BoomerBlix

Another Boyfriend? No, Thank You.

 

Credit: ABSFreePic.com

"Don't you miss having a boyfriend?" asked Ileana, as we worked together to get Ailsa cleaned up for the day. I was in Los Angeles, helping care for my 100 year-old mother-in-law. Ileana is the daytime caregiver. My Latina friend from El Salvador married very young. She was also a widow within a few years, with two small children to raise. Happily, she met Carlos. They married, had two children, and today she can't imagine life without a husband.

No, I tell her. Done. And done.

Well, except for that damn single-supplement travel thing. That's when a partner comes in handy, at least financial-wise. (I wrote about it here.) Even then, I've seen--and been part of--too many unpleasant vacation disagreements to be inspired to seek someone just so I can save 25%. (My personal worst: When I was dating a chef and we went to New Orleans. He planned every single bite ahead of time. We even rented a car so we could find some obscure restaurant outside the city. I was the pilot, he was the navigator. After hours of driving around in circles, somewhere in rural Louisiana--this was in pre-GPS days--I finally pulled off the road and started to bawl. "Fergodsake, I just want a hamburger!" He wouldn't listen, insisting we continue...he had read about some idiotic menu item. I got mad. Then he got mad. Never did find the place...and I was glad.)

As you may know, I am both divorced and widowed. After each of these events, I dated. It's not easy to find someone that you like enough to go out with a second time, let alone...well, you know. But I persisted and have enough funny stories to liven up any party. Perhaps you remember my 2009 Online Dating series, back when I had the energy to construct a profile and then sign in every day to see if there were any responses. I lasted four weeks. There was the psychiatrist who had married a woman he barely knew because she wanted a baby and he said to himself, "Hey, I like babies!" You won't be surprised to learn they quickly divorced. When we met, he was living in a tiny apartment, paying a buttload of child support, and had taken up the fine hobby of ritual drumming. There was the real estate investor whose only request was that I wear something to "show off cleavage" when we met. (We didn't.) I could go on, but you get the idea here.

Before I left Florida, I ended an on-and-off-again relationship that was begging to be put out of its misery. When it was over, I brushed off my hands, wiped my brow, and said, "Never again." I was reminded of a discussion from long ago, when I worked in Intensive Care. A co-worker and I were discussing our love lives, or lack thereof. "They're all damaged after forty," she declared, referring to the pool of single men. Of course, I didn't want to believe her. I was 42. Surely that couldn't be true! In hindsight, I think she wasn't too far off. The good ones really are taken.

A couple of years ago, I wrote "A Nurse or a Purse: Why Boomer Women Should Stay Single...Or Should Really, Really Think About It." It has been my most popular Blix; when I check my Google Analytics, someone is still reading it several times a week. Men tend to become more dependent as they grow older. Women? After a lifetime of taking care of others, we want to be unfettered.  It's not that we're cynics, it's that we're realistic.

Every day now, I read on Facebook about happy couples married nearly fifty years. Fifty! They are smiling, traveling, swooning over their grandchildren and downsized condos. This is amazing and awesome--I enjoy hitting the "Like" or "Love" icon to cheer them on. They chose wisely from the get-go, making it all look easy. I grin at the photos and the mushy notes they post. Just because it didn't happen for me doesn't mean I'm not thrilled for others. In fact, they make the world a better place.

All the same, I like my life, too. 

 

 

 

 

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Leaving Florida: One Boomer's Story

 

"You're kidding, right? I mean, why would anyone want to leave Florida?" asked the young man who was showing me the townhouse that I ended up buying. It wasn't hard to understand his confusion; we were there on a freezing Saturday, with a high of 3 degrees. Oh, and a very brisk wind blowing straight across the fields-turned-housing.

