it turned out to be a good day

 

Given the events of the week before, I'm surprised this ride went off as well as it did.

Given the events of the week before, I'm relieved this ride went off as well as it did.

Given the events of the week before, I'm grateful this ride went off as well as it did.

See, the thing is, I've been retired for about a year and a half. We're trying to have me live off only my Social Security, leaving my retirement savings (and my two laughably small pensions) for after my wife retires in a few more years. 

Now, last year, I wound up with several thousand dollars in unexpected dental expenses, so I was hoping to make up for that this year. But during the week, the car started running rough, and the "check engine" light was on, and the display screen would only show warnings. So I limped into the dealership.

Diagnostics determined that rodents had gotten into the engine, and had chewed up wiring, hoses, the engine covering, and other impedimenta in there to the tune of another several thousand dollars. This additional expense just sent me into a tailspin. It's not enough that it affects my retirement; I have the savings to pay it... but all I could see was an endless line of upcoming expenses for which I could not plan and had not budgeted. Rumination and overthinking took over. The anxiety disorder (to which I've alluded in other posts) came to visit, and unpacked as for a long stay.

I almost always post rides for Sundays on the club website, and I posted a ride for today... but a friend pointed out that the route I'd posted didn't correspond with the description I'd put in. I hastily corrected the route info, and emailed the five registrants that the route would be different, and would have substantially more climb (one registrant cancelled).

I'm blaming my confusion and poor focus on the earlier events, and my poor mental health.

But I still got ten other riders for today, including two who decided to meet along the route.

Many of my readers are bike-y people, and I won't need to tell you what a salutary effect 39 miles at a reasonable pace can have on the troubled mind. The ride was like medication.

We did one of my regular routes down through Princeton, and then up into Hopewell to the Boro Bean.

Do you think we have enough pogies on all them bikes?

One rider had a flat on the ride back, and was bemoaning his poor technique, but the day had warmed, and we weren't in a hurry, and a few of us helped, and a few others told stories of more experienced riders with even worse technique. 

And it turned out to be a good day. Ride page.

not for its intended purpose

 I've "come out" as both a person in recovery from a substance-use disorder (holy crap; that post was eleven years ago) and as a person with a mental health disorder.

I do daily exercise, and, if I'm exercising in the house, I listen to podcasts. During the pandemic isolation, the Home Cooking podcast, from Samin Nosrat and Hrishikesh Hirway, was running (and they did two Thanksgiving episodes thereafter).

I'm never going to be much of a cook, but I treasured this podcast. I found Samin's voice, and her laugh, and the interaction between her and Hrishi, soothing and comforting.

I'd save up these episodes for particularly bad days. Much of my anxiety was work-related, so after I retired, I didn't need the soothing as much, and I had two episodes I hadn't listened to yet.

This week was pretty bad (I may do a post about that), and I played one of the remaining episodes today. It still worked as I remembered. My mind is better. And there's one more in the can, and I've still got all the other episodes I can replay, if I need.

Ms Nosrat will probably never know (or, likely, care) how helpful she's been. But this podcast saved me on some of my darkest days. 

I do a daily (well, more-or-less) discipline about remembering what to be grateful for and what I need to focus on each day. Today, this podcast is going on the gratitude column.

cranky old man

 I don't know if everybody has topics on which they get irrationally angry, but I do. One of them, I've just realized, is insurance.

On the Princeton FreeWheeler board meeting last night, a board member pointed out that members may not be aware of one of the coverages provided by the club's insuror. I maintained that we should not make members generally aware of it, on the theory that there will be members who will abuse it. My position was that we should let people know about the coverage when they are likely to need it, when a situation has arisen when it is likely to be accessed.I'm afraid I pounded the virtual table at this online meeting.

In my defense, first, I know of clubs like ours who have disbanded because the cost of insurance became unsustainable, and I know of a situation where a member has inquired into the club's insurance coverage to apply to a situation which was clearly his sole fault.

But it's also true that I've given out information about our insurance that was not true. And I am suspicious of the motives of some of our members who seek coverage under the club's insurance. (I am generally suspicious that people do not use insurance responsibly.) Some of that suspicion might be unwarranted.

