Surviving The Two-Week Notice Syndrome

Have you ever worked out a notice at a job? It’s excruciating. You’re excited about the next chapter of your life and have romantic visions of how much better it’s going to be, while still dealing with the same old soul-crushing horseshit. Every minute feels like an hour, and every hour is like a 400-mile drive back to the real world following a wonderful vacation.

Yes, it’s because you can see the end; you’ve emotionally transitioned away from the “hunker down and survive it” mode you’ve been living in for the past ever-how-many years. Yet you’re still in the middle of it all. I call it the Two-Week Notice Syndrome.

Not to be too disgusting, but it reminds me of the phenomenon where you’ve got a powerful and potentially spectacular Maxwell House dump brewing and percolating. It’s imminent, and you’re Frankenstein-walking toward the bathroom, wondering if you’ll get there in time. Sweat beads are poppin’ out and the discomfort is escalating at an alarming rate. And then you SEE the toilet, and it gets even worse. Just being within eyesight of sweet relief cranks up the anguish, and the last few yards are the worst yards of ‘em all.

That’s what working out a notice is like.

And I certainly don’t want to equate my current job to shit contractions, but I feel like I’m entering the longest case of Two-Week Notice Syndrome I’ve known, by far. ‘Cause I’m only about five years away from retirement and can almost see the toilet.

Like I say, it’s not my current job, it’s just that I’ve been working (if you count the paper route, and I do) for 46 years. Obviously, I have an obligation and a sense of pride that keeps me engaged and wanting to do the best job I can. But the end is not that far away and after nearly five decades… I’m ready to take a seat on the metaphorical poop-hoop. My concern? It’s going to turn into a sixty-week two-week notice, and I don’t know how I’d possibly survive such a thing.

However, there’s another phenomenon that’ll take a bit of the sting out of it, I believe. It might be the only thing that saves me. It’s the undisputed fact that the planning of a trip is almost as fun as the trip itself. Some might say the same thing about a wedding (I wouldn’t) or moving into a new house (maybe). But I think it’s certainly true with major vacations.

I remember the run-up to our big trip to England a few years ago. My wife and I had a great time plotting and planning and researching the bejesus out of that thing. For nearly a year we had an ongoing dialog about how we should spend our days, where we should go, and what we should do. I’m surprised we didn’t have one of those giant bulletin boards that the way-too-obsessed detectives create on TV all the time. You know, with the photos and the newspaper clippings and the yarn? If you’re truly serious about solving a problem, you’ve got to have a huge murder board with yarn.

In any case, it was a blast talking about it and imagining how great it was going to be. And it was great! The best trip ever. As a result of our intensive research, I believe we stayed in the right location, did all the right things, and (just as important) steered clear of the crap that people find disappointing. Like Stonehenge, the Grand Canyon of the UK.

And that’s the mode we’re in right now with retirement. The early days of it, for sure. But I think it’s the only way we’re going to survive this wildly protracted case of Two-Week Notice Syndrome. We’re going to research and discuss and imagine. For years.

Indeed, this past spring we made a quick trip to Florida to scout possible places to live. ‘Cause we’re not staying up here with the snow and the angry kielbasa eaters. That is out of the question. So, we spent a few days in the Tampa area looking at neighborhoods we might be able to afford, and taking a reading of the general vibe down there. We weren’t blown away, but that’s just part of the process. On to the next place! It’s fun.

In October we’re going to be in South Carolina and will do some additional scouting. And over the weekends we’ll continue to talk things over and discuss what will need to be done to the house before we sell it, and so on. We’ll read about different areas of the southeast (our target) that might make the most sense for us, and check out townhouses online or condos or other such places where I’ll never have to mow a lawn or climb a ladder again. Oh, there’s plenty of plotting left to do.

And thank God for that, because it’s our only hope. I can already feel the coffee kicking in.

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