His reaction has been the same as nearly anyone else who learns that I'm one of the few lunatics who hasn't embraced the palm trees and promise of a snow-free retirement.  Not to mention the fine cardiac, cataract, and orthopedic centers waiting to provide care for the 24% of Florida's population who are over 60...by 2030, that number will rise to 34%. Imagine the race to get the Early Bird Specials!

It's not that I didn't try to love the state. I confess that I did have a mild interest in living someplace warm. When a job opportunity came, following an unexpected job upheaval, I thought it would be a way to try a lifestyle in a different climate. A friend gave me important advice . I subscribed to "Southern Living" and searched eBay for fun Florida souvenirs to decorate the downstairs bathroom in my new apartment. I ate boiled peanuts and roadside peaches. I learned to dress down and wore flip-flops to work. I kayaked and floated on the clear spring rivers. I visited lots of coastal cities, all very pretty and interesting. I learned to say "sir" and "ma'am."

But over four years later, I have to honor my true self and return to the Midwest. Besides the fact that I love to wear sweaters, here are some things I need:

• Coming in from the cold and cozy comfort foods
• The smell of warm soil in the spring
• Hot summer days that are relieved by a rain storm
• Crisp fall mornings and gorgeous leaves
• Snow. Yes, snow!
• Holidays in different seasons 
• Early daylight in the summer
• Early darkness in the winter
• Winter sunrises and summer sunsets
• Tulips and lilacs and petunias and marigolds

And what else? Family. More than anything, family. I'm tired of solo holidays and getting on planes to see the people I love the most. Tired of missing games, meets, and concerts. Tired of singing "Happy Birthday" over the phone instead of being there. Tired of having them come to me and then cramming a year into a week. 

Make no mistake, I can see the value of a winter getaway to a place with beaches and sunshine. Soak up some Vitamin D and eat seafood till I drop. Walk around in shorts while my northern neighbors are shoveling. But then...I get to go back where I can put on my sweater and make beef stew.

Let me know if you're interested in my Florida collection...

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It's Time for "The Talk"...about Dying

Guess what? We're all going to die. And someone apparently leaked the news to the government. In a startling announcement this week, Medicare has decided to pay doctors to talk about the "D" word, more pleasantly called "end-of'-life."  Not a moment too soon, with 55 million Medicare beneficiaries headed to the Big Woodstock in the Sky.

What's the big deal? The way I see it, physicians can now invoice Medicare to actually discuss the inevitable with their patients. You know, get paid for what was already their job. But death, oddly enough, isn't something doctors are taught or skilled at discussing. So a little reimbursement is the carrot that will nudge them to deal with reality. 

Why is it so hard for doctors--or any of us--to talk about how we want our lives to end? We chat about it casually: "No extra measures for me." "I don't want to be a vegetable." "When it's my time, let me go." But when that day actually does come, for many people, medicine prevails. One more round of antibiotics, let's continue the chemo, there's a new treatment that has shown promise. Doctors peddle hope and many of us leap at the offer. For what? So we don't have to admit the truth and say good-bye.

But what about the person who is actually dying? You may be surprised to learn that they know their life is ending and they have come to terms with it. Consider The Death of Ivan Ilyich, by Tolstoy. Ivan is a 45 year-old man in good health, until he falls off a stepladder. The pain in his side grows worse, he continues to decline, and then he can't walk. Suddenly, the “intelligent, polished, lively, and agreeable man” is incapacitated. His depression grows as friends avoid him and a string of doctors try every treatment known...and a few unknown. Ivan grows furious at the futile remedies: “What tortured Ivan Ilyich most,” Tolstoy writes, “was the deception, the lie, which for some reason they all accepted, that he was not dying but was simply ill, and he only need keep quiet and undergo a treatment and then something very good would result."

Ivan knew he was dying, but his greatest pain? That no one would acknowledge it and care for him as a person whose life was ending. No one to talk about its meaning for him and that he had mattered. To ask if there was anything he still needed to do or say. To find out what he wanted in his final days. To just sit with him and hold his hand. To tell him he was loved.

