boardwalk at the beach
Mental Health

Retiring to a Seachange

I’m ‘pulling up stumps,’ I declared.

I was announcing to friends that I was to leave my inner-city lifestyle and was moving to a Home by the Sea. A Seachange is the correct word, I believe.

“What. Why?” was the plaintive responses from colleagues and friends.

“Why move further out? That’s a long commute.”

Especially when, they continued to counsel me, a sought-after, inner-city lifestyle offers heady attractions and a swathe of facilities and friends, in close proximity? And my own kids concurred.

At the first whiff of this decision, the adult children refused to be involved. They saw it as a hedonistic move to the region’s boganesque outskirts, better known as, ‘The Peninsula.’

So why did we decide to continue with a Seachange?

Because life in the city cuts both ways.

Inner City Lifestyle is Attractive

Our urban locale of many years was idyllic, or so we thought.

Picture energetic, vegan eateries and sushi trains, interspersed with Craft beer hangouts playing Indie music, to all hours. Streets lined with cafes, punctuated by glamorous shops, awash with white and taupe furnishings, selling those ludicrously expensive cushions that are positioned for looks, rather than comfort, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of my former location. Many would find that attractive.

I have to admit the inner city life was swanky and practical. I had only a short walk to public transport, of all kinds, and a multitude of library and shopping options, as well as bakeries or gourmet restaurants, so close, that I’d never had to worry about squashing the bread or drinking and driving the car home.

So I had to ask myself again, why did I want to leave?

Because, it seemed. there was a niggling discontent in my heart.

I had begun to notice the downsides to urban living and they were becoming more and more bothersome, the closer I got to retirement age. I needed a change.

A Seachange.

But wait. I began to hesitate.

Did I really want to give up work and this urban lifestyle right now, given that one’s work and financial contribution to society forms a large part of our identity?

I had to think this through properly and reassess what I’d really miss and what might be a potential deal-breaker. Was I ready for Retirement and a Seachange? It was a big move!

Weighing Up the Pros and Cons of Hipster Life in the City

Point #1 – Endless Facilities

City living is an ongoing adrenaline rush and offers many opportunities, but it also results in an expanding waistline and other First-World Problems that triggers a level of guilt, in me, one I wasn’t entirely happy with.

I had to admit Triple-shot Macchiatos or Banh Mi Market Breakfasts with Almond smoothies, at the local markets, were really fun but also the chief suspects in my increasing girth.

Those lovely market stalls one browses, on Sunday mornings, you know the ones that feature lovely handmade items, or organic Kombucha with a Turmeric and Kale chaser and a pulled pork bun, are very hipster, but as I wasn’t exercising too much, (I dislike aerobic exercise), you can have too much of a good thing. Diet and health concerns were not the only pressure.

Add to this, I felt indulgent. This consumerist lifestyle felt privileged and wasteful, considering how much poverty, need and homelessness exists in the world. There had to be something better that aligned more with my twilight years.

Point #2 (Or should I call it: bothersome fact #2?) – Noise, Busy Roads and Traffic

There were loads of new facilities, medical centres, shops, gyms and pilates studios opening every other week in the inner city districts. However, the incessant noise from the construction was something I wasn’t getting used to. Quite the contrary, my sleep was disturbed more and more with each passing month. Sleep deprivation is the kind of torture that one can’t abide when the childbearing years are far behind you, so the noise did nothing to foster a jolly mood.

Couple this issue with two near-miss incidents with myself and heavy machinery, plus a workman’s vehicle swerving towards me, both happening at pedestrian crossings near home, were other imperatives to move to a quieter area. (Twice in one week, I was nearly run over simply crossing the road to follow the concreted footpath!)

The horse and buggy style of those dated inner-city alleys and streets, that no cat worth his salt would be found swinging in, are all very quaint when you are a pioneer in the early 19th century, but crossing the street after 6am in 2020 was akin to having a death wish.

And, don’t get me started on the lack of on, or off-street, parking. That was Point #3.

