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When my youngest child graduated from college -- a milestone in the life of any single parent -- I began to save for retirement. But more importantly, I began to save time and spiritual energy. I invested: in friendship, in family and education. I got a certificate in pastoral counseling, took violin lessons, raised rabbits and wrote poetry. 


Through graduate school and for seven years beyond I had been underemployed. My children learned to eat things like 

 and other delicacies recommended at the food stamp office. Those days gave me confidence in my coping skills; one can live well out of the dumpsters of America. 


Extend the metaphor to every sphere, and you will have an idea of the good life on Social Security. 


Someone once sent me the obituary of a college professor who for a lifetime put aside his own writing. The title -- which says it all -- was "He Only Wrote in Red." I did not want to be that person.


When I began to save for my retirement and invest in a larger life, though, I found that time and consciousness are strangely elastic. Making music or art gives color to your day. You have more of yourself to give away. 

"Do What You Love, the Money Will Follow."

 I have not found its premise to be true. Do what you love and you will love it. That I do promise.


Preparing, over the course of 10 years, to leave my profession made me a better teacher. I permitted myself to teach exactly as I thought best -- not according to the dominant culture or collegial expectations.


Probably I had been overdoing the job for years. Now I became a minimalist. You can, as a teacher, stuff young mouths so full they choke. Don't say 50 things. Say the five things that are important, and give everybody time to write poems. 


Who am I and what am I doing here? These questions structured my visioning process. They gave me a lot in common with my freshmen. 


Nobody in my family has lived past 80, so I set that as my hypothetical terminus. A person who waits to take full Social Security at 67 years of age will make more money each month, but will he or she live long enough to enjoy the advantage? Consult the actuarial tables. 
 

I discovered I would need about $15,000 a year over Social Security to keep the good times rolling. People have different ideas of what that might mean. But let's assume one has to pay the dog's vet bills and handle the sewer assessments. Some years, that extra comes easily through my little employments -- gardening, writing, counseling, making pottery.  
 

This year, though, I've earned almost nothing that way. A blip or a downward trend? The bad economy? My failing capacity to move large boulders? This year, I'm using Social Security for something like an arts grant.


I am in the youth of old age, and, when money gets short, I have to tap into my savings more than I feel is wise. As I look ahead to later years, I know I will need to downsize further.


In August, I gave away the last rabbit. Right now my big garden is a major item in the food and exercise plan, but I can imagine the day it will get beyond me. This year I built raised beds with wider aisles. Getting really old will require, at best, expenditure. I'd like to be putting in a bathroom on the main floor, or moving into a house more easily adapted to handicapped accessibility. Retiring as I did in a strong economy, I expected to have more flexibility to make these adjustments. 


Not all of my expectations for this new life have materialized -- the most troubling disappointment is being far away from my children and grandchildren. But new joys have outweighed at least the financial surprises. Having time to write lets me feel true to a sense of vocation. Playing violin with a community chamber orchestra gives me joy and psychic stretch. Manual work surprises me with its gifts of stability and contentment.  I love being "available," in proportion to the sorrow I used to feel at ignoring the calls of my community. 


I do not think of myself as "retired," and I hate the epithet of "senior citizen," redolent of civics class. In Russia, the Orthodox church used to honor the position of starets, a kind of feral neighborhood hermit on call to listen, hold the baby, help get in the hay. Just now, "feral hermit" seems a job I could grow into.


Mary Rose O'Reilley, a retired college professor, is a St. Paul writer and poet whose books include "The Barn at the End of the World: the Apprenticeship of a Quaker," "Buddhist Shepherd, The Love of Impermanent Things" and "Half Wild." She is a source in MPR's Public Insight Network.

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Having retired during a strong economy, she's had to rely on her coping skills. Good thing she had some.

The good life on Social Security: Flexibility is key

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