I have decided to retire. Without yet setting a specific date, I will terminate my university “career” at the close of fall semester, 2022—a year or so from now. Forty plus years of university life and work will come to an end, and I shall achieve emeritul status.
Retirement has been on my mind in a speculative way these last couple of years, a relatively certain eventuality, but at the same time, somewhat fictional, contingent, even fantastical. But in these last couple of months, the idea has ripened, seemingly rapidly, to fullness. My circle has inquired as to reasons, but no new reasons have been revealed; only all the many older ones have matured at last under an autumn sun. Perhaps some gathered nascent impulse to free oneself from the school calendar has emerged, that schedule which has governed so many of my years. I will redress the balance with a second childhood, not without its cares, but with many less adult responsibilities, most of which have been met as well as they are going to. I have been more than content with my workplace, my colleagues, and my work—helping students to discover, author, and enact their future and hopefully better selves. But there are other things to attend to.
What will I do? I can only say at the moment, “Not work.” Oh, and “think.”
