Separation Anxiety – (SAD) is generally considered to be an irrational fear that bad things will happen to people we care about, resulting in separation from them.

I, along with some other people I know, have experienced what I always thought would be considered separation anxiety not in anticipation of, but rather following major changes in our lives. Examples would include children moving out and away (aka empty nest syndrome) divorce, death of a spouse, family member or friend, relocation to another community, loss of a job, or retirement. So I’m not entirely sure what the correct term would be, but these are the issues I intend to address here.

Many retirees find they have a lot of free time, and don’t know what to do with it. That sounds like a nice problem to have, but it can be a major source of anxiety. More time to think about how much they miss their old job, their colleagues, the position and status that came with it. Having a reason to get up in the morning.

For me, it could be summed up as, “I used to be somebody. Now, I’m somebody else.” For a lot of retirees, this sums up their feelings about themselves. People tend to identify with their careers.

it is hard for me to think of myself as anything but a pilot. I can say, “I am a retired pilot,” but I can not say, “I used to be a pilot.”

That is made worse by the knowledge that even if I could afford to own my an airplane, I would not be able to pass an FAA medical examination. So, my flying days are over. Except for my drone. I can still fly my drone.

I realize that I also have been some feeling of not belonging anywhere geographically now. I grew up on a Southern Illinois farming community. From there, after marrying, we moved first to Wisconsin, then back to Illinois, and on to Northern Kentucky and Indiana. Eventually we relocated to Central Florida. That’s where I thought I would stay permanently, but after my wife passed away, I ended up in Colorado, near my daughter and grandchildren. Our family was still back in Southern Illinois, and everywhere we lived, we made friends. And then had to say goodbye. With my job as a pilot, I had many friends, all of us scattered across the United States. Out of a pilot group of more than 800, I have only seen maybe a dozen in the last thirteen years. That’s a lot of people that I’ve had to let go. It helps that I can stay in touch with Facebook, but it’s not the same. A lot of communities that we were but are no longer a part of. Sometimes, I think about it, and realize most the communities I was once a part of, and the people I’ve been close to, I will never see again. And that brings with it a sadness of sorts. I’ve always called it separation anxiety, but I don’t know what term a psychologist would use.

All totaled up, I think I’ve lived in about 15 homes in my lifetime. Some of them were just places to sleep. Others meant a lot to me and always will. There was the farm where I grew up, near Sumner, Illinois.

The first few years of my life, we were in a small cinder block house with a hand pump at the kitchen sink and no toilet. We had to go to the outhouse to do our business when nature called. I was young. I didn’t know we were poor. For all I knew, the Rockefellers didn’t have it any better. We had plenty of love and laughter in that little house.

Just before my 8^th birthday, we moved into a brand-new Bedford stone house my parents had built only a few yards away. Our little cinder block house was converted into a combination garage and storage building. I don’t recall feeling any anxiety over that move, but I still have fond memories of that first house.

The next ten years I lived in our new house, growing up, learning to drive, playing baseball, riding horses, working on the farm for Dad. Whenever I look back now, that house is the one I think of as home.

From there, a college dorm, a tiny apartment where Marsha and I lived when we were first married, then a house trailer in the country, on the northeast corner of our family farm. The two most significant memories from there were the tornado that ripped through the trailer park, somehow missing our trailer, and the night Marsha and I saw a UFO. (But that is another story I’ll share with you in my next post.)

After earning my flight instructor certificate, it was off to Appleton, Wisconsin for a couple years. We lived in a small three-bedroom, one bathroom house just south of the Fox River bridge on Memorial Drive. We made a lot of friends there, through my job with MaxAir. Most of the employees at MaxAir were early twenties, like us. So, we got together a lot on weekends. Partied a little too much, as young people tend to do. We thought we would be friends for life. I suppose we are, but I haven’t heard from any of them in decades.

After a couple years in Appleton, it was once again to pack up and move back again to Southern Illinois another job. We found a house in Noble, Illinois. We liked it there – sort of. The town had a serious problem with its water at the time. You’d run the tap and the nastiest looking rust-colored water would come out. Not fit to drink or bathe in. I don’t know if they ever resolved the problem or not. Either way, next stop was a corporate flying job in Effingham, Illinois.

