurse, retiring prematurely because my Ataxia kept me from doing the work. Certainly dealing with a progressive neurological condition had its own issues, but suddenly not working outside the home was a difficult adjustment.

I just couldn't figure out what the problem was.  I didn't need a job, income wasn't an issue. I retired sooner than I had planned, but still in the expected time frame range.  Not being much of an involved parent of adult children, I didn't expect to be attended to or kept occupied.  Then I got an email from a friend and former work colleague.  She referred to my role at the nursing school where I spent the last 17 years of my career.  It hit me–it wasn't an outside job or a salary, it was feeling competent I was missing!   

I had always admired people who skillfully performed their endeavors and never confined my focus only to employment.  No matter what my family and friends said or did, I just didn't feel competent anymore. Although everyone tried valiantly to convince me that I was valued, the wall of poor self–esteem was too impenetrable at that time. Ironically, everything I did now played to my areas of incompetence. Homemaking, gardening, shopping–things I always thought full time work kept me from being able to do.  Now I found myself with the time.  I had to face up to never being good at them, and it showed.  The Ataxia had effectively ended my love affair with running, long walks weren't feasible, even grocery shopping became an ordeal.

Hoping that volunteering would help me deal with the Ataxia and early retirement, I signed up to be a Volunteer Literacy Tutor (go figure), and took the two required preparatory workshops.  The workshops included three things I hate to do–walk into a group of strangers (pre-falling), speak publicly (pre–slurring), and go all day without a nap. I managed OK–not great, but OK. They assigned me to a student with speech and gait issues–I thought, "What a fortuitous match".  When I met her, she had a limp, a cane and still ambulated better than me.

The trike & turtle

Two things helped expand my world and made me feel somewhat competent again–my trike and Skeeter.  My scooter mishaps restored my missing sense of humor and reminded me that I could still problem–solve.  The trike preceded Skeeter and, from a fitness standpoint, is far superior.  Like a bicycle, the trike allows for transportation, requires some leg strength and a measure of manuevering competence. One thing it doesn't require–balance.  I was low to the ground, could stop suddenly and not fall over–it was love at first sight. I could cycle while friends ran or walked, and cycle with Earl and the grandchildren. They're at that wonderful age when I can still keep up (the grandchildren, not Earl). I think being on my back, legs in the air, looking like an upended turtle, was the beginning of my "get over it" outlook.  By the time Skeeter came along, I was already starting to put vanity aside.  It just didn't serve me well.  I can get on and off Skeeter and go somewhere independently, but I need a fair amount of help from Earl to transport, sit down, and get up from the trike and it never looks good.

The lesson:  In my incompetent phase, I was sustained by a friend saying, "Remember, if you never did another thing,  it was enough."