It's easy to say, well, that's just how doctors are. They train in a "culture of cure" and that to accept death is to admit failure. I simply don't buy that. Every physician sees plenty of patients die. So why do they dance around it? Partly, it's easier to keep tossing out options; that way, you can say "We tried everything" and everyone--at the least the doctor and the family--feels better. Mostly, it's a necessary self-defense mechanism that allows doctors to function in an occupation that deals with heartbreaking sickness and tragedy every single day. When they're done with work, just like the rest of us, they go home and make spaghetti, give the kids baths, and talk about getting that new furnace installed before winter. After all, they're human, too.

Do doctors think about their own deaths? You bet. And in a fascinating article, "How Doctors Die," Ken Murray, MD,  tells us that physicians choose less aggressive therapies and no resuscitation. A survey done at Stanford University found that 90% of doctors facing death decline treatment and choose to die at home.

So. It's good that end-of-life discussions will be happening more often. But even better? Make your own plan--and make sure your family knows. Have "the talk" now. Today. Don't put others in the awkward position of deciding how you exit this world.

 

Boomers vs. Millennials--What a Contrast!

Step aside, Baby Boomers...the Millennials are coming. They're going to change the world, maybe more than we did. And like every generation, they're going about it in a unique style. 

The world already knows the Boomers. Born between 1946 and 1964, we were the largest living cohort in history, peaking at 78.8 million in 1999. But now we're down to 74.9 million...the Millennials have passed us with 75.3 million on their way to 81.1 million. (Click here to see the Pew Research Report.)

Boomers were promised "The American Dream" and worked hard to achieve it. In fact, we came a generation of workaholics, seeking prestige and possessions. We grew up competitive and ambitious. We struggled for work-life balance, and as a result have the highest divorce rate in history. We are also the generation of optimists, believing we could "make a difference" and that anything was possible. We challenged authority, rebelled against convention, and crusaded for causes. We're nervous about retirement because our identity has been tied in with our careers...and we were also hit very, very hard by the Recession, with little time to recover. Many of us will continue to work out of necessity.

Who are the Millennials? Formerly called "Generation Y," they were born between 1982-2004. (Some folks move the date range up or back a few years.) They may be our children or our grandchildren, and they have become the most coddled and indulged generation ever: Everyone gets a trophy, so no one's feelings are hurt. They're growing up busy, with scheduled activities instead of playing on their own. They're social and see themselves as citizens of the world. They're flexible, tolerant, embrace diversity, and open to new ideas. They're ambitious and good workers, as well as avid consumers. Work-life balance is a priority; they're engaged at work, but out the door promptly at 5 pm. They are champions for the virtual office, job sharing, and sabbaticals. They want to be entrepreneurs. They'll want to retire early and maybe switch careers.

See the difference? Wait, there's more!

1. Technology: This seems obvious, especially when you consider that the BIG advancement in technology for Boomers was the microwave. We've adapted to the constant changes and have become savvy about computers, gadgets, and apps.  We shop and bank online with ease. But we're no match for the generation that has never been without the Internet. Millennials live and breath technology. It's an integral part of who they are.
2. Travel: Boomers love to travel! We tend to go alone, with a partner or friend, or in a tour group. We like cities, with their culture and dining. Millennials enjoy traveling places in large groups. They have a difficult time "going off the grid" because they can't imagine being without their smartphones. And what else? Boomers are still coddling these kids--we pay to take them with us on family vacations. 
3. Sex: Our hippie "free love" days left us with an average of almost twelve sexual partners. Millennials average about eight. What's interesting is that they are more liberal about casual sex and marrying later than Boomers. They just aren't hooking up as often as their elders. They are also much more accepting of same-sex relationships. When we were teens and young adults, only 21% of us were fine with gay couples--now it's 56%.