I need to watch myself, both on the topic of insurance, and on cranky anger generally.

coming out as a mental health client

 Trigger warning: discussions of mental health and suicidal thoughts below.

People who know me, know that I’m in substance abuse recovery. I don’t drink or do drugs, and haven’t for over forty years. I don’t keep that a secret.

I also need to “come out” on my mental health problems. I thought of waiting to do a reveal in Mental Health Awareness Month, but that’s not until May.

I’ve also had problems with suicidal thoughts. So I considered Suicide Awareness Month, but that’s September, so I missed it. There are reasons I don’t want to wait (some of those reasons are pure egotism, but there’s also some discomfort with trying to hold this stuff in), so I’m putting it out there now.

I’ve been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder by a psychiatrist who has the credentials to do so, and I’ve been on medications to manage it (the ones I used didn’t reduce the subjective feeling of anxiety much, but I’m still here, so they may have been effective in reducing the suicidal thoughts to a manageable level). Now, I’m fairly sure that some neurobiologist is gonna come along and tell me, “No, it’s impossible for things to work like that; the biology of your brain doesn’t allow that to be true.” But this is the way I think my anxiety disorder works:

To have an anxiety disorder flareup, I think you need two things:

• The event or condition that causes the anxiety, and

• The psychiatric condition that inflates the anxious feelings to an unmanageable level.

I suspect most people get some anxiety sometimes; things occur to cause worry in most lives. I don’t know what the subjective experience is like for others; I only know my own experience. Sometimes, the worry is not so bad for me; I am able to continue with my daily life without much dysfunction. Other times, when the disorder flares up, I have suicidal thoughts, pain in my thighs and the backs of my upper arms, insomnia, either poor appetite or overeating, diarrhea and (rarely) vomiting. I ruminate through the night and can’t sleep. (The worst time is often 2:00 or 3:00am, because I don’t feel like I can call anyone, and there are few things I can do at those times to distract myself or get help.)

But even when I don’t have the triggering event or condition that causes the anxiety, sometimes I think the “disorder” part manifests. I can feel a general sense of unease; I get anhedonia (nothing feels right or tastes right, or “sparks joy”); I have poor concentration; I have a hard time focusing on responsibilities, or even listening to what people I care about have to say.

I’ve been going through a bout of that recently.

Some of it has to do with my suicidal thoughts. Now, except for a short time one night a few months ago, I haven’t had a serious episode of the anxiety problem since I quit working (much of my anxiety problems are tied to either work or relationship issues luckily, the latter appear to be in good standing). Suicide screening is something I know something about (I was a mental health screener for a few years – ironic, right?). And when you’re screening for suicide, one of the things you ask about is whether the person has a plan, how close or easy to achieve that plan is, and whether the plan is likely to be fatal. For example, a person who says he or she wants to suicide by overdose, but doesn’t have the pills, and doesn’t know which pills are likely to actually be fatal, and hasn’t done any research into either question, actually has a comparatively low likelihood of suicide (although that doesn’t mean you don’t take the issue seriously). The person who intends to shoot himself (usually) or herself, and has the gun and ammunition, is a much more worrisome case.

When it was really bad, my plan was to jump off a bridge. The Morris and Donald Goodkind Bridges are the bridges that carry Route 1 over the Raritan River: the northbound bridge is named for Morris and the southbound for his son Donald. Morris has more-or-less convenient parking, and does not appear to have suicide-prevention fencing or other measures in place. That’s the bridge from which I was going to jump when I was in the worst of my anxiety.

I’m not in that anxiety anymore, and have no intention of pursuing suicide. But the plan doesn’t evaporate just because I no longer have the intention. So the answer to the question, “Do you have a plan?” is yes, and the plan is both proximate and likely to be fatal… which will make the inexperienced screener commit me. But the truth is, my life is good now, and I have no intention of suicide, which is why I’m still at large and not on unpleasant medications.

Further, most of the times I cross either Morris or David, I’m reminded that, while things were bad once upon a time, they are not so, now. Every crossing of those bridges is a reminder that I’ve successfully survived this long, even though, at times, it was not clear that I would. Every crossing is a little triumph.

