When a press release has alerted the world of your retirement, the next phase of your life becomes locked and loaded. Now that I’m officially in the six-month countdown, there’s no turning back.

At one time I used to sort of pity people who counted down their days to retirement. Having had the blessings of great jobs I loved in good companies for 47 years, I don’t count the days in the sense of, say, Prometheus, contemplating the end of his daily liver extraction. I still love coming to work every day. Why, just this morning, not one but two federal agency heads visited the studio for an in-person Federal Drive interview. How could anyone not relish interaction with engaged, articulate and accomplished people doing important public service work?

Plus at the same time I’m engineering the audio recording, fiddling with my mixer “board” and keeping the mics adjusted, while minding the timing. I’m the master pipe organist at my console — mind, heart and body all in action, at the top of my game.

And yet I now understand the countdown syndrome. The psyche somehow lets you know when it’s time to move on. The practical realities of retirement suddenly loom, like a speck on the horizon that turns out to be a container ship. Monthly income, Social Security, Medicare Part this, Part that, how to apply, what forms, what about the union pension… You’ve got to get on with decisions and the nutty, associated paperwork. Retirement planning is like a job unto itself, something I now know viscerally, not just intellectually.

I know folks who, at my age, have no plans to retire. Sometimes they say, “I wouldn’t know what to do.” My challenge will come from having too much to do. I’ve got a motorcycle and grand piano to spend more time on or at. Things I have the urge to write. Plus nearby grandchildren. A daughter who just got married to a great guy; they live nearby. And a wife of 40+ years with whom I haven’t had weekday breakfast or lunch in decades. Moreover, I’ll still be engaged in the federal market, even doing projects for Federal News Network. Phased retirement, you might say.

Make no mistake. Six months off, retirement does beckon. Literally yesterday we confirmed plans for a faraway trip later next year. I started to go to the corporate scheduling system to reserve the time off. Then I stopped and exclaimed to myself, you don’t have to do that!

I often joke that having a 5-day-a-week radio program is like having a demanding mistress. (The late Larry King had a  more vulgar way of expressing this.) Its endless, and I mean endless, requirements must be met no matter what. But, although it’s my voice on the show, I’ve got a small but dedicated and reliable group of colleagues — producers, reporters and web posters that actually make the whole thing possible.

Which brings up another facet of retirement. I like the people I work with, and I like working with them. Thinking about the post-work era, you realize the importance of maintaining a network of human connection. In fact, my mind sometimes wanders in recollection of colleagues from decades back, conversations we had, incidents that occurred, and I’ll burst out laughing. Yet I’m loathe to spend retirement sitting there in reverie for the past. I recall a character in one of those endless novels by James Michener, who warned another character against mining your memories too soon, lest you run out too early.

I won’t show up at the studio on May 1st, 2025. Or at least I don’t plan to. How many times have you run into someone, say at a conference, who, long past retirement age, has a new job? They’ll say, “I’m terrible at retirement.” Well good for them, but I don’t really admire that lack of balance or imagination, as if only career work can bring fulfillment. We’ll see.

Many years ago — here I am, mining a memory — my parents attended the wedding of the son of some close friends. A week later, my mother bumped into the son, a quirkly fellow to begin with. He was sort of loitering by himself on a corner near the square in our New England town. She asked, “Larry [not his real name], what are you doing here?”  It turned out that, for reasons we never learned, the marriage had lasted about 48 hours.

Well, I don’t plan to subject my colleagues to an awkward next-morning appearance.

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