On and Off Treadmills

As best as I can figure out from a diary-search, my life started to close in on itself in 2017. I was 63, after all. All the fun kids at work had moved on, and being replaced by Snowflakes. I couldn't hack the full hour session at the gym, and was doing about forty minutes instead. No holidays. Girls were pretty much a thing of the past. I was not learning new things that were work-related. I was three years past the normal retirement age at work, had almost three more years to go before I could claim my State Pension, my savings weren't great, and though my financial advisor kept telling me I was okay, and much better off than a lot of people, what he didn't mention was that 'most people' are terminally screwed come retirement. Every month I stayed at work was another month's money saved, and another month I didn't have to live on a pension. I kept that up for another four years, until I could keep it up no more.

That's a long time to be in treadmill mode. The job was okay, the people were okay, I was in the City, the commute was manageable, but regular readers will remember I spent a while bitching and moaning noting dispassionately how going to bed at 09:30 to wake up at 05:15 does not leave one with much of a life. Plus no-one was making or showing movies I wanted to watch, which is why I got an Apple TV and a MUBI subscription. And I was going round and round in a figure-eight, not travelling and not `going anywhere'. Every now and then I'd go to an early evening Meeting in Soho, and I even got a commitment so I had to turn up every week. When I came out at 19:00, Soho was rammed. Nowhere to have a coffee or a light snack. Not like 2010.

One on level, I hardly noticed Lockdown. Except for the lack of commuting, the money I wasn't saving, and the whole silly working from home stuff. In fact, life was probably better, since I wasn't going into that horrible office.

The definition of treadmill is doing what you're doing so you can do what you're doing, and not getting anywhere doing it. I was doing what I was doing to bank the paycheque, and once I had done that, I'd done what I was doing for the month. Except not spending any money because I had to bank it.

(That will be your life as you approach retirement: putting as much cash as possible into bonds or savings so you can pay for a new roof when the old one starts to give, but the insurers won't replace it.)

No, parents, you're not on a treadmill, not while you're raising your children. You're not on a treadmill if you have friends you like being with, holidays you enjoy going on, activities you like doing. You're not on a treadmill if you just love love love the office gossip and the shenanigans after work, and all the gossip on your social media apps. Nope, you're having some kind of fun.

It takes a while to get out of the habits of the treadmill. Work seems like a decade ago, but it's only eleven weeks. Which don't count as real weeks, because lockdown and other BS. I thought it would help if I had some plans and objectives to work on, but that turned out not to do the trick.

The Interwebz is gung-ho for the idea of volunteering, part-time jobs, getting involved with your community, and otherwise replacing paid work with unpaid work. Because that's what you retired for, right? Or we could travel... wait, no, we can't. The advice is as asinine as the advice to I used to hear when I was out of work in the Nineties. But hey, if you want to volunteer, please go right ahead.

So the next phase is getting off the treadmill. Which means not working up schedules about how my days and weeks should be - I tried that and it didn't feel right.