We’ve certainly spent less money overall during this period of lockdown. We haven’t actually been shopping in a shop (other than my local DIY shop) for many weeks. We haven’t spent that much money on-line, apart from a few quite unusual purchases, an artist’s easel, a small greenhouse (not yet arrived), a drum set amp, IKEA frames, wine from OZ, but what has been a constant is, books. Lots of them and from Amazon which goes against my usual book buying policy. But these are unusual times. So I don’t think we could be accused of engaging in retail therapy. But maybe this is writing therapy.
Anyway that’s not quite the point of this retirement blog. The point is that the last book I bought (along with one about the Beatles and the other about cricket), is about aging. It’s called The Changing Mind by Daniel Levitin. I admit I was seduced by a review I read in the weekend papers.
I usually steer away from books on psychology, which this is, and even further away from glowing reviews of what appears, so far, to be a kind of self-help books for elderly people like me. I’ve long since given up believing the hype of the latest, read this and have your life changed overnight, book.
True the review made it sound enticing, talking about how old age was a time of great potential, subject only to changes in your personality, social habits and chemical intake. Sorry, that sounds a bit cynical I know. I’ve only just started reading it so I’m not going to give you my critique just yet, because this book is still not the point of this retirement blog. Although I did hope it would put a more positive spin on matters.
So what is, the point, you ask? Well the answer is, I’m not quite sure. But, as far as I can understand it, it’s to do with me taking a bit of a dip emotionally at the beginning of this last week. I had one of my, there must-be-more-to-life than-this, periods, even though I think there’s a fair amount to my life already.
Looking back on it I can only explain my dip by realising that a few things had come together to make me conscious of my and Mrs Summerhouse’s mortality, should I call it? The virus, ill-health of old friends and so on. Also, part of this combination, was the realisation that, if I had 10 years left (purely arbitrary figure and probably quite optimistic given an increasing correlation between Covid19 and diabetes), it was going to be 10 years of the same, except it would probably not be the same but worse. But even the same felt bad enough.
So I did what I’ve often done in the past to deal with this malaise. I started thinking about selling this house and moving to somewhere entirely different. I know you’ll probably think oh, he’s just saying that in an attention-seeking way. Just another blog topic. And you may very well be right.
All I can say in my defence, is America, New Zealand, Australia, North Yorkshire vineyard, Colorado cabin (not yet built), so I have, in the past, backed up a certain level of dissatisfaction with an action. Sometimes linked to moving somewhere else, albeit only temporarily.
And maybe that’s all I need now. I ran a few options past Mrs Summerhouse, who, let me tell you, was not at all thrilled by my latest bout of escapist fantasy. In order of practicality, there was – a remoter house in North Yorkshire (the barn maybe?), a house on the West Coast of Ireland, a sea front property in New Zealand, even a cabin in the Rockies. So, you know, all the usual suspects.
If only it was easy to do I might actually do it. But the practicalities are huge. When I think for example of emptying and selling this house, selling the Derbyshire cottage, the vineyard / barn and all that is in them, I feel quite ill. So I look around me and run through all the things I have to grateful for in this version of my current life.
It works to a degree but there remains a small residue of doubt as to whether I believe my own hype. I know what my psychologists chums would likely say (I don’t really, but, as I’ve said before, this is my blog and I’ll write what I like). They would say, what would be the smallest action you could take to meet this need for change (I daren’t say another challenge as I seem to have plenty of those)?
A rental house, trip round Europe in a campervan (with the dogs of course). Neither of these are what might be described as ‘small’ so I maybe need to think again. Chances are, if I leave the thinking long enough, I will forget why I’m doing it in the first place. My dissatisfaction will fade into the past and I’ll carry on with my ten years or whatever I have left.
So has this been writing as therapy afterall? I’m not sure, I’ll let you know. Watch this retirement blog space.