Yesterday was an interesting day as I was invited to a retirement party for my long-time friend, Steve. My history with Steve goes back to the early 1990s, when, along with my other friend, Ralph, we embarked on a 30-year adventure.
My connection with the two had been cursory. I had just started to date my wife, who was the clinical director of the eating disorder unit at the hospital where I was the medical director of the chemical dependency program. My wife was leaving her position to enter a PhD program when we started dating. Her boss, another doctor, had a big going-away party for her at her Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired home in horsey country, and my future wife brought me along. Ralph had been working on the eating disorder unit, and rumor has it that he asked his wife, “What in the world is Dr. Kuna doing here?” Little did either of us know that would be the start of a 30-year friendship.
Steve and Ralph were working for the doctor who threw my wife’s party, and that doc was good friends with the doctor I was working for. Steve and Ralph were talking about moving on, and my boss saw an opportunity, but he didn’t want to jeopardize his relationship with their boss. “Mike, I want you to meet with these two doctors with the idea of having them join us.” He was my boss, and so I did what I was told. In the end, this turned out to be a fortunate request.
The three of us hit it off, and it was clear that we would work well together. That meeting eventually led us to form Genesis Clinical Services, which at one time was the largest psychiatric clinic in the suburban county where it was based.
To be honest, I don’t think any of us really knew what we were getting into. We were doctors who wanted to take care of patients. How hard could it be to manage over a dozen clerical staff and even more clinicians? OK, we were extremely naive.
The three of us automatically fell into our roles, most likely based on our personality types. Ralph loved the business aspects of Genesis and gravitated to all things numbers. Steve is an extremely likable person. I used to joke, “Everyone loves Steve.” However, that joke was more true than fiction. Steve was our marketing person. In our little family of three, I always felt like the crazy uncle who lived in the basement. What would my role be? What were my skills that went beyond being a good doctor? What could I bring to the table? I’m a creative guy who seems to grasp complicated technical subjects easily. Those traits would have to do. I taught myself desktop publishing and started to write the clinic newsletter. I taught myself how to use multi-track audio editing software, built a portable recording studio, and produced a psychiatric podcast for the clinic. I taught myself web design, then taught myself portrait photography so I could create the clinic’s first website. I coded the first interactive clinic note system for the clinic, and so on. My weekdays were spent seeing patients, and my weekends were spent learning and applying technology.
Since we all had different roles, we never stepped on each other’s feet. I can’t recall ever having a serious disagreement with Steve or Ralph during those years. We would meet weekly to discuss the clinic and to catch up with each other’s lives and families. I always looked forward to those meetings. However, these were also stressful times for me as I was chronically ill, constantly fatigued, and struggling to get through the day. I was working 60 hours a week, plus all of the technical projects. I don’t know how I did it, but it was necessary, so I did it. As you may recall, the problem that I was having was an unusual reaction from a common medication that I was taking. No doctor, including me, could figure out that this was the issue, so I carried a variety of diagnoses from MS to Myasthenia Gravis. I finally made the connection decades later. I was grateful to solve my problem, but I just wish I had done so earlier. That was then, but I like to stay in the present. Now, I’m feeling healthy and excited about life.
I thought I would just stop by the party to let Steve know I was there. I was certain that I would be one of many well-wishers and a minor one at that. After all, I have been retired and away from the clinic for over 8 years. I approached a circle of people with Steve in the middle. I entered and gave him a hug, and we talked. I told him that I would just be here for a minute, but I wanted to congratulate him on his retirement. “Mike, stay around. I’m giving a little speech, and I’m mentioning you in it.” I stayed, and Steve, in Steve fashion, said some very kind things about me. It made me tear up.
I asked him about his plans, and he told me about some upcoming travels and a book he was planning to write now that he had time. I smiled, as his comments seemed to echo my thoughts when I retired. You see, no one mentors you on how to retire, so most of us try to make it an extension of our work lives, minus the stress.
I wanted to give him more information. I wanted to tell him what I had learned in 8 years. I wanted to inform him about the art of retirement. However, I knew that he wouldn’t listen. Not because he is obstinate, but rather because that is the way it is. We can’t learn what we don’t know. No book, no class, and certainly no “wisdom” from an old retired doctor can teach someone how to move from a work life to a retired life. It is something that you have to experience. A natural process that, if done thoughtfully, can lead to a happy retirement life.
I woke up early this morning thinking about Steve’s retirement party and thinking about cartoons. Surprisingly, these two thoughts are more connected than you may think. You see, when I was a kid, my life revolved around TV shows, especially Saturday morning cartoons. Those shows gave me such pleasure that the thought of not having them in my life caused me distress. I remember thinking, “I know some day I will be too old to watch cartoons and that will be a terrible, terrible day.” But, do you know what? That day came and went, and I didn’t even notice it. One day, I had moved on, and cartoons were no longer important to me. Other things were now important; the transition was natural and painless. And so it is with retirement. If you constantly think about how your life is different, it will be a miserable experience, perhaps a slow death. However, if you just let it happen and navigate reasonably, it can be a wonderful, even glorious time. I was so happy to be a doctor. I am so happy to be retired. Two different experiences, same Mike.
When I retired, my sister told me, “Mike, from now on everyday is Saturday!” To my friend, Steve, I would like to say, “Happy Saturday!”
From right to left: me, Steve, and Ralph from Steve’s retirement party.
Steve in the early 2000s. I had just taught myself portrait photography, and I was very excited to use my new DSLR. I don’t think Steve looks that different now. Not fair!
Ralph, from that same photo shoot. My first attempt at “professional portraits.”