And the reason I didn’t want to wait for months to post this stuff, is that I was fairly sure that writing and posting it would relieve some of the craziness I’ve been feeling – and it has worked; I’m much better for having this out there. I’m lucky in that I’m retired, and my livelihood would not be affected by my honesty about my mental health condition (and, having worked in mental health and substance abuse, I’m sure that even then, I had more flexibility than most in the workaday world, although even among my peers in that field, there is some stigma to having the same problems we treat in our clients). I know that not everybody can be as honest as this about a similar condition.

But I want to be “out” as a person who has suffered from mental health problems. It’s possible that my having been honest about this might be a disincentive for some people to seek help. But if it’s possible that my experience might get another person closer to getting the help they need… then isn’t it pretty much my responsibility to do it? Especially when I now have so little at stake?

among the consolations of retirement

 In my last post, I was complaining about being old, and being thought of as old (which are different things). When today broke with sunshine, The Excellent Wife (TEW) hinted (HAH!) that I might benefit from a ride with The Old Guys... so off I went to Byron Johnson Park to tag along with Bill B's ride.

Although the sun was out when I left the house, clouds prevailed for most of the ride, and I was slightly underdressed (the excellent Martin G got this, with me on the right).

That's a Bristol-Myers-Squibb jersey, part of a haul with which a neighbor gifted me (three long-sleeve jerseys, those bib shorts, and some other stuff). The kit is far better quality than I would ever buy for myself, and I wear it unapologetically, despite not having done the advertised ride. But another layer would have been a good idea.

Bill did this route. I mostly behaved myself, and rode with him until the break, allowing the faster folks to go off the front.

At the stop:

After the stop, however, Martin, Sophie, Jen A, and I let excitement get the better of us, and sped off ahead of the group. I was the first to flag... Chris C came up behind, and we rolled along until we came up on Martin replacing a tube. He was replacing the tube by himself, which is unheard of on FreeWheeler rides.

Dave G rolled up...

... and I couldn't resist this of Sophie & Jen getting a selfie. This picture makes me smile.

At the parking lot at then end, I gave out a few of the too-many business cards I've had printed up about my Ramblin' Wrench bicycle maintenance venture. Hint, hint.

TEW, and everybody else who told me I needed to get a ride in, was right. I'm better. The stuff I wrote in my last post is still true, but it's not the only truth.

Life is good.

back to retirement

 I've given up the job at Sourland Cycles; it was simply not a good fit for me.

This is not in any way an indictment of Sourland Cycles: Their floor staff are friendly and knowledgeable; the mechanics (the ones I met) are well-informed and efficient.

Since I've given up the job, I'm sleeping better and somewhat less anxious. I'm looking at other options to be engaged and fill time.

cold gravel ride

Above, near the start at the Washington Crossing bridge; below, Martin tells us about a memorial for soldiers who died before the crossing.

 

Friend Peter G invited a few of us on a towpath ride for 12/23 (we're usually road riders, but the cold weather suggested an alteration of plans was a good idea). I went along. I didn't get may pictures, because my fingers were RIDICULOUSLY cold for the first umpteen miles (hint: if it's cold enough to justify a towpath ride, it's cold enough to wear the heaviest gloves; I had fears of frostbite for a while... but I'm typing this without incident, so my fears were unfounded).

Most important to me, though, was the opportunity to talk to a few people I trust about some emotionally-laden decisions I have to make. A few decades ago, there was a men's movement (one of many, recurring men's movements) that advocated for support groups, but the support groups as such never really got off the ground. Some people get their support in different ways from formal groups, and this group of riders is one of mine. This ride was hugely helpful for me.

I came home, though, with several cubic feet of towpath stuck to my bike and my person. I had to clean the dried sand and mud out of the car, and then, because the hose is not connected for the winter, I poured several buckets of water over the bike, and had to wipe down the bags and other accessories. Even the camera, in my pocket for most of the ride, had an accumulation of gook on it.

Ride page.

more retirement blues

I read a worrying article this morning that sleep difficulties are highly correlated with dementia. I'm suffering with the former and worried about the latter.