Of course, these descriptions are generalizations--but I didn't make them up. They come from smart sociologists and researchers. Still, we can agree that Boomers shouldn't be surprised that our brilliance is fading and a new star is shining bright. We rejected our parents' lifestyles and now it's our turn. Millennials will say the same thing someday: "Those young people! I just don't understand them. What is the world coming to???"

 

 

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Women: Go Buy a Swimsuit...Today!

  

Credit: lingeriebriefs.com

Last year, I complained about "The Agony of the Swimsuit Search," the painful process that leads to poor self-esteem and a grumpy attitude towards life.  In that Blix, I wrote, "And here's The Big Question:  Can I be a feminist and still want to find a swimsuit that makes me feel pretty?"

One year later, I'm here to say: It doesn't matter.  Go buy a swimsuit and have fun. Today.

It's summer again. We wait for it all year, planning vacations and cook-outs. Somewhere during this time, the opportunity to be in water will present itself. Hotel, resort, lake, river, ocean. For way too many of us, panic sets in: Omigod, I'm going to have to wear a swimsuit. Yes you are, girlfriend. We all are. So let's get to it.

Think back to when we were in grade school. We went to the public pool every single day that was warmer than 70 degrees or not raining. I had one swimsuit for the entire summer--my mom sewed the pool pass on the left shoulder. I can't tell you a thing about the color or pattern of any swimsuit, except they were all one-piece. I just put it on and rode my bike to the pool, not giving a damn how I looked.

High school and college brought fewer opportunities to actually be in water. Mostly swimsuits were for tanning, after we slathered on the baby oil. Or to tempt boys. But we now cared about what we showed off.  Body image and social acceptance had kicked in. We copied the styles that Colleen Corby was wearing in Seventeen--never mind that we didn't have a prayer and would never look cute in a triangle scarf.  

On to adulthood. If we had children, we wore swimsuits out of necessity. To the pool, on vacation, at the beach--so we could keep the kiddos from drowning. The crazy thing? Our bodies were changing, but we didn't have time to stop and consider. We bought something that fit, hopefully concealing our flaws. And off we went, cellulite and all, enjoying life.

You know the rest. Middle age arrived and we believed we couldn't let the world see that we were...getting older. As if every other woman our age had somehow escaped this fate. Some of us didn't get a new suit for decades. We didn't need one, because there was no way in hell we were going to expose our thighs or stomachs or butts to anyone we remotely knew. Maybe we'd pack a swimsuit for a trip or cruise to wear around complete strangers or our families. But that was the limit. 

Years passed. And you know what? Well, maybe you already do--it just took me a little longer to figure out. We have always looked good! Our bodies have always been exactly right for each season of life. We are our own worst critics. In ten years--five, even--we'll look back and realize we looked absolutely fine "back then." And we'll wish we'd put on a swimsuit and jumped in the pool every chance we had. Who gives a shit what other people think? 

So. I've reconsidered The Big Question in last year's Blix. I remain a feminist, but now I know I'm pretty in a swimsuit. And so are you. Get out there and be Your Gorgeous Self!

The Agony of the Swimsuit Search

Credit: angryharry.com

 

Last weekend I went out to find a couple of swimsuits.  No, not for an exotic vacation to Tahiti, but for doing a few laps and some water aerobics at my apartment's pool. Living in Florida has a few perks: swimsuits are always on sale. The Spring line must've needed to be cleared out for the Summer line: Ads promised 75% off.  I don't particularly care what the suits look like; since the sun and the pool chemicals devour fabric, style isn’t the focus. (I found this out when one day when my suit felt unusually “breezy.” I glanced in the mirror to discover my Lycra Speedo had dissolved to the point of being sheer.) No, this time it was about affordability.

So I thought. 

What is it about trying to find a swimsuit?  I’m convinced that after age twelve, it’s impossible to pop into the store and choose according to what we like, not what makes us feel less hideous.  Those fashion designers can do whatever they want, bangle-wise, strap-wise, print-wise, diagonal-wise, or anything-wise.  It’s not going to make one damn bit of difference.

