Many years ago, one of my siblings (who will remain unnamed for my own safety in repeating this story) in a fit of anger at some rule or other, screamed at my mother, “This is a tie-raney!”
Needless to say, this outburst did not produce the desired response. Instead of outrage or anger, or being grounded until they were 25, they got hysterical laughter from both mom and their older siblings.
To be fair, the reason they couldn’t pronounce “tyranny” correctly was because they had only ever read the word, not heard it spoken, and as an adult I have some sympathy for their gaffe. But at the time, and even now, it still makes me laugh.
But now I also feel their pain. I am living with a tyrant, and a rebel – with both the perpetrator and the victim of this particular tie-raney. And they are both me.
This situation is a bit of a pickle. It seems that the rebel is refusing to follow any schedule or pay attention to any deadline, and the so-called tyrant – who is really just the adult in the room, much as my mother was all those years ago – keeps trying to impose some kind of order on the chaos of retirement.
Do you remember the anarchy that was summer vacation? When for a few short weeks all the discipline and order of the school year disappeared, much to the dismay of our parents? When we stayed up late and slept even later, or rose at the crack of dawn even though we refused to get up on time for school? When we did our best to ignore bath-time or bed-time, no matter how hard our parents tried to maintain some semblance of order?
Perhaps you also remember that lawless time from the point of view of a parent; trying to wrangle kids over-tired from days spent playing in the sun for hours, attempting to maintain some kind of order in the midst of the chaotic freedom of summer.
Or was that just me? I know my older child – who is now one of those people who get up at dawn to go to the gym before work – started out as a night owl. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that as a two-year-old he knew the phrase, “Heeere’s Johnny!”
Yet somehow we all survived the chaos, became adults (sort of), and eventually reached an age where we are once again released from outside schedules, and have to come up with our own replacements for the structure of schools and jobs.
I have been talking about this a lot lately, because I have been trying to figure out how to make this work for me, and I have been on a tilt setting for months.
The problem, as I see it, is what I described above: I have to be the parent who sets some kind of schedule and imposes deadlines, while at the same time I am the rebellious child screaming about “a tie-raney.” Given that setup, it’s pretty easy for rebel me to subvert everything adult me tries to do.
I mean, what is adult me going to do, send rebel me to my room? Rebel me would not see that as punishment, since I have books to entertain myself, and a comfy bed for a nap.
No, there don’t seem to be many consequences for rebel me. It’s like I can do whatever I want.
Oh, wait! That’s the definition of retirement I’ve been using, isn’t it?
D’oh!
I have been enjoying that freedom, even though it sometimes comes with a healthy serving of boredom. It’s fairly easy to handle the boredom with a book, or the television, or a game, or cruising the internet.
Among the dozens of ways to entertain myself I have discovered several TV series that are touchstones for my generation (broadly-defined) which I never watched. I must admit that some of them could – and one could argue should – remain undiscovered. Even those have proved to be instructional as I sample series that didn’t age well and quickly discard them, often learning something about story-telling in the process.
And yet…
There are things I want to do, stories I want to tell. But telling those stories means I have to sit down and put them into words that I can share with others, because for me that is part of the process. Telling stories requires an audience, and while Aesop might have been able to stand in the public square and recount his tales aloud, modern society frowns on such behavior. Besides, venues are hard to come by: librarians shush you, shopping malls have disappeared or have security teams to discourage public performances, pubs and restaurants want to control what gets performed on their premises.
Nope, if I want an audience I have to write this stuff down.
The biggest part of this battle is simply my own rebellion against rules and deadlines. Somewhere deep down my inner petulant adolescent keeps saying “You’re not the boss of me.” I don’t like her very much at the moment, but she seems to be testing her wings and trying to find the limits of her freedom.
I don’t know if this is common, nor do I have a good answer for her behavior right now. She was always such a “good girl,” and a rule-follower that I don’t quite know how to handle her.
I just know I don’t want to live in a tie-raney, even one where the rebel is in charge.
Has anyone else experienced this? Do you rebel against yourself, refusing to do the things you want to just because you can, maybe for the first time in your life? Were you a rule-follower and a schedule-keeper and now you just “don’t wanna”?
Who is imposing the tie-raney in your life?