For a while, I thought this chapter of my life was a story about limitations.
Arthritis gradually narrowed some of the activities I once took for granted. Walking Piper became more difficult at first and then I just couldn’t do it. Hikes on local trails became shorter and less frequent. Glen and I love to travel, and when we travel, we like to get out and see things. Museums, gardens, historic sites, conservation areas, and provincial parks are part of the joy of going somewhere new.
My hip has dampened that.
I have managed, but not in the way I would have wanted. I now measure distances, look for benches, consider parking spots, and think about how much walking a day will require.
Some everyday tasks changed as well. Mowing the lawn became unrealistic. Large stores sometimes required an accessibility scooter. Grocery shopping became easier when I started ordering online.
It would have been easy to conclude that arthritis had changed who I was.
Recently, however, I’ve begun to see things differently.
The more I reflected on it, the more I realized that I haven’t really become a different person at all.
I’ve always been a problem-solver.
When my children were young, I looked for ways to fit one more thing into an already busy day. When I wanted to continue my education while working and raising a family, I found another route. When technology presented new opportunities, I learned how to use it. When obstacles appeared, I looked for workarounds.
Looking back, some of my best solutions were surprisingly simple.
Many years ago, I traded my wheelbarrow for a large lawn wagon. Family members teased me and suggested it should be painted red so I could have my own little red wagon. What they didn’t understand was that the wagon allowed me to move soil, tools, and plants around the yard without waiting for someone else to help. Years later, many of those same people were borrowing it.
When my children were young and we spent weekends camping, another problem presented itself. Long car rides with four children could test anyone’s patience. Long before vehicles came equipped with entertainment systems, I rigged up a small television and VCR in the van using a Rubbermaid tote and a car adapter. The best part was that once we arrived at the trailer, we could unplug it and use it there as well. I’ve always liked solutions that do double duty.
Arthritis simply gave me a new set of problems to solve.
Some of the solutions have been practical. I use online grocery ordering. I have learned to use the accessibility scooter at Costco. A robotic pool cleaner replaced a more physically demanding vacuuming system. My cane, walker, and assortment of jar openers have become useful tools.
One of my favourite solutions actually came from my husband Glen. Having spent years in the car business, he bought me a strap wrench normally used to loosen oil filters. Today it lives in a kitchen drawer and helps me open stubborn jars. It may not be what the manufacturer had in mind, but it works.
What surprised me most was not the physical adaptations.
It was what filled the space they left behind.
As some activities became more difficult, I found myself spending more time at my computer. At first it was simply practical. Writing was something I could do sitting down. Research was something I could do sitting down. Designing a book cover was something I could do sitting down.
Before long, however, I realized I wasn’t choosing these activities only because they were easier on my hip.
I was choosing them because I enjoyed them.
The same curiosity that once led me to tinker with early computers, figure out correspondence courses, and create homemade solutions for family life was now leading me into publishing, website design, graphics programs, and artificial intelligence.
Learning GIMP is a bit like being dropped into a foreign city without a map. At first, nothing is where I expect it to be. Then I learn a few landmarks, discover a shortcut or two, and eventually find my way around.
Of course, given my sense of direction, this may not be the most reassuring comparison. I can get turned around in a parking lot, so wandering through GIMP’s menus and layers can feel like trying to find my hotel in Venice without a street sign.
Still, I keep exploring. One feature starts to make sense. Then another. Eventually, I manage to create something that looks more or less the way I imagined it, which feels like arriving at the right destination after several wrong turns.
The Cricut machine followed a similar path. It sat in the box for quite a while before I worked up the courage to open it. Once I did, one project led to another. Soon I was making personalized mugs, gifts for family and friends, and experimenting with new techniques.
The tools changed.
The learning didn’t.
Looking back, I don’t think arthritis created a writer, a publisher, or a crafter.
Those interests were already there.
Life simply gave them more room to grow.
When I think about it, the signs were there long before retirement.
When my children were young, I occasionally made little story booklets for birthdays and special occasions. I wrote silly poems and family jokes. One of our favourites involved our dog, Waggs:
“I am a puppy dog, my name is Waggs.
I jingle when I walk because of my tags.”
It wasn’t exactly great literature, but that wasn’t the point.
It made us laugh.
The desire to write was already there. Life was simply too busy for me to spend much time exploring it.
The same was true of technology.
Long before websites, publishing platforms, artificial intelligence, and graphics software, I owned a Commodore VIC-20. Later I received my brother’s Commodore 64. I spent hours exploring what those early computers could do.
I wasn’t trying to become a computer expert.
I was curious.
I wanted to know how things worked.
Looking back, curiosity may be the common thread running through much of my life.
It explains why I went back to university as a mature student.
It explains why I still enjoy learning new software.
It explains why I continue to tackle projects that occasionally leave me wondering what I was thinking when I started them.
The projects may have changed over the years, but the curiosity has remained remarkably consistent.
As I prepare for a hip replacement today, I am hopeful about walking more comfortably again. I look forward to exploring museums, gardens, stores, and travel destinations with a little less pain and a little more freedom.
There is one other thing I’ve been thinking about lately.
People often ask whether I enjoy retirement.
The truth is, I’m not entirely sure I think of myself as retired.
I retired from nursing. That chapter is finished.
But retirement turned out not to be an ending. It was a transition.
The projects changed. The pace changed. The schedule changed.
What didn’t change was my need to learn, create, solve problems, and keep moving forward.
Perhaps that explains the question mark in the title of this blog.
Retired?
Eh… not exactly.
This isn’t really a story about losing old interests and replacing them with new ones.
It’s a story about continuing to grow.
Life has not unfolded the way I planned it.
Then again, some of the best chapters never do.