Retirement beckons

On Monday I'm retiring after 53 years of paid work, broken only by two lengthy periods of unemploy-ment after being made redundant. I've done all sorts of jobs, including local newspaper reporter, sub-editor, bookseller, typist, admin worker and press office assistant.

I've got no qualifications of any significance, so I've just charmed and bamboozled my way into one job after another. I did once obtain a journalism proficiency certificate, but as it was based on typing and shorthand skills and was well before the age of computing and word processing, it's now valueless.

I've had all the usual reactions, such as asking me what I'll do once I'm retired, asking if I feel sad to be leaving my job, expressing envy that they can't retire themselves, and even asking me if I'll be moving back to England (no way - I love living in Belfast).

Then there's the comment that my retirement will be "well-earned", which can be interpreted in several different ways. It could mean that I've put in many years of hard physical labour (which I haven't), or that the length of my working life is impressive (not really), or that I've been very successful in my chosen occupation (mainly bookselling, where the only visible success was finding the book a customer was looking for).

Probably the best definition of "well-earned" is having survived many years of emotional ups and downs caused by crappy working conditions, rude bosses, aggravating work colleagues, awkward customers, quirky computers, miserable wages, lengthy commutes, and so many utterly tedious tasks.

I shall relish the fact that I don't have to put up with any of these ordeals any longer and can do exactly what I want. It's someone else's turn to maintain their sanity despite whatever is thrown at them.

Unlimited leisure will take some getting used to. Or maybe not. I might just take to it like a duck to water.

Slowing down

Being jobless, I have the luxury of being able to take my time over everything. I don't have to rush to meet deadlines, or sweat to keep up with an ever-expanding workload. I can just trundle along at a natural pace that doesn't send my blood pressure rocketing.

I'm a splendid example of what's known as the Slow Movement, the worldwide campaign to stop us all hurtling around like maniacs and slow us down so we can enjoy things rather than ticking them off as Jobs Done.

Most people have accumulated so many daily chores and commitments they simply don't have the time to savour their favourite activities or just watch the world go by. They're zooming from pillar to post, frantically getting little Johnny to his music lesson, or doing Granny's shopping, or merely fixing that aching tooth.

The Slow Movement wants us to take everything at a more leisurely pace. Take more time over your meals, your conversations, your outings, your orgasms, your kids, your daydreaming. If you've too much to do, work out what's really essential or important, and dump the rest. If you're doing things out of a sense of duty or habit, then ditch them. Get your life back!

The prevailing wisdom says that by doing things faster you do them more efficiently. You're making better use of your time and being more productive. But do we really want to be "efficient" and "productive" or do we just want to enjoy life and soak it all up?

Yes, we want to speed things up if that means the endless queue at the airport check-in or a ten-mile traffic jam. But if it means bolting our meals or never having enough time for friends, what are we gaining?

Let's all just slow down and start smelling the coffee. And the roses. And the sweet fragrance of life.