Triggers are interesting. Something that once bothered you terribly can eventually lose its sting! You do some inner work, gain a little perspective, and one day realize that the thing that used to push your buttons doesn’t even register anymore.
But what happens when the exact same words, years later, trigger an entirely different reaction?
This is a story about two doctors’ visits, four years apart, and a question that apparently follows me into medical offices.
When I first moved to San Diego at 59, I needed to find a new dentist. So there I was, reclining in that oh-so-vulnerable position that nobody particularly enjoys. (Does anyone actually wake up and say, “Yay! I get to go to the dentist today!”?)
And while we’re on the subject, why do dentists insist on asking questions when they have both hands in your mouth? What are they thinking? That we’ll somehow develop the ability to communicate through our nostrils?
Anyway, my new dentist was making conversation when she casually asked, “So, are you retired?”
Excuse me?
I felt a flush of indignation wash over me. RETIRED? At 59? Did I LOOK retired? Did she think I was older than I was? Was this her subtle way of suggesting that my best years were behind me?
Clearly, she’d hit a nerve. And it had nothing to do with my teeth.
It took some time and perspective for me to realize that retirement doesn’t necessarily come with an age requirement. I’ve met people in their 30s and 40s who made smart financial decisions, built successful businesses, invested wisely, or otherwise created enough freedom to stop working long before the traditional retirement age. Good for them!
But at that moment, I wasn’t thinking about financial independence. I was thinking about how old I looked.
Fast-forward four years, and I’m much more comfortable with my age because, frankly, I’m much more comfortable with myself. I’m 63, I feel great, and I have no intention of apologizing for the number. I’ve earned every one of those years, and I think I’m wearing them pretty well, thank you very much.
Which brings me to this past week.
I was at the eye doctor’s office, checking in for my appointment. As usual, I was asked to confirm my date of birth. And then came that familiar question.
“So, are you retired? Or are you going to retire soon?”
Same question. Different doctor. Four years later.
Only this time, instead of feeling insulted, I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
Well, THAT was unexpected.
I managed to blink them away, finish my paperwork, and get through the appointment. But when I got back to my car, I let the tears come.
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned through therapy and a fair amount of personal reflection is to get curious about my feelings instead of immediately trying to make them go away. For much of my life, I was pretty good at stuffing uncomfortable emotions into some imaginary closet and slamming the door. Unfortunately, those things have a way of coming back out, usually at the least convenient time.
So I sat in my car and asked myself, “Okay, Brenda. What’s going on here?”
And the answer came pretty quickly.
I don’t have any realistic expectation of retiring anytime soon.
Now, before anyone starts feeling sorry for me, please don’t. I love my life. I love my work. I love the fact that I’m constantly dreaming up new ventures, creating things, writing, speaking, and finding new ways to contribute. I’m genuinely excited about what I’m building, and the thought of sitting around with nothing to do holds absolutely no appeal.
But there’s a difference between getting to work and having to work.
And the truth is, I have to work.
Nobody is showing up to pay my rent, car insurance, or health insurance. And if I intend to keep myself in hair extensions and fabulous fingernails (which I absolutely do), somebody has to foot the bill.
That somebody is me.
Aside from a small pension from my years in government service and a death benefit from my former husband, the financial responsibility for my life rests squarely on my shoulders.
It’s all me, baby.
And most days, I’m perfectly fine with that. I take pride in being self-sufficient, and I’ve built a life that gives me tremendous freedom to do work I find meaningful.
But every now and then, the weight of being the one responsible for all of it feels like a lot.
Apparently, last week was one of those times.
I suspect we all have our own versions of this. Things we manage beautifully most days that occasionally feel heavier than usual. And I’ve noticed that when I’m not sleeping well, when my exercise routine gets disrupted, when I’ve been traveling, or when something is unsettled in a relationship or a client situation, my emotional reserves aren’t quite as plentiful.
Suddenly, something that wouldn’t normally bother me can send me into a tailspin.
Sometimes the answer isn’t some grand spiritual revelation or a breakthrough therapy session. Sometimes I need a good night’s sleep, a walk to the beach, a neck massage, or a conversation with a friend who can help me get things back into perspective. And sometimes I just need to make a list, check off a few things, and remind myself that everything doesn’t have to be accomplished by Thursday.
Of course, if the Publishers Clearing House Prize Patrol showed up at my door tomorrow with one of those gigantic checks, I wouldn’t turn them away.
In fact, I’d probably invite them in for coffee.
And if one of my books suddenly took off and generated enough royalties to fund facials for the rest of my life? Well, I certainly wouldn’t be mad about that either.
But here’s the thing. Even if I never had to work another day, I would still want to work. I love what I do, and I suspect I’ll always be dreaming up something new.
Which brings me back to those two triggers.
Four years ago, the question “Are you retired?” poked at my insecurity about aging. This past week, the same question touched a tender spot about financial security.
The words hadn’t changed. I had.
And that fascinates me.
It also makes me wonder how often we make too much of those occasional emotional “gotcha” moments. We get triggered by something and immediately start analyzing what’s wrong with us, why we haven’t gotten past this yet, or why something we thought we’d dealt with is suddenly bothering us again.
Maybe nothing’s wrong. Maybe there’s simply something new to understand.
My therapist said something this past week that I loved: “Sadness will come, but you don’t have to let it move in.”
Isn’t that good?
For a long time, I had this unrealistic idea that happiness was a destination I could eventually reach and remain in permanently. But when you’re constantly chasing happiness, it’s awfully easy to miss the moments when you’re actually experiencing it.
And life isn’t meant to be one long, uninterrupted stretch of happy.
There are disappointments and frustrations, unexpected tears in parking lots, and days when things just feel heavier than they should. There are also belly laughs, wonderful friendships, moments of absolute contentment, and the kind of joy that sneaks up on you when you’re not looking for it.
I don’t think I’d appreciate those beautiful moments nearly as much if I hadn’t experienced the others.
What I find encouraging is that we never really arrive at some final destination of personal growth where nothing bothers us anymore. I used to think healing meant getting to the point where I was completely unflappable. Good luck with that.
These days, I’m more interested in being curious than being unflappable.
There may come a day when someone asks, “Are you STILL working?” and I’ll have an entirely new reaction to explore. Maybe I’ll be offended. Maybe I’ll be exhausted. Or maybe I’ll smile and say, “Are you kidding? I’m just getting started!”
Actually, I rather like that answer.
Because it applies to so much more than work.
Am I completely healed from every disappointment life has handed me? Nope. But I’m on my way, and I’m just getting started.
Have I figured out everything there is to know about myself, my relationships, and what makes a meaningful life? Hardly. Still learning, still growing, still occasionally getting blindsided by a perfectly innocent question at a doctor’s office.
And that’s okay.
There’s something wonderfully freeing about approaching life with a beginner’s mindset. It keeps me curious, engaged, and open to the possibility that there’s always something more to discover. I can appreciate how far I’ve come without pretending I’ve got everything figured out.
Perhaps the goal isn’t to become someone who never gets triggered. Maybe it’s to become someone who can recognize what’s happening, get curious about it, and respond with a little more understanding and a lot less judgment.
And please, don’t beat yourself up when an old insecurity or an unexpected emotion makes an appearance. That would be like getting angry at a toddler for stumbling while learning to walk.
Give yourself a little grace.
You’re not a problem to be fixed. You’re a person who is still growing, changing, learning, and becoming.
And if anyone asks, you’re just getting started.
