By Phyllis W. Zeno
It came as a shock when the new president of the company where I had worked for 29 years called me to his office one Tuesday morning along with the director of human resources. He opened his portfolio and announced cheerfully, "We're planning a retirement luncheon for you this Friday and thought we'd get a list of the executives you'd like invited."
It came as a shock when the new president of the company where I had worked for 29 years called me to his office one Tuesday morning along with the director of human resources. He opened his portfolio and announced cheerfully, "We're planning a retirement luncheon for you this Friday and thought we'd get a list of the executives you'd like invited."
As editor of the company's travel magazine I had founded some 20 years earlier, I had received nothing but glowing reports on every review.
But the truth is, I was 78 years old and highly paid. I suspect the company felt that it was time to bring in a younger person at a lower salary in this period of economic stress.
"Are there no other jobs in the company where I might fit in?" I asked, reeling in shock.
The HR director stepped in. "None at your salary," she assured me.
"I heard they were looking for a writer in travel promotions," I ventured.
"You wouldn't be interested in that. The pay is in the thirties."
"I'll take it," I said boldly. "I don't really care about the money. I just enjoy working."
The new president looked startled. He exchanged questioning glances with the HR director, then folded up his notebook and stood up.
"Cancel the luncheon Friday, and see what you can work out," he said.
I seriously considered applying for the travel promotions job, but did I really want to take an inferior job after so many years at the top, just for the joy of working? If not here, maybe somewhere else.
If I was leaving the job I created so many years ago, at least I would leave on my terms, and I worked out a retirement that was very favorable to me.
But the fact was, I wasn't ready to retire. I loved my job... gathering articles about interesting people and places to visit, sailing on cruise ship inaugurals, crisscrossing the world to collect stories... and 78 didn't seem like the end of the world to me. Still, who would hire a 78-year-old editor?
Ah, but the wonderful thing about being a writer is that you can do it in your own home and no one needs to know your age.
A mantra my mother used to quote to me was: "Man, as the reflection of God, has infinite capabilities, limitless opportunities and ceaseless occupation."
Age played no part in that quotation. I only needed to know that I had infinite intelligence and limitless ideas and the right opportunity would present itself to me.
On the other hand, another favorite family phrase was "God helps him who helps himself!" I couldn't just sit home and wait for that opportunity to come to me.
I got on the Internet and started looking for writing opportunities.
There were offerings galore, but unfortunately most of them were in New York, and I was firmly situated in Clearwater, Florida. I had enjoyed a long and successful career. Perhaps it was time to sit back and enjoy beach living.
My age was against me, that was for sure. Or was it? Did my years of travel, coupled with my editing experience, count for something? I should not buy into the belief that I had outlived my usefulness. My body was not as mobile as it used to be, but my mind was as active as ever.
I returned to the Internet and started job-hunting again. And there, as if by Divine plan, was an ad for a travel writer in St. Petersburg. Perfect! I could write from home, and the employer never needed to know how old I was.
I dashed off a letter relating how I had ridden camels in Egypt and elephants in India, gone ballooning in France and mountain climbing in Africa and now was ready to freelance as a travel writer.
I didn't have to wait long for an answer. The publisher was interested in my background, would I come to his office for an interview?
My heart sank. I was not a gray-haired old lady with a shawl and a cane, but I was no young chick either. The important thing, I told myself, was to let him see that I had fresh, young ideas and the "go-get-em" spirit to go with them.
I climbed the stairs to his second floor office, strode into the waiting room and announced myself. The publisher was young and attractive, obviously enterprising and surprisingly interested.
For the next hour I laid out my ideas, entertained him with stories of my adventures and prayed that my age didn't stand in the way of freelancing some articles for him.
As I wound up my presentation, he leaned back in his chair, locked his fingers across his chest and was thoughtful. Then he said, "I think you're just the person I'm looking for to be editor of my magazine. Could you start right away?"