From Effingham, back to the Sumner area for a while, and then on to Erlanger, Kentucky, next door to Covington, just across the Ohio River from Cincinnati. I was flying for Comair out of the Greater Cincinnati Northern Kentucky International Airport, so it was just a few minutes’ drive from home to work. I made a few friends there, but sadly, I’m not in touch with any of them now.

Then came my biggest career move. The big break I’d been waiting for. Airborne Express in Wilmington, Ohio hired me. That’s where I worked for the next 21 years. As I said, there were more than 800 pilots at one time. I didn’t know them all, but I knew a lot of them. And crew schedulers, flight followers, aircraft loaders and maintenance personnel. A fine group of people to work with. And out of them, only a dozen or so do I ever see. A few more I am in contact with on Facebook. Which is why I stay on Facebook, despite its major flaws regarding selective censorship of people whose views are not in alignment with its own.

During that 21 years, we moved from Erlanger, Kentucky to Bedford, Indiana and eventually Williamsburg, Indiana, a small community in northern Wayne County. We had a nice little 30-acre mini-farm and made a lot of lifelong friends there. I mentioned I still think of the house I grew up in as home. Right along with it, I would include our home in Wayne County.

And our home in Clermont, Florida, where we thought we would stay permanently. Marsha did. But she died way too young. Life goes on, and now I’m in Colorado Springs, Colorado. As in Indiana, we made a lot of friends in Florida. I’m glad to say I am still in touch with several from both Indiana and Florida.

Colorado has been a challenge for me. I didn’t have a group of friends here when I arrived. And I haven’t done such a good job of meeting new friends. I did join a bowling league, but then Covid-19 ruined that, and I haven’t gotten back into it since. I stay pretty busy transporting grandkids to and from school and appointments. And I stay in touch with some old friends on Facebook. Other than that, not much going on in my social life.

I tried online dating, but that didn’t work out like I hoped it would. Met a few “one and dones” and a couple more that I got together with a few more times, but something always closed the door on anything further developing. One was a very nice, very beautiful lady, several years younger. I soon tired of waiting a week or more for her to get back to me whenever I texted or left a message. Another turned out to be an habitual liar. Lied to her father about how we met because he was “old school” and didn’t approve of online dating. She’s a grown woman, for crying out loud. Living in her father’s basement, taking care of him so he doesn’t have to go into a nursing home. And so she felt she had to lie to him. Like we were teenagers sneaking out. She would tell him she was meeting her friend Suzy for lunch and a movie when she was in fact with me. Then she decided to lie to me and her sister about a health issue. She told us she had a cyst on one of her breasts and needed to have it taken care of.

A couple years ago Janet, a close friend from high school and I reconnected. She was sort of like my girlfriend without us ever really making a commitment.

Well she developed a cyst on her breast. It got worse, and to everyone’s surprise, she died. So naturally, after losing my wife to a brain tumor in 2017, and my friend to a cyst on her breast in 2021, I was more than a little worried.  

So when I called to ask how she was doing, she confessed to me that she had invented the cyst. In fact she had gone in for breast implants. At age 70. I mean, that’s her business, but I didn’t appreciate being lied to and made to worry needlessly. The more I thought about all the lies I knew she had been telling her father, her sister, and now me, the more obvious it was that it was time to end it.

So that is the extent of my online dating experience so far.

I got off track there. Sorry about that. Bottom line is, separation anxiety – which is what I call it – is a real thing. It makes you feel lonely. Like you don’t matter. You miss your family. You miss your friends. Your old job. And maybe, as much or more than all those, you miss your old self. The person you’ve always identified as.

What can we do about it? Well, I suggest taking up a hobby that involves being with other like-minded people, joining a golf or bowling league, volunteering, doing something to help others. Or find a new job or start your own business that can make some extra income by helping people make transformations in their lives. That’s what I’ve chosen to do. And old friend from Indiana helped me get on a weight loss program, and not only am I shedding the extra weight I’ve been carrying around for far too many years, I’m feeling much better. And now, I’m helping others make transformations in their lives.

Bottom line, don’t give up on yourself. You were somebody, and even though you may be somebody else now, the key word is somebody Somebody else is still somebody.