I also know that my job at the bike shop is not an ideal match. I'm not doing the mechanical work I'd hoped to do, and the shop is built and designed to appeal to an upscale clientele (the owners dropped a LOT of money on rebuilding the old house that forms the front of the store, for example, and the merchandise is mostly all top-of-the-line stuff). I'm much more of a how-can-we-make-this-work, satisficing kind of guy. I worked for seven years in the insurance industry when I was newly out of college, and left that to work in substance-abuse and mental health, almost exclusively with indigents. I worked that career for more than half my life. And now I'm in a store catering to customers who can be described as "affluent or above". 

(I've also got to admit that there may have been a bit of "white, educated savior" thinking going on in my career with indigents. I'm not above some complicated egotism.)

I do admit that much of what I was looking for in the retirement job is new stuff to learn, and engagement with people who are not The Excellent Wife (TEW), because its not fair to put all my needs on her. The job is providing those things: I'm engaged with people, and I'm learning a lot, although it wasn't what I had planned to (or, frankly, hoped to).

I'm not great at this retirement thing.

ups and downs...

 I interviewed for a part-time gig at Sourland Cycles early in the week, and was dismayed to hear that I would not be considered for a mechanic job, although they did want to consider me for store help. My disappointment colored the interview, and many of the succeeding hours... and it became clear to me that, while I know what I know, there's a lot that I don't. 

It would not be fair, either to any shop where I would work, or to any customer on whose bike I was working with technology with which I am unfamiliar, to take a job as a mechanic. And while I have a lot of bike knowledge, it's not the knowledge that is useful in a retail environment.

Armed with that new realization and acceptance, I did a second interview yesterday, and apparently aced it. That interview was done by two other staff, and when they reported to the principal (who had done the first interview), he was not sure they were talking about the same person. I'm just off a call with him; he texted earlier today that I got the job, and on this call, we were  conversing like old pals. We're up to talking about start dates and manuals.

But then there's other stuff. Late yesterday, The Excellent Wife (TEW) was sent home from her job because a coworker with whom she's had some contact had a positive COVID-19 test. She does not think she is infected, and, based on the way she describes her contact with the coworker in question, I don't think she is either; nor do I think I am. She was directed to go for a test on Tuesday or after to verify her status; she has made arrangements for a test for Tuesday morning. If her result is positive, I will get tested myself.

We had intended to go to the Freewheeler Holiday Party, but decided that, even though we are both double-vaccinated and booster-shot, we would cancel. I'm really disappointed; there are some people going who are either new friends, or trending in that direction, and I had hoped to see them. Two of them, Albert P and Luis C, gave me a bike-print bow-tie for my retirement, and I wanted to express my gratitude by wearing it to the event, where they would see it. I will fall back on the pre-internet practice of a thank-you card.

Reaction from folks I've told about the possible exposure has been mixed, from "Come on out; we know how to be safe," to "You have a duty to cancel all engagements." I am trying to strike a reasonable middle way. I will doubtless upset people on both sides of the argument. I have withdrawn from Tom H's ride, scheduled for tomorrow. I am still planning to lead my Sunday ride. I have emailed all the current registrants with information about the situation and updated the listing for anybody who might register between now and the time we depart. I have had one cancellation, one rider replied to say he would stay back, one said "Thanks for the heads up. This thing isn't going away!  I'll see you Sunday."

Well, I hope to see you, whether Sunday or thereafter.

more retirement

This post turned out longer than I thought it would. I was going to type in some kind of permission to skip it (HAH! As if you needed that!), but I think I'd like any feedback you can provide, so I'd be grateful if you read through it. 

Are bitmoji's still a thing?

Today, December 1, is the first day I'm actually jobless in retirement (I stopped working on November 18, and the remainder of the month was paid leave: mostly various days that had to be taken or I would lose them, and yesterday as a vacation day, because some obscure Rutgers or UBHC rule forbids taking any of those types of leave as your last day of work). I haven't been sleeping well. The Excellent Wife (TEW) and I are both persuaded that the insomnia has something to do with the retirement process, but I have not been kept awake by wrenching, physically-painful anxiety as I have in the past; I just wake up, and it's clear I'm not going back to sleep for a while. So, rather than disturb the slumbers of TEW, I get up and do stuff on the computer, or read, or something. I can usually get back to sleep after an hour, or maybe 90 minutes.

