Hryts on Retirement

By Volodymyr Kish

In recent years, I have become increasingly aware that I am rapidly approaching that phase in life that our modern society calls retirement. I purposely add the context of modern society, since the whole concept of retirement is historically a rather recent development. Until the past century or so, one basically worked until one died. Things like pensions or old age nest eggs were basically restricted to a very small and well to do elite.

As with many others of my age, I am looking towards the prospect of retirement with mixed feelings. On the one hand, retirement opens up many new options for what to do with one’s new found time and freedom. On the other hand, retirement carries with it the general implication that one’s productive life is over and we are simply biding time until the grim reaper comes a calling.

As I ponder this dilemma yet one more time, I am reminded of the last time I was in Ukraine and had a chance to discuss this very subject with my cousin Hryts from Pidkamin. Hryts is one of the wisest people that I know, having spent significant time pondering the deeper questions and conundrums of life while playing herdsman to his small assembly of domestic livestock grazing in the lush fields around Pidkamin.

Now it should be noted that most of the other herdsmen of Pidkamin, when placed in the same situation out in the field, would be more inclined to spend their time daydreaming about Baba’s varenyky that they were going to be having for supper, or about the flirtatious smile and inviting shape of Oksana, the town postman’s daughter who lived by the stream down in the valley. Not Hryts though. Hryts was named after Hryhory Skovoroda, Ukraine’s most well-known philosopher, and he was determined to do justice to his namesake’s reputation.

Hryts had been quite precocious as a youngster, constantly badgering the village priest and the teachers at school to borrow from their personal libraries of books, which he devoured voraciously, accumulating a deep knowledge of the world, both physical and metaphysical. It was therefore surprising that, considering he had sufficient smarts to be successful at whatever he chose as a career, Hryts decided to remain in the village and continue tilling the land as many countless generations of his ancestors had done before him. Nonetheless, his talents were recognized by all the villagers and he grew into the role of the respected village elder, much sought after for his advice and counselling in all matters.

Frankly, it was a choice I found somewhat difficult to understand and appreciate considering his potential, though it was obvious that he was both sure and content with the life he had fashioned.

In any case, we were sitting under the magnificent walnut tree in his back yard one fine late summer’s evening, enjoying a generous measure of Armenian cognac that I had brought with me, when I broached the subject of my retirement concerns with him. His first reaction, in the typical Socratic fashion that he often emulated, was hardly surprising.

“Just what do you mean by retirement, my young turnip?” he enquired.

“Well,” I stammered, “I guess it means I will be putting an end to my lifelong career in the working world.”

“Hmm!” he uttered, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his finely tuned mind. “And this career of yours – has it been the main purpose of your life?”

“Uh…” I stammered some more, “Well, not exactly. It’s more that the jobs I’ve had have given me the financial ability to focus on the important things in my life like family, self-fulfillment, contributing to the community and society and so forth.”

“So…” he continued, “When you retire, you will no longer be able to do this?”

“No.” I replied. “Quite the opposite. I will actually have more time to devote to what I actually want and like to do.”

He stared back at me for a moment and exclaimed – “Really! Then I don’t understand your problem. Must be something in the cognac.”

“I…uh…no…well…it’s just that it’s such a big change. I’ve been working most of my life!” I replied.

“Bah!” he shot back with some disdain. “Your brain has turned into over-ripe sauerkraut! Every time we talk you complain about the stresses you face at work. A lifetime of that has given you high blood pressure. And you think you will miss that?”

“I suppose not.” I answered sheepishly.

“So stop yammering like a sick goose!” he continued. “Working doesn’t stop when you retire. Only now it will be focused more on what you want and not need to do, and what really makes you happy. It is time to harness all that knowledge and skill you have learned during your life and use it for more lasting purpose than to bring home the salo.”

“I guess I see your point.” I said quietly. “I should be thinking more about what I could be doing in the future than lamenting about what I did in the past. That is good advice. How can I ever thank you?”

“You can start,” he replied with a glint in his eye, “by pouring me some more of that Armenian cognac!”