Ready or Not
For quite a few years now, I have had a number in mind.
I met with an advisor and made a financial plan. I deposited a sizable chunk of every paycheck into my 401k. I clipped coupons, postponed trips, and drove an old car. I gave up alcohol and cooked at home rather than order takeout or delivery.
“I’ll join you soon!” I say every morning to the neighborhood ladies heading to the park for morning boot camp, as I climb into the car, coffee in hand, and head to work. I daydream about the things I will soon have the time and energy for: hobbies, classes, and travel. I will have the energy to exercise regularly again. My body will feel better.
And then, the stock market had a momentous week. I hit my financial target.
“Someday” had arrived.
I found myself petrified. Instead of liberation, I felt panic. I had no idea why. Didn’t I want this? Isn’t this what I have been working toward?
Well, yes. And also, I was petrified.
What did I do?
I moved the goalpost.
(And also as quickly, the stock market went down, but that is beside the point.)
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And then I realized that the feeling was familiar. It was something I recognized from other threshold moments: college, marriage, parenthood, first professional job, an overseas move.
I remember the parenthood moment so vividly. We had been married for nine years before our daughter was born. For nearly a decade, it had been just the two of us.
I remember holding this beautiful baby girl — only a few hours old, so perfect and precious, so wanted — and being terrified. Not of the new responsibilities, but of the change.
Slightly wild-eyed after an arduous labor and last-minute Cesarean, I looked at my husband and said, “Nothing will ever be the same.”
“Of course it won’t,” he said, confused by my panic, “Isn’t that the point?”
I could not explain my feelings. The life we had known, “just the two of us” was no more. What would that mean? How would we change? Would we mean the same to one another? Would “we“ be okay?
Walking through the doorway into the next room requires leaving the one we are in. But we don’t get to see the next room before we are in it.
And the doorways are coming. Sometimes by choice, but almost as often, we are booted through them by something completely unexpected. And no amount of planning or preparation can guarantee that the next stage of life will be drama free.
I thought the magic number would tell me when I could afford to retire. But I wanted it to guarantee me safety. No number can guarantee me that.
So yes, this time, I moved the goalpost. But next time, when I hit it, I’m jumping in. Ready or not.