Females carry and store fat differently from males.  Simply put, we have cellulite. It flourishes on our thighs, but also seems to be deliriously happy on our arms and fannies.  The crinkle-effect never vanishes; later in life, it’s embellished by a glorious map of blue veins.  All this is amplified in the three-way mirrors of the store’s dressing room.  And if we were clinging to even a shred of self-confidence, or faint hope that we could be attractive in a piece of lycra, fluorescent lighting finishes the job faster than you can say "Sports Illustrated." 

I realize I’m writing this in direct opposition to how I normally declare that women are more than their bodies, and that we should each be embracing our unique structure and stature.  We come in all shapes and sizes, a reason to celebrate our femininity!  We deserve to be admired for our brilliant minds, clever talents, and natural skills!  We have worked hard to be seen as more than sex symbols!  The older we get, the better we get! 

Why do all those bold statements collapse into a puddle of tears when it comes to a garment worn a few times a year, usually for something happy, like a vacation?  And here's The Big Question:  Can I be a feminist and still want to find a swimsuit that makes me feel pretty?

A delightful article titled, "Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny"  by Patricia Marx, in The New Yorker tackles the topic.  Marx sums it up perfectly:  “Bathing suits—let’s not kid ourselves—are underwear, but worse.  For, unlike underwear, they do not work behind the scenes.  Bathing suits are the whole show.” 

Back to my bargain shopping. I’m sure you want to remind me that I began this Blix by saying I didn’t care what I found at the sale.  I was simply looking to cover myself in a fiscally-responsible manner. True enough, fashion was not my objective...at least not on this shopping trip.  If I spend less on these poor soon-to-be-ravaged-by-chlorine swimsuits, then maybe, after six more months of workouts, I will arrive into 2015 ready to once again seek the perfect suit that will feel splendid should I suddenly decide to go to Tahiti. 

Hope springs eternal.

 

Credit: Australia Tourism

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Mom Jeans Are Back! And They're Cool!

Can there be a better Mother's Day gift than to know that Mom Jeans are back? And they're cool!

A mere five years ago, I wrote a Blix about Mom Jeans.  When my blog was picked up by the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, the post drew 4,000 readers the first day. Clearly, I had discovered a topic that was begging to be discussed. At the time, they were a fashion disaster made even more so by the Saturday Night Live skit with Amy Poehler, Tina Fey and Maya Rudolph. Who can forget: "I'm not a woman any more...I'm a Mom."

Urban Dictionary defines Mom Jeans like this:
"Worn by the 40+ crowd. The butt will be compressed so it doesn't stick out. It will instead be pushed to the sides, making it look far wider than it really is."

That was then, this is now.  

Topshop--you know, where Princess Kate hangs out--has declared Mom Jeans to be stylish. There is an entire line of the high-waisted, long-zippered pants. Stretch fabric out, soft denim in.

Erica Hanks, a wardrobe sylist, calls the Topshop jeans--ready?--"A hipster take on the new trend. It's their cheeky way to name a high-waisted boyfriend jean."  Or...perhaps women are tired of squeezing into skinny jeans, battling muffin tops, or exposing their butt cracks to the world. Perhaps they want to be comfortable again.

Here in the USA, you can find these comfy classics at Urban Outfitters...with or without the rips and holes. About $70. You can probably also wander down to your local resale shop and pick up a vintage pair for a couple of bucks. But you better hurry--they have been discovered and will soon be swept up by adolescent fashionistas.

If Miley Cyrus is wearing them, the trend is clear.

