With an eye to teaching, I chose college courses which would give me a broad background knowledge in history. Of all the subjects I studied in high school, history was the one that caught my interest, thanks in large part to stellar teachers who helped me see beyond facts and events to cyclical patterns of human behaviour. The rise and fall of empires and civilizations might vary in timelines, but followed the same inevitable paths to extinction.

Any historical concentration which might be helpful to my teaching career was explored. Added to that was a smattering of courses in economics, politics and English. Graduation came four years later with an Honours BA and the hope of acceptance at the teachers’ college nearby.

Once the busy days of settling in were behind me, the patterns of routine began to form. Newness gave way to familiarity and I was proud of the way I navigated the practical logistics of independence. However, such positives did not ward off my increasing sense of isolation and loneliness.

Living off site made authentic people connections irregular at best and I spent a lot of time alone in my room. My roommate, still a stranger at this point, juggled a busy schedule with part time work and was rarely home. Loneliness, like a weighted blanket, pressed me down as I realized building friendships and having a sense of belonging wasn’t going to be quick.

It’s not a bad thing, though, to strip away the chatter and busyness and be left alone to think and acknowledge self. Mindfulness gradually became an antidote to despair and, over time, led to healthier choices related to spending my time and cultivating friendships. These were days of new beginnings for me and being away from the constraints of home added a broader spectrum of choices to the mix.

I chose the same university as my sister. Not a surprise to anyone, I’m sure. I was already familiar with the city and campus thanks to several visits during the sister pickups and dropoffs pre and post each academic year. Accommodation was arranged for me through my parents’ networking connections. A basement apartment in the home of a retired couple was secured right near campus. What could possibly go wrong?

When it came time to leave home and head to university, I was torn. On the one hand I was excited. Three of my siblings had already left to study and their experiences seemed only positive from my perspective. On the other hand, I was anxious (understatement) to leave home with so many what-ifs clouding my future. I settled on a university which had a satellite college in my home town, citing the offer of a full scholarship as my reason, but honestly I was just not ready to leave home where things were predictable and safe.

The college experience was a new element in my life at least and the different setting with higher expectations and new people to navigate, significantly pushed back the boundaries of my comfort zone. The pride I felt in my academic successes in that first year, however, was tempered by the voice in my head telling me that I had settled for less and that I needed to leave home and actually launch. I was ready … in an act-as-if sort of mind set.

There is definitely benefit in being part of a collective. I’m not talking about a visceral need to belong, although that could be a topic for another day. I am being more pragmatic and thinking of all the times I needed something tangible: a ride, some cash, a bit of advice, a strong back and sometimes a pickup truck.

There was a time I thought self-sufficiency was something to strive for, but no longer. Reaching out and accessing allies to help is often more efficient, less stressful and nine times out of ten way more fun.

Reading the title might give the impression that I’m talking about body mass. It’s true that over the years I have significantly expanded my physical presence, but I’m referring to a different kind of largeness: the powerful presence of personality. Situations that previously cornered me in a victim scenario, I discovered, can be overthrown with a boost of enhanced personality. I liken it to a care bear belly boost that fills the air with positivity and overwhelms the negative intentions of bully wannabes.

A past tormentor was stunned into silence when he began mocking this choir boy carrying a box of chocolate bars for sale. A loud confident sales pitch coupled with an assertive walk towards him, stunned him into silence and put a forever end to his game. Life is easier when you’re large. I know.

Here’s a piece of advice that changed my life: act as if. I don’t recall who told me this or when I started implementing it, but it was a catalyst for positive change in my life. What does a confident person look like? Talk like? How does he move? Interact with others? I learned that if you act “as if” long enough, it becomes easier and feels natural. Others accept that this is the authentic you and over time, that’s exactly who you now have become.

I have the privilege of mentoring those just starting their careers and I pass along this time-tested advice. I phrase it differently, perhaps wrap it in a metaphor, but it’s essentially the same: act as if.

High school opened its doors to kids from various feeder schools. It was a chance for a fresh start, a reinvention. It’s true my new school had its potential bullies, but all the new faces and uncertainties for everyone, even bullies, made adjustment the priority.

Gradually, connections were made and like-minded niners forged friendships for company, convenience and protection. I joined lots of extra-curricular clubs and filled my non-class time with activity. I ate lunch with new friends and walked back and forth to school others. It was a new day and a new Don.

