I kind of get it. I mean, Tom Brady announced his retirement several weeks ago, and this past weekend, announced his "unretirement." He is not the first sports star to do so. And, I sort of get it. My father retired, but worked as a consultant to the extent he was working more than less. He returned to work for a while, but later, retired. He was devoted to his work his adult life, and although he loved his family, his identity was also bound up in his work at the papermill where he worked.
There are many athletes who have retired and returned to playing sports: Michael Jordan, Tony Conigliaro, Yogi Berra, Jim Bouton, Satchel Page, Bob Cousey, Joe Louis, Floyd Mayweather, Mohammed Ali, George Foreman, Sugar Ray Leonard, Gordie Howe, Michael Phelps, Rob Gronkowski. Some after a brief retirement for healing, others with even briefer retirements, and some with several years of retirement. I think Michael Phelps was articulate about the fact that his life was still defined by his sport, and he still needed the competition to define himself.
I am not sure why, after just a few weeks, Tom Brady decided to return to actively playing NFL football. But I get it. After 45 years of social work practice, the last 26 and half at the same job, I retired. It took me from June, when I decided it was time to retire, until December, to actually reconcile myself to the fact that I was retiring, although, because of health issues, I could not execute my work at the level I had in the past. Even then. I was not eager for the final day of work until about the week before it occurred. By then, I was relieved as well as still having a heavy heart at leaving my patients, my colleagues, my responsibilities, and my professional identify.
When asked, I reported my retirement plan as sleeping for 2 weeks, which, literally I did. And then some. And there came the day that I thought my strength and stamina had returned. And I thought, "Why am I retiring? Why am I not working? I can still do this." And, of course, the next day, I needed to sleep most of the day.
The point is, when I found myself having second thoughts about retiring, there was a mixture of thoughts and feelings to deal with: "I miss my co-workers. I miss the satisfaction of helping patients. I was good at what I did. I appreciated the recognition for what I did. It was an ego boost. I could not keep up. I could not work up to my potential. I was disappointed in my failure to perform up to my own expectations. It was not fair to my boss, coworkers, and patients who had a right to depend upon me. My performance was unprofessional, and even, perhaps, unethical. I did the best I could. The expectations from the administration were so overwhelming as to make the job impossible in some ways. It was time to get out of that depressing environment. It was heartbreaking to see a once premiere program ground down to almost nothing, no matter how hard the staff tried. It was not our fault; there was not enough staff to provide the high quality programming we could have been doing. It was time. I made the right decision. Who am I kidding? Myself most of all."
My internal dialogue reflects what I thought and felt, not anyone else. But I get the decision to change plans.
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