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I RECENTLY SHIFTED from part-time work to complete retirement. I closed my laboratory, published my final research findings, and handed over my teaching duties to a bright-eyed, newly minted assistant professor.
After I cut the career cord, my retired friends cautioned me that I’d likely experience a multifaceted, work-related dream, similar to those described by Andrew Forsythe in a recent article. They just didn’t tell me it might be a nightmare.
Sure enough, a few nights after retiring, I had “the dream.”
I found myself at my own surprise retirement party, conveniently held in my office, which—in a sort of Lewis Carroll way—had miraculously tripled in size. The distorted room was decorated with banners and balloons.
Dozens of vibrant students and young professionals were in attendance. Oddly, I didn’t recognize more than a handful of individuals, and those I knew weren’t work colleagues. I stood distant and apart from the guests. No one ventured in my direction to shake my hand, clap me on the shoulder or give me a much-needed hug.
Rather than interacting directly with me, the guests began taking my books, lab equipment and office supplies. Perhaps they desired keepsakes to remember me, although none asked me to sign any textbooks. They also took fancy chocolates and my espresso machine, items I never kept in my office in real life.
I politely asked the dream people to return the chocolates, but no one could hear me. People continued to arrive and remove contents, ignoring my watchful gaze. Eventually, someone arrived with a dolly and took my desk, chair and computer. Oddly, the monitor and mouse were left behind.
As the dream progressed, my former department chair informed me that I needed to say a few words about my career accomplishments. I excitedly thanked him for the opportunity to speak, even if it represented a public speaking experience at a moment’s notice.
After a minute to gather and crystalize my thoughts, I was given a microphone. By the time I took the podium, however, everyone had disappeared. The office was now stripped to bare walls. The only remaining artifact was my framed graduate school diploma, which hung askew.
I scanned the room, seeing only a few scattered chocolate bar wrappers and coffee beans. Eventually, an elderly gentleman with a broom arrived to sweep the floor.
Retirement parties are supposed to be a confirmation of our achievements. Remember what Warren Buffett said about knowing who’s swimming naked when the tide goes out? Well, I felt like the guy waiting for the tide to reverse, wondering if I’d accomplished anything of value.
To make matters worse, I suddenly sensed I’d lost my phone and car keys during the “celebration.” That pushed me over the edge. True anxiety set in. I hurriedly left the office, with my heart racing and blood pounding in my ears. I ambled aimlessly down empty corridors, hearing muffled conversations taking place behind closed doors. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally exited the complex.
I soon found myself walking within a small wooded grove with a bubbling stream. At that point, I stood perfectly still and simply watched dragonflies flit about, just out of reach of hungry goldfish below the water’s surface. Eventually, my anxiety departed and I welcomed a returning sense of calm. Along with that feeling came an abstract satisfaction of discovering a world outside my work that was presumably always within reach, albeit unbeknownst to me before my departure.
I awoke, realizing I had just experienced “the dream.” As a confirmation of survival, my phone was beside me on the nightstand, next to my keys.
Now, I’m certainly not an expert on dream interpretation. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist—or a retired molecular immunologist—to see this dream as an expression of fear about losing my career identity. Perhaps it was an unconscious coping mechanism to help me move on to whatever new adventures await.
Of course, the dream may also have been a manifestation of an undigested bit of beef that I ate the night before. I’ll likely never know.
Jeffrey K. Actor, PhD, was a professor at a major medical school in Houston for more than 25 years, serving as an academic researcher with interests in how immune responses function to fight pathogenic diseases. Jeff’s retirement goals are to write short science fiction stories, volunteer in the community and spend time in his garden. Check out his earlier articles.
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with the transactional nature of employment these days, I had no feelings of loss when I left.
Good one. I’m struggling to hang onto my identity by consulting part time after “retiring” which is maybe why I cant recall having this same dream. I also remember some dreams and also occasionally in great detail. I related one yesterday in great detail to my wife where (I’ll summarize..) my car got towed in a snow storm and I had to go into a retail store to get the keys. But instead of the keys, I was given a jar of pineapple jelly. Not sure if that one means anything either but I did know what to have on my toast.
Rob, Dreaming of car trouble issues….Perhaps you felt like you were caught in a “jam”?
When my retirement started I felt like your mouse and monitor: left behind, no respect. Realizing there’s a whole world outside the old work world made it easier to move on and let the past be the past.
Jeff. Fascinating story. If you are visited by the ghosts of retirement past, present, and future please tell us about it.
As long as it doesn’t occur during end of year holiday season, I will. 😉
Jeff, that’s some dream! And like your other commenters, I’m impressed not only with its detail and story line but even more by the fact that you remember it all. And yes, best of all is the happy ending.
Congrats on your retirement and best wishes for many happy future dreams.
Andrew, Thanks for well wishes. As you can see, your essay from last February tickled my dreams, as well as my pen.
Welcome to retirement, where every day is Saturday.
Welcome to retirement. Like Jeff, I hardly ever remember my dreams – I would say that I don’t dream but presumably that’s not the case. This one sounds painful, but the ending is very promising. You now have the gift of time, if you choose to consider it a gift.
I certainly consider it a gift. And, I now have time for naps, allowing me to potentially remember more dreams! 😉
I never have dreams with that kind of clarity. In fact, I rarely remember any of my dreams. I’m guessing catharsis – as you say, your mental doorway to retirement was opened and you stepped through it. Have a great journey.
Jeff, Thanks. Yes, I stepped through that doorway, and am becoming comfortable in my choice to retire. It is crazy how many dreams I remember in great clarity!