As I wrote in my first Blix on Mom Jeans, mothers never get enough credit for their splendid sartorial sense:

"...Face it, mothers, and sensible women everywhere, have always been the unsung fashion divas.  Who discovered that flats were more comfortable than stilettos, could be downright stylish, and didn't cause foot paralysis?  Who pioneered the chic layered-look, donning thick sweaters over whatever they were wearing, albeit just to stay warm?  Who carried the prototype of today's enormous handbags--I believe they went by the unglamorous name of  "totes" and didn't cost $900--back in the day, just so their children could have a steady supply of snacks and Matchbox cars?  And when the current low-slung, skin-tight jean phase reverts to one of comfort--and it will happen!--who will likely not receive credit where credit is due?  It won't matter, moms will already be on to the next trail-blazing trend.  Let the young-uns think it's their idea.  Fine, that's what females have already been doing with the men in their lives since before the discovery of fire.  Feed them the concept,  let them run with it, applaud their cleverness."

Yes, in 2009, I predicted this would come to pass.

So, go ahead, Gwyneth Paltrow, Chloe Sevigny, and Anne Hathaway. Strut your stuff in your Mom Jeans and let the world think you've discovered something new and glamorous.

Me, I'm headed to the back of my closet. 

Reflections on High School Yearbooks

 

I’ve been looking at high school yearbooks a lot lately. Fascinating stuff there, so many years later. Like an archeologist who discovers lost cultures and rituals, we can find treasures in those volumes.

Facebook prompted me to dig out my yearbooks. “Aries,” named after our school mascot, the Ram. Considering how little technology was available almost fifty years ago, they’re pretty slick. It had to have been a huge endeavor to manually pull it all together. And I'm glad someone did. I search through them for names and faces; for reminders of who-did-what; for memories I didn’t know I had. 

First, of course, is how very, very young we were. Strip away the elaborate hairstyles. Scrub off the makeup. Ungrease the hair. We were barely out of childhood, still lanky and skinny. Serious growth spurts loomed. Not that we could have ever been convinced of our innocence, even those among us who already seemed “experienced.”

We were in high school!

Next, look at the faces. There are girls who had no idea how pretty they were then, and certainly unable to imagine how even more beautiful they would become. Boys who would fill out, grow tall and handsome...but in the moment, they face the camera reluctantly, with embarrassment, maybe wearing the black-framed glasses that preceded contact lenses. Lots and lots of braces--this was the time of “tinsel teeth,” decades before kids would start orthodontia in grade school. How to smile? Or not smile? Either way, it didn’t matter. Look deeper, beyond the lopsided hairstyles and the Mr. Rogers-style cardigans. There it is, frozen in time: the uncertainty, the doubt, the hope, the confidence. We were all trying to figure it out.

On to the caste system. For that’s clearly what it was. Popular? Greaser? Jock? Geek? Brain? I look at the yearbook now, and there are clubs that I honestly didn’t know existed. Clubs that I would join in a heartbeat today:  Current Affairs, where events outside the classroom were discussed ("The tensions of the atomic age create problems which should concern everyone."). Tri-S, a service club that helped the needy and supported an indigent child for ten dollars a month. Science Club, with only five girls in the fifty-person yearbook photo. Caduceus, with only two boys out of the forty.  If you had an interest, there was a club for it. Camera Club. Auto Club. Chess and Airplane Clubs. But back then, you couldn’t easily “cross over.”

Is it still like that today? I hope not, and yet I fear so. Such an insecure time, and so hard to play grown-up. Fascinating classmates, but there was no way to know them. No way to break out of our roles.  The kicker: there was also no way to predict who would go on to great things, who would stall, or who would take a tumble. Certainly, a few of us were on a straight path and would turn out as predicted. But many more of us would take "the road less traveled" or invent our own way. Think back to your freshman English class: Was there any way to know who would become an educator? An artist? A scientist? An electrician? A politician?  A pilot?

One thing we all had in common: To this day, we can tell you exactly where we were when we heard that Kennedy was shot.

