I’m retired and now a nobody—it isn’t so bad

“Everyone here used to be a somebody. Now they’re a nobody,” says a friend who lives among retired big shots in a gated community in Florida.

I entered the nobody life nearly a year ago when I retired at 65 after more than 30 years as a Washington Post reporter.

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People have asked me if I waited too long to retire. Simply put, yes; my precious wife passed away after a long illness three days after my last day at the Post.

Others have asked me if I miss writing. The answer is nope, this missive notwithstanding. I loved being a reporter. And I was ready to move on. They are not mutually exclusive.

“Leave the party while you are still having fun,” my late mother-in-law used to say.

But many can’t leave the party. It’s hard to blame hangers-on for trying to stretch out the good times.

People feel they matter when they are working. Their self-worth derives from their job. Washington Post executive editor Ben Bradlee once said that without The Washington Post next to your name you’re just another guy on the street.

Everyone knows of someone who tried to wring the last drop of satisfaction from their job. Tom Brady, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Michael Jordan all eclipsed their sell-by dates.

I saw some bosses at the Post forced out because they failed to timely hand the reins to a successor.

Jack Welch, famous for emphasizing corporate management and executive transition, delayed his departure from the top job at General Electric to complete an acquisition. Regulators killed the acquisition after eight months and Welch departed on a downer.

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Few people have been self-possessed enough to leave while on top.

The first who comes to mind is Jim Brown, one of the greatest running backs ever, who left professional…