Point #4 – Sharing Space with a Growing Population Density

Exercise in the inner city constituted a 30-minute stroll in the morning down a popular shared bike and pedestrian path. Early morning walks here, had recently become a dance with death as teams of hardcore, professional cycling enthusiasts, festooned in their all-too-revealing-bodysuits notoriously rode at that same time, and usually three abreast.

Some would forget to ring their bell as a warning of their impending presence and I’d stumble to maintain my balance and calm my frightened dog, as they swished past in a blur of lycra, shouting, “Move – it’s a bikeway,” in a range of accents, or offer a very defiant ‘finger,’ if I didn’t move to let them pass.

journey

Despite all of this, it was the bruises that finally cemented my decision to sell and move to the Home by the Sea.

Point #5 – Small Rooms

In particular, the bruises incurred when my toe, or shin, connected clumsily with the bed-posts in the small inner-city Townhouse that I had down-sized to, as a potential retirement home. Low maintenance it was, but Townhouse living was going to be problematic.

Every room in my ultra-modern townhouse was so small, so confined, that it meant kicking my toe or shin, on the corner of the bed, vanity or chair, became a daily event. It might have been cute, compact and a breeze to clean, but there’s always a trade-off, isn’t there?

It was clear that I needed somewhere with a tad more space.

Not only that, but the family dog agreed with me.

Schnauzer Cam

Point #6 – Limited Yard for Pets

The small courtyard at the Townhouse gave the family dog no place to bury a bone, nor conduct her usual border patrol for illegal animal infiltrators. Her job, she thought, was to protect the premises from the likes of lizards, cats, Ibis or random Scrub Turkeys. The small astro-turfed courtyard just didn’t cut it, for my Princess.

A wild Scrub Turkey

A Home by the Sea

So weighing up the odds, we decided to move.

In complete contrast to Townhouse life, the Schnauzer loves her new home that has a small to medium L-shaped grassy yard. Now she can choose whether to sun herself or roll around in delight on the soft, green grass.

happy dog
Schnauzer discovering the yard

A bit like me really.

Retirement and the Pandemic

The Covid pandemic may have meant I retired a little prematurely, but more importantly, it has given me time to walk the dog, enjoy early mornings on the beach and not have to rush off to work, in busy commuter traffic.

To date, I have not sustained any bruises from the furniture in my new home by the sea!

A seemingly unending blue sky, fresh sea air, a comforting quietness as well as new places and friends to discover, has me feeling relaxed and content with no time constraints and nothing to do, but enjoy the rest of my life.

rubber thongs

More about my Seachange at the Home by the Sea

seachange
Home by the Sea
den gamle by
Community

Getting Old

It happened quite suddenly.

The feeling that the Moth, (Man of the House), and I are becoming a bit…. old.

I shouldn’t be surprised, as this feeling isn’t really that new.

I first felt like this, when I turned thirty years old. How silly was I then? But of course, 30-year-olds don’t always have any point of reference for what older age really feels like, until now.

We feel our age a little more, every time a milestone passes. You know the sort where we get to celebrate yet another 12 wonderful months of life on this planet? Except you reach a point where you don’t want to celebrate the number, anymore. It is almost a forbidden word once you pass three score years, which I haven’t quite reached yet, but the Moth most certainly has.

Today, however, I did feel extra old, particularly when the Moth asked me a question and the ensuing conversation went like this:

“Have you seen that blue cold pack from the freezer?”

“No, should I?” (have seen it?)

“I just had a look and it isn’t there.”

“Are you sure?”

“You know – the blue one.”

“I’ve never seen a blue cold pack, but I did see an orange one there, last week.”

“Yeh – the orange one.”

(Sigh). “Yeh, it’s in there.”

“Where?”

“In the freezer?” [Long Pause].

“What’s in the freezer?”

“The Orange Cold Pack.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Have a look.”

“I did. It’s not there.”

“Well, have another look.”

“I did. It isn’t there.

“Check again.”

“Oh – there it is. I’ve found it!”

(sigh)

And there we have it. It is official.

Suddenly we are old.