I was a classic bully magnet: shy, uncertain and a tad inept. Soft spoken, conflict avoiding and nerdy. On my way home from school one day, a couple dogs from opposite sides of the street teamed up and joyfully bark-chased me till they lost interest. Even animals knew a victim when they spotted one.

Every school has its collection of thugs who find their fun in teasing and torment. Mine was typical. The memories of what actually was said or happened have faded, but the smug faces of my tormentors are easily recalled all these years later. My early school years were not much fun. High school changed all that.

Gradually, I recognized what most already knew: if you want to do better at school, pay attention and do your work. It wasn’t and still isn’t rocket science, but it was a while before this guy made the connection. I got better at the school way of learning and started to enjoy a slow ascent from the bottom of the grading ladder.

Getting good grades and accolades became a way of boosting self-esteem in a context where I felt underestimated and discounted. Things were looking up. Then came the bullies.

I had the usual gamut of occupations in mind as a kid: firefighter, police officer, veterinarian and the like. It wasn’t until I had my first male teacher in grade 5 that I thought that maybe this would be something I would like to do. I don’t think that I ever considered any other career very seriously after that.

I didn’t do particularly well in school at first so I’m not sure why I thought teaching would be an appropriate option. In fact, one teacher spoke with my parents about holding me back so I could experience the joys of grade 3 once again. It didn’t happen and I moved on minus the extra joy. “Recommended” was the word used which basically was a wait and see until Christmas. Something must have clicked because Christmas came and went without the hook pulling me back a grade. I wasn’t setting the world on fire, but at least the movement was forward.

I tried acting starting with roles in kids’ musicals and then moved on to more serious productions geared towards adult audiences. It became obvious that blanking out, forgetting lines and ad-libbing were deal breakers. Unfortunately, practice doesn’t always make perfect. Besides, type-casting me as a snooty, self-important blowhard more than once was kind of humbling.

My experience on stage, however, gave me a huge appreciation for those who do it well and today I remain an avid theatre-goer.

As a kid, I was the kind every old lady adored. I was quiet, polite and could sit for hours without reprimand in the company of adults. Truth be told, I was coddled and shy. Being silent shielded me from notice and possible embarrassment. It’s ironic how my abilities often gave me a spotlight.

One of my teachers suggested I get into public speaking because I would be good at it. I thought that this was some sort of take-on-a-project-student effort on her part, and dismissed it. But eventually, even I had to admit when we gave speeches in schools, mine were actually pretty good.

During my career, I had many opportunities to stand up in front of audiences and make comments and give formal talks. At my retirement party, a member of my staff commented that one of the things about me that had always impressed her was my ability to give a speech at a moment’s notice on any topic under the sun. The shy little guy who still dwells within loves that.

I sang my first solo at a Christmas concert when I was in grade 9: the wise man who brought toddler Jesus the gold. Turns out this boy could sing and sing I did …. weddings, funerals, concerts and festivals. I sang for years and gradually realized that when people said I was great, it was true. 😳

What a great idea to join the community choir: new friends with a passion for singing and lots of concerts to fundraise for community projects and needy folks. We are a grey-headed bunch to be sure with lots of life experience, a mix of good and bad times and the wisdom that tags along with it.

Doing the same job you retired from is like eating leftovers. Tasty at first, but then predictably bland. New path: find some fun and maybe fulfilment doing enjoyable things. Joined a community choir, watched cheap Tuesday movies, walked trails by the river and got very busy.

A call from my former employer gave me a short term reprieve from my transition in the form of a series of short-term contracts basically doing what I had pre-retirement, but with reduced expectations and less accountability. Filling their gap also served to fill mine. Temporarily at least.

I remember my first post retirement project: binging Netflix’s Lost series …. 6 seasons and 121 episodes. Didn’t understand the ending, but a finish nonetheless. A series of unspectacular time-fillers followed showcased on social media with posts featuring cupcakes, treadmills, and balcony views.

I’m not saying a chance to reset and repurpose isn’t a good thing. For me, the transition was unexpectedly difficult. My work identity had masqueraded as real self and prioritized its needs for years. After the parties and well wishes, freedom’s glow lasted about two weeks.

Two words that I never thought would fit together: retirement and sucks. But it did. Some days, while I was working, thinking about retirement helped me hang onto sanity. Hang in there, I told myself. One day my time will be my own … completely. Be careful what you wish for.