I have been outed. My colleagues now know -- I am retiring.
Even though I told my boss last week that I would retire during the coming year, I did not tell him that I was tentatively looking at 1 April as my retirement date.
However, I did tell a colleague at dinner one night. As of Thursday, most of my fellow workers now know that my time at work is limited -- literally.
I am not certain why I was guarding the date as a closely-held secret. But, I have some theories.
The first is that it was my date to choose, and I liked controlling the information. That is just another way of saying I have a personality disorder.
The second is more personal. Saying the date aloud is a final act. It is drawing a line. Those of you who have been reading this blog know that I make decisions only after thorough -- agonizingly thorough -- consideration. Even selling the house has given me second thoughts as the economy continues to soften.
But the third reason was the driving force behind my secrecy. My experience has been that whenever people announce their retirements more than a month before they intend to leave, they join the world of the Haitian zombies -- the walking dead. Challenging projects disappear. Telephone calls stop. People stop thinking of you as being helpful, and look straight through you in the same manner they do the homeless fellow standing on the corner with his cardboard sign and Vietnam campaign ribbon.
But that last step is going to happen sooner or later. People at work are not fools. My constant chatter about leases, houses, and beaches would not qualify me for an undercover role in Tehran.
So, outed I am. Like Cortés, with his boats ablaze in Vera Cruz harbor, my only choice is to march on to Mexico.
Even though I told my boss last week that I would retire during the coming year, I did not tell him that I was tentatively looking at 1 April as my retirement date.
However, I did tell a colleague at dinner one night. As of Thursday, most of my fellow workers now know that my time at work is limited -- literally.
I am not certain why I was guarding the date as a closely-held secret. But, I have some theories.
The first is that it was my date to choose, and I liked controlling the information. That is just another way of saying I have a personality disorder.
The second is more personal. Saying the date aloud is a final act. It is drawing a line. Those of you who have been reading this blog know that I make decisions only after thorough -- agonizingly thorough -- consideration. Even selling the house has given me second thoughts as the economy continues to soften.
But the third reason was the driving force behind my secrecy. My experience has been that whenever people announce their retirements more than a month before they intend to leave, they join the world of the Haitian zombies -- the walking dead. Challenging projects disappear. Telephone calls stop. People stop thinking of you as being helpful, and look straight through you in the same manner they do the homeless fellow standing on the corner with his cardboard sign and Vietnam campaign ribbon.
But that last step is going to happen sooner or later. People at work are not fools. My constant chatter about leases, houses, and beaches would not qualify me for an undercover role in Tehran.
So, outed I am. Like Cortés, with his boats ablaze in Vera Cruz harbor, my only choice is to march on to Mexico.
