Remember when Congresswoman Maxine Waters said, “Reclaiming my time, reclaiming my time!”
January 26, 2024 will be my last day on a job. It feels a little like the eve of a significant holiday, or a graduation. All week long, I have felt this momentum, and I have been trying to take long, deep breaths. Everyone keeps asking me, “How do you feel?” I have a feeling of expectation. Does every black woman who formally retires from a job feel this same gush of anticipation? I am striving to be present through it all. I don’t want to take any moment of this transition for granted.
“Are you going to have a party?” I don’t need a party. This moment feels sacred to me. But several friends and co-workers have expressed a desire to take me out—to lunch, to dinner. I have to eat. So, yes, I can do that. Again, “What are your plans?” To do as little as possible, for the time being. People sometimes need to know that there is life after work. That after work, you do not roll up into a little ball and die. That you have not outlived your usefulness. It is as though you have traveled to the edge of the world, and they are waiting to see if you will fall off.
These couple of days before the event I have been meeting with retirement counselors. Learning when I will get my pension, and how much it will be. I’ve been electing to hold on the insurances, downloading documents from my work computer that I will no longer have access to. Deleting old emails that were not work related. I had a final evaluation with my supervisor, a black woman. The evaluation was quite favorable, but I will no longer need to use it for any promotions. And on the last day, I will meet with my co-workers—virtually, of course, thanks to a pandemic that isolated us all for the last three years.
I am on the cusp of new experiences and sensations; new revelations. I expect that I am on the cusp of being less afraid, and even more alive that I have ever been—of being more of myself.
I reclaim my time.
SPITTING OUT BONES 