We’ve been away from winter for more than six weeks. As I write this, the temperature at home is eight degrees above zero. If I were there, my fingertips and toes would be without feeling, white from the cold and Raynaud’s disease. I would turn the heat up higher, but sitting near the windows, I would still be cold. With each new snowfall, I would be concerned about slipping on the ice. Not a pretty picture.
Here, the sky is blue most of the days and is a palette of oranges, pinks and purples when the sun goes down (much later than it does at home). We walk the beach every day and watch the shorebirds and the pelicans, hawks and buzzards sweeping across the horizon. It’s breathtaking.
Our days are our own. We set no alarm clock. We go to the gym. We go to our movie class. We see old friends, and we make new friends. We go to theater, movies, ballet, opera and art galleries.
But something is missing--I think it’s “purpose.”
When I retired two-plus years ago, I mourned the loss of my place in the community I loved. It took a while for me to find the right mix of volunteering, learning, and working, but when I did, I found “purpose.”
For me, it’s an essential ingredient that has gone missing here in the Florida sun.