Earlier this summer, on a very hot August night in one of those unexplained Eleanor Roosevelt “you must do the thing you think you cannot do” moments, I stepped on stage at The Old Church in Portland and told a story in front of hundreds of people. I was so grateful to the supportive Moth staff and audience, and especially my handholding friend who accompanied me. Here’s how it went down:
Watch/listen:
Transcript (with photos):
Three months ago, I retired from my state government job. My plan was to start living my real life, but I didn’t know how to get there. Thank god for Instagram, which fed me an ad for an artist residency in Ireland. I applied and was shocked and thrilled to be invited. I spent my first day of retirement on a plane to Ireland for the first time.
I arrive at this beautiful country estate in Kerry County on the coast with about a dozen people from around the world; artists in various media at different ages and stages in their careers.
I was afraid the other attendees would be weirdos. They were not. They were very cool. So cool, they awakened in me this cringey, adolescent desperation to be included, part of the “in crowd.” I was particularly starstruck by a small tight group of young, like 30ish, women who were smart and badass and cool and brave and creative—in my head I called them the Alphas. The Alpha girls.
The residency had fabulous excursions and visiting local artists, and we sat down to dinner together every night. But mostly we were on our own. I felt a pain in my heart every time the Alphas described a wild adventure they had been on. They would have included me; they just didn’t think to invite me. I get it, I’m old. Old enough to be their mother or even grandmother in some places. And honestly, I really didn’t want to go daydrinking at the rally races. But I really wanted to be with the Alphas!
The hillside behind the estate is dotted with sheep farms and holiday homes and at the top is the Kerry Way, a 135-mile walking path. One fine spring morning, I hike up there, past the graveyards. There are two graveyards; classic Ireland, they love their dead people. There’s the current one but I stopped at the ancient one. It was lumpy and shaggy and the headstones were falling over and covered with lichen. I knew I was treading on the bones of the departed. I think about how I’m entering the final third of my life and how my Alpha girl days are behind me. PS, we’re all going to die someday.
I continue on the Kerry Way which goes into farmland and I encounter a sheep right in the middle of the path. She can’t move because she’s delivering a lamb! She’s giving birth right there. But then I see the lamb is stuck. And the lamb is dead. It’s crusty, bloody head and front legs flop next to her. My experience with sheep is limited to counting them in my head. This ewe has a dead lamb hanging from her vagina! Should I pull it out? What if I hurt her? What if she hurts me? She looks straight into my eyes, begging for help. But I was afraid.
I ran off to find somebody else and the first person I encounter is Cayley, a very lovely, high-spirited Alpha from New Jersey. Cayley says, “My mom has a goat farm, let’s go!” When we get back to the sheep, Cayley doesn’t slow down, she doesn’t hesitate, she doesn’t stop—she goes goes right up to this sheep and yanks the lamb out. She’s splattered with bloody sheepbirth fluid. It is indeed a hot mess. Cayley and I lock eyes, forever bonded by this surreal experience.
Suddenly this tightknit neighborhood embraces us; Cayley’s known at the local pub as the feckin’ sheep saver. And the Alphas start including me in their adventures: a seaweed soak, a Dingle day trip. It was grand.
I used to think retirement was an ending, but now I see it can be a beginning if I just dislodge these psychoblocks that are holding me back and give birth to my authentic life.