The one thing I thought was going to be a major source of anxiety has not proven so (although I'm not completely free from concern about it). I expect a paycheck for two more days... and then I'm dependent on my savings, my retirement plan (also mostly savings, although I have two tiny pensions from the old world), and Social Security. I have the promise from Social Security that yes, the money will be coming... but not until the second Tuesday in January (there's a wonderfully Byzantine rule about when the payments from Social Security come to you, having to do with the date during the month on which you were born). But since it hasn't come yet, there's the nagging fear that it's not going to. (I've just now checked, and the two pension payments, due today, are, indeed, in the appropriate account. They appear with reassuring regularity.)

Three other things are floating around in the retirement-anxiety ether. The first is fear of the onset of dementia. When my father died almost a decade ago, my mother gave up all the friends and connections she had in Asheville (to where they had moved after my father's retirement, and which she loved), and moved into a senior-living home in Buffalo, to be near my sister (I was completely left out of these discussions, as I had been on a number of other family decisions, but that is a rant for another, also undoubtedly long and verbose, post). Although mother engaged in a few of the activities offered by the facility, as time went on, the offerings diminished, and my mother did not seek others (or even attend the few that were available). It's clear to me that she gave up on her life and was (and is) waiting to die. She has asked several times, "Why am I still alive?" Neither of her parents, nor her older sister, lived to anything like the age she is now.

Her memory has gone. She suffers from dementia. I'm convinced it's because she disconnected herself from life... and that has become a lesson to me: it is my intention to keep engaged, to meet new people and remain connected to current friends, to learn new things. There is good research showing that,, along with a physically healthy lifestyle (including nutrition and activity), engagement and intellectual challenge are protective factors against dementia. Well, I'm gonna do my best.

Which brings me to the second anxiety-related issue. As part of keeping engaged, I decided to look for a job at a bike shop, and I appear to have an opportunity at Sourland Cycles. I had hoped to be a mechanic, but, while it's true I've built my bikes from parts, and I'm a good meatball mechanic to get you home should something untoward happen on a ride, my skills are not at the point where I can do that at this store. It's been humbling to meditate on this over the past several days: after 36 years in the substance-abuse field, including obtaining a masters degree and a license; after experience in treatment, training, and prevention in that field; after having the respect of coworkers and colleagues... I'm starting off at the bottom of a new field again. I'm not an authority; I'm a tyro.

The third thought that intrudes: I'm not working now. I'm living off a "handout", Social Security (although I paid into the system for over four decades -- I worked for seven years in the insurance industry prior to the career change to substance abuse) and my savings. Am I a drain on society? Am I still contributing to the greater good? I've been rushing to keep promises I made to address things after I retire, whether commitments to friends, or "honey do" chores at home (there are painting supplies in the other room for a bathroom I'll probably address later today). Who am I? Who are my people? Am I doing enough for them that they aren't going to cast me out?

So there we are. I'm not going to be able to button this post up with a neat ending (as I think I like to do), because I'm still in the middle of these thoughts. There will be more to come, I'm sure.

off facebook

 I'm done with Facebook. See this post.

I can't justify using the platform, just for the sake of the internet traffic. More info at the post.

when am I gona learn?

 I gotta stop going to Facebook. Get on, post the damn blog link, and get off. Do NOT dawdle. The monster WILL get me.

gotta stop doin' that

 I have got to stop looking at Facebook.

weekend rides. not much of a post.

 I did rides Saturday and Sunday, but I was too preoccupied, both on the rides and thereafter, to do much. Here's a link to Saturday's ride page; the photos are below.

The elevation diagram for this ride. Remind you of anything?

Sunday I led a ride; Ricky G, Dave H, Ralph S-J, and his brother Ignace came out. Ride page linked here. I barely remembered to get the camera out.

Here's hoping I can eventually get my head out of my posterior and rejoin the living.