As simply as that, I became editor of Marco Polo travel magazine, with far-flung trips to exotic places like Mumbai and Dubai and Shanghai and destinations I'd only dreamed of. And all from the comfort of my Florida condo.
And all because I'd realized that ideas are not only limitless, they're also ageless, and your value is as infinite as you allow it to be, so you can find ceaseless occupation.
But the truth is, I was 78 years old and highly paid. I suspect the company felt that it was time to bring in a younger person at a lower salary in this period of economic stress.
"Are there no other jobs in the company where I might fit in?" I asked, reeling in shock.
The HR director stepped in. "None at your salary," she assured me.
"I heard they were looking for a writer in travel promotions," I ventured.
"You wouldn't be interested in that. The pay is in the thirties."
"I'll take it," I said boldly. "I don't really care about the money. I just enjoy working."
The new president looked startled. He exchanged questioning glances with the HR director, then folded up his notebook and stood up.
"Cancel the luncheon Friday, and see what you can work out," he said.
I seriously considered applying for the travel promotions job, but did I really want to take an inferior job after so many years at the top, just for the joy of working? If not here, maybe somewhere else.
If I was leaving the job I created so many years ago, at least I would leave on my terms, and I worked out a retirement that was very favorable to me.
But the fact was, I wasn't ready to retire. I loved my job... gathering articles about interesting people and places to visit, sailing on cruise ship inaugurals, crisscrossing the world to collect stories... and 78 didn't seem like the end of the world to me. Still, who would hire a 78-year-old editor?
Ah, but the wonderful thing about being a writer is that you can do it in your own home and no one needs to know your age.
A mantra my mother used to quote to me was: "Man, as the reflection of God, has infinite capabilities, limitless opportunities and ceaseless occupation."
Age played no part in that quotation. I only needed to know that I had infinite intelligence and limitless ideas and the right opportunity would present itself to me.
On the other hand, another favorite family phrase was "God helps him who helps himself!" I couldn't just sit home and wait for that opportunity to come to me.
I got on the Internet and started looking for writing opportunities.
There were offerings galore, but unfortunately most of them were in New York, and I was firmly situated in Clearwater, Florida. I had enjoyed a long and successful career. Perhaps it was time to sit back and enjoy beach living.
My age was against me, that was for sure. Or was it? Did my years of travel, coupled with my editing experience, count for something? I should not buy into the belief that I had outlived my usefulness. My body was not as mobile as it used to be, but my mind was as active as ever.
I returned to the Internet and started job-hunting again. And there, as if by Divine plan, was an ad for a travel writer in St. Petersburg. Perfect! I could write from home, and the employer never needed to know how old I was.
I dashed off a letter relating how I had ridden camels in Egypt and elephants in India, gone ballooning in France and mountain climbing in Africa and now was ready to freelance as a travel writer.
I didn't have to wait long for an answer. The publisher was interested in my background, would I come to his office for an interview?
My heart sank. I was not a gray-haired old lady with a shawl and a cane, but I was no young chick either. The important thing, I told myself, was to let him see that I had fresh, young ideas and the "go-get-em" spirit to go with them.
I climbed the stairs to his second floor office, strode into the waiting room and announced myself. The publisher was young and attractive, obviously enterprising and surprisingly interested.
For the next hour I laid out my ideas, entertained him with stories of my adventures and prayed that my age didn't stand in the way of freelancing some articles for him.
As I wound up my presentation, he leaned back in his chair, locked his fingers across his chest and was thoughtful. Then he said, "I think you're just the person I'm looking for to be editor of my magazine. Could you start right away?"
As simply as that, I became editor of Marco Polo travel magazine, with far-flung trips to exotic places like Mumbai and Dubai and Shanghai and destinations I'd only dreamed of. And all from the comfort of my Florida condo.
And all because I'd realized that ideas are not only limitless, they're also ageless, and your value is as infinite as you allow it to be, so you can find ceaseless occupation.
http://www.chickensoup.com
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