With years zipping by, there are also untimely passings. Each class had one or two people who never made it to graduation. In my class, it was a sweet-faced boy who died during freshman year. Leukemia, I recall. Of course, it didn't seem real back then. Death was a vague concept, meant for old people. Fast forward a few decades, and the number of those gone too soon is shocking. A reminder that there are no guarantees.

"Life is too short to wake up with regrets. So love the people who treat you right. Forget about the ones who don't. Believe everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it, and if it changes your life, let it.  Nobody said life would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it."
--Michael Gartner

ENJOY LIFE NOW - IT HAS AN EXPIRATION DATE! 

 

 

Three Things Every Woman Should Know How to Do…Solo!

 

1. Eat dinner alone in a restaurant.  
You will notice that I have skipped straight past breakfast and lunch. Anyone--male or female--could have a perfectly good reason to eat alone during those meals: business travel, spouse at a meeting, just a quick bite. But dinner? Dinner these days is probably the only remaining meal intended to be shared. Look around: couples or groups are everywhere, whether business or personal. Suddenly, you feel diminished. Exposed.

What makes it even worse: The Hostess says, "Just one?" as if your inability to have a dinner partner--any partner--is an obvious character flaw. You feel as if a spotlight is on you: "ATTENTION! She is ALONE! No one wants to eat with her!"

Get over it. Do as I do, be proactive: "One for dinner, please." "By the window would be perfect."

In the beginning, I encourage you to do something that will make you comfortable. Bring your Kindle. Pretend you are a food critic. Or that your spouse is a surgeon, suddenly paged for a heart transplant. Anything that could explain the reason for eating alone and making it okay.

As you gain confidence, you won't care. You're hungry, you have the money, and this is a great place--five circles on Trip Advisor--and No! You won't sit at a table near the kitchen doors. It's a process...and a growth experience. Embrace it.

2. Go to a movie alone.
I will never forget the first time I got up my courage to go to a movie by myself. On a Saturday night! It was an independent film whose title I have forgotten--something about an Eskimo and an ice floe--but it got great reviews and I really wanted to see it. Having no date potential, I decided to go solo. To this day, I consider it one of my bravest actions.

Here's the good news: lots and lots of people go to films by themselves. Even on that Saturday night, there were dozens of us. Some with popcorn, some without. It didn't matter. As I looked around, I grinned. After that, I never looked back. I prefer matinees--fewer folks, reduced prices--and every time, there are as many singles as couples. I love to sit alone. Then I am free to laugh, bawl, or feel whatever, without judgement. I feel as if I'm in a private screening, like a film critic.

Warning: Once you get used to going to movies alone, it can get tricky to share your experience. You get selfish and hesitate to be congenial...because it's so much finer by yourself.

3. Sit at a bar alone.
I give full credit to a past boyfriend for this skill.  He taught me to plop myself on a barstool and claim my space. Before, I had been intimidated about the bar thing. Where to sit? Would it look weird? Would anyone think I was on the make? Could I eat there? Was I supposed to talk to my barmates? Perhaps you have asked yourself these same questions.

Here is all you need to know: It's like going to Starbucks, only with adult beverages. Pick a bar stool. Say hello to the bartender. He or she is an instant connection...and if you tip well, your best friend. As you learn to do this, choose a familiar resturant with a bar: Cheesecake Factory, Bone Fish Grill, Applebees. Go in mid-afternoon or during Happy Hour. Do NOT start out at places with names such as Billy-Bob's Dive Bar.

No tables in the bar area! Sorry, that doesn't count. Order one drink--nothing pink, please. Pull out your journal or iPhone. A magazine. Or stare at the TV screen, which will always be turned to a sports station. Your only task is to realize that you are an independent woman and that you OWN that bar stool. When you walk out, you will feel totally empowered.

Bonus: If the bar has a food menu, you can kill two birds with one stone. 

You're welcome!

 

 

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Work After Retirement? Good Luck With That!

