Retirement has always been a four-letter word to me. My dad did not retire until he was 86-years-old. I am certain that his continued involvement with work, friends, and community gave him many additional, healthy years. So, when I recently left my beloved police officer position with the Morro Bay Police Department, I was not very thrilled — to say the least. I have seen some folks drift gently into retirement without a blink of an eye. Usually, they were in jobs that they hated and retirement was the top of the mountain that they arduously climbed throughout their work life. My career was always at the top of the mountain, which I never wanted to descend.
A cop's career is different then most. I admit there are some who considered their retirement from law enforcement a welcome relief. But there are others who considered the job a sacred trust and the ultimate life fulfillment. I am one of them. That is why I am struggling, like so many who went before me.
So many things change when a police officer removes his badge for the last time. Suddenly you see the camaraderie you have enjoyed through the years drift away. You still feel a part of the fraternity, but the fraternity is now closed to you — much like children's tree houses with signs, "No Buoys (or No Gurls) Allowed." After over thirty years of an identity based on being a police officer, you are suddenly thrust into the abyss of anonymity.
I recently spoke to a friend of mine who is a divorcee. She told me that when her last child moved out of the home at the end her senior year, her entire life changed. My friend remarked, "Poof, she was gone." My friend went on to say that suddenly she was no longer a wife, or even a real mother. She thought, "Mom just doesn't count anymore." And, so it is with a police officer's retirement.
I went through this before when I retired from a police agency in Los Angles County. That was when I moved to the Central Coast and wallowed in my despair for almost a year.
Then one day my telephone rang. It was my dear friend and ex-patrol car partner on the other end. He said that he just wanted to tell me "goodbye." I asked him where he was going and it was then that he said he had a gun to his head and was about to take the "emergency exit" that so many police retirees take. I spent the next hour and a half talking to my good friend. During those intense moments I made the transition from focusing on myself to focusing on the needs of others. That was my Renaissance. That was when I became a butterfly.
I'd be lying if I told you things have been peachy-keen since then, but my life certainly took a positive direction and that direction led me to the Morro Bay Police Department. Oh yes, my dear friend, he went on to become a psychologist specializing in the treatment of police officers who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. And me, I immediately began a newsletter, written for cops who had retired. It was my humble attempt to maintain our golden thread of fraternity.
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There is a theory in physics that suggests that a butterfly flapping its wings in one area of the world can change weather conditions in another remote area of the world. In other words, everything is connected in one way or another. I try to apply this butterfly effect in my life. Like "ripples in a pond," I believe that what we do and think has far reaching effects in the world, and perhaps in the universe. That one telephone call from my distraught friend changed my life, which changed others, which then changed others, and on into infinity. In my humble worldview, I know this is the reason to keep purpose in one's life. Retirement gives "purpose" more relevance now than perhaps it had during my career years. I am trying to think of retirement as merely another transition from the cocoon to the butterfly.
Now, I am again looking for a renaissance moment so that my butterfly can reemerge. Retirement continues to be a four-letter word, but I have lived long enough to realize the traumas we experience always bring us back into the light. I am no different than most of you. Sometimes I forget.
So, I am writing this not only as a reminder to myself, but also for those of you out there who have retired or find yourselves at some life transition. With the help of friends and family, I am learning to rest a while, heal, and then search for that purpose in life — which could come with my next telephone call.
