The Incantation of: Micro-Retirement

Sometime in the midst of my frenzied flight booking this past January, the day I realized I simply had to walk the Camino de Santiago, like it would actually be spiritually irresponsible for me to not walk it this year, because “Nothing is guaranteed!” and “Now is all we ever have!” (there is nothing like an approaching birthday when you are halfway to retirement age to rouse an existential delirium), a friend told me about the concept of micro-retirement.

Micro-retirement. It gives a name to something I’ve been doing for years, almost compulsively; taking breaks up to a month long to travel, unplug, and throw myself into a goal or interest of mine. To seek inspiration and serendipity, make new friends, take some chances, and return to the bill-and-tax-paying life we all live with a little less resentment and, hopefully, a little more purpose.

The problem is, taking meaningful time off to do something like the Camino is not easy, especially when you’re a young American at the beginning of your career with a yearly 10 day PTO allowance and deeply inculcated guilt over taking any time off whatsoever.

This never sat well with me. I think that it’s a recipe for stress-related health issues, dreams deferred far too long, and deathbed regrets. To the degree that I have been able to help it, I have done my best to design my life in such a way that I can carve out time to do the things I want to do while I’m young and have my health, because frankly, I think putting off the things we really want to do until retirement (when we can help it) is far too risky, and honestly, sad.

I am a self-employed doula with clients that I adore. Birthwork calls to me in a way that I don’t think I will ever be able to put fully into words, though I have tried many times and will surely continue to do so. Birthwork also demands so much; the irony of trading in my 9-to-5 to pursue it has meant that I am now almost continuously on-call and tethered to my phone 24/7. It makes committing to literally anything, be it a workout class, a live show, or a weekend visiting my nephews in South Carolina a challenge. I never know when I will be called to a birth. I love it, but it is not my only calling.

There are so many things I want to do while I’m here, in this body — likely more than I can do in one lifetime. And I don’t currently have my hopes up about being able to retire at retirement age, either because of personal and professional decisions I’ve made that reduce that possibility, life circumstances beyond my control, or the depletion of social security and our general societal situation.

I do my best to take care of myself, but life has beaten me up physically in the past few years — more on that in a future post, I’m sure, when my body is avenging itself for suddenly having to walk 20 miles a day on the Camino — so I know that I only have so much say in what kind of physical condition I will arrive at retirement age in, if — not to be morbid or anything — I make it there at all.

All that to say, is all that I believe in the now. I suspect I will be working for potentially as long as I live, so why not take a micro-retirement or two each year to keep burnout at bay and my zest for life, well, zesty.

I want to spend time outside like it’s my full-time job; to feel the fresh air and sun on my skin, to taste foods I’ve never tasted before, to drink wine in the countryside where its grown. I want to experience what it’s like to make a quest on foot, to meet people who are heeding the same call as me, to take a break from social media and 24/7 on-call doula life, and to grow stronger physically and mentally in ways that only a pilgrimage can encourage. I want to discover reasons I’m not yet aware of for doing such things. And when I’m back, I want to be able to pour from a full to overflowing cup.

And so, starting tomorrow, I will take five weeks away and walk the Camino.

Come along for the journey?