If you're old enough to fill out a job application, you've already heard it: Be prepared to work longer. Consider traditional retirement--at age 65--a sweet and sentimental notion, gone the way of Howdy Doody. 

The Gravy Train has left the station.

For Baby Boomers, this comes at a most inopportune time. According to Pew Research Center, about 10,000 of us cross the "retirement finish line" every day . We are 26% of the American population. Many--nay, most--of us are ready to hand off our batons. Easier said than done.

Today, let's talk about supplementing our Social Security, pensions, 401K, 501(c)(3), stocks, bonds, and piggy banks. Actually, not many folks still get pensions. Snaps for you if you had the luck and foresight to find and remain in a career that provides one.

Here are some facts:

• About 7.2 million Americans, 65 or older, were employed in 2013. This is a 67 percent increase over 2003, say the government gurus.
• Baby Boomers are the first generation expected to fund our own retirement. And we're not doing very well. In 2011, the median Boomer household with retirement accounts from their workplace had $120,000 saved. Using the standard 4% annual withdrawal, that means just $4,800 a year to supplement Social Security. (Current average benefit is $1269 a month.)
• While three out of four people say they will keep working after they retire from their main job, only 19 percent will do so.

The best advice, of course, is to keep your current job as long as possible. With the eligibility age for full Social Security benefits creeping up each year (for birth years 1943-1954, the age is 66) many folks will just keep decorating their work cubicles and contributing to office baby showers until their "magic" time arrives. Some professions lend themselves to longer careers. College professors and lawyers come to mind. Warren Buffett certainly seems to continue to enjoy his work. And Jane Goodall is still going strong.

Like many others, I've certainly thought that it would be fun to leave my 50-hour work week behind and find something less stressful to do for a few days each week. During a recent business trip, I dropped into a Whole Foods for some snacks; it seems downright blissful to think about stacking the vegetables to look pretty or to advise customers on the newest energy bars.  And all the employees at Trader Joe's seem to have a non-stop blast. "How's your day going?" they always chirp. Makes me happy just to be there. I swear it makes my kale taste better.

We're all familiar with the overwhelming evidence that "older" workers are the best employees. They're responsible, show up on time, don't come in hungover, don't have daycare worries, and they don't quit on a whim. Yet age discrimination is rampant. I wrote about it during my job hunt. It's why I now live in Gainesville, Florida.

Even when Boomers want to work after leaving their careers, there are reasons which prevent it. Challenges such as declining health, caring for parents, helping out with grandchildren, or the frustration of endless job hunting and online applications finally cause them to give up. The average time it takes someone over 65 to find a job is 53 weeks. Compare that to a teenager: 19 weeks.

The New York Times published a depressing article about Boomers and retirement last year. If you're too nervous to read it, I'll cut to the chase: Those of us who were in our 50's and 60's when the Recession rolled though were most impacted. We simply don't have time to make up for the loss, and--barring a winning Mega Millions ticket--we'll be limping through our old age because of it.

While the money issue isn't ever going to go away, people want to work for other reasons, too. AARP did a survey of 1,502 Americans:

• 31% simply enjoy working
• 30% want "extra money" for things like vacations
• 21% are looking for something interesting to do
• 14% like to be physically active
• 11% want to be mentally active
• 10% need to support themselves

What does all this mean?  To me, it says that Boomers are ready and willing to give up their full-time careers, but still want to have some type of employment. They recognize the value of work and they are confident that they have good life experience that can be useful. No doubt, there is satisfaction in receiving a pay check; we were raised to equate self-esteem with employment. But the hurdles--whether physical, logistical, or cultural--can make it nearly impossible.

With our expected lifespan to be longer than any previous generation, we're going to need something to do besides play golf or take another cruise. And we're going to need money to do it. It's all a bit of a conundrum, this vicious circle.

Start to pay attention when you go to Trader Joe's...some day, we may be working next to each other. Buy a Hawaiian shirt and begin practicing now: "How's your day going?"

 

 

 

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