Remember Your Halloween Adventures?

Do you remember your best Halloween?

Not the Halloween when you got the most candy.

Not necessarily the Halloween when you had the best costume.

I'm talking about the Halloween you still remember.

Perhaps you were six years old, wearing a costume your mother made at the kitchen table. Maybe you were a ghost, a cowboy, a princess or something that was supposed to be a monster but looked more like a pile of old blankets.

Perhaps you remember going door to door with your friends, carrying a pillowcase that seemed enormous at the beginning of the evening and somehow wasn't big enough by the time you came home.

Maybe you remember the house with the best candy.

Every neighbourhood had one.

There was always a house where you knew you were going to get the good stuff.

And there may have been another house that gave you an apple.

An apple!

You probably didn't appreciate the nutritional wisdom of that homeowner at the time.

You were on a mission.

Candy was the currency.

Halloween was an adventure.

And that's what I want us to remember this Halloween.

Because there will be thousands of little adventurers heading out into our neighbourhoods today.

Some will be tiny.

Some won't be so tiny anymore.

Some will be dressed as superheroes. Some will be witches, ghosts, firefighters, princesses, monsters or characters from movies and video games we don't recognize.

Some costumes will be homemade.

Some will look as though they cost more than the house they are visiting.

Some children will be shy and barely whisper, “Trick or treat.”

Others will announce themselves as though they have been elected mayor of Halloween.

And there will be teenagers.

Some of us may be tempted to think they are too old to be going door to door.

I would suggest we give them a break.

Maybe Halloween is one of the few nights when they are still allowed to be kids.

Maybe they aren't quite ready to give up the magic.

Maybe they are creating a memory they will carry for the next 70 years.

We don't know what we don't know.

And that includes what is happening inside the head of the child standing at our door.

Perhaps that costume took weeks to put together.

Perhaps the child has been looking forward to this night for months.

Perhaps they are nervous.

Perhaps they are having a difficult year and tonight gives them a chance to forget about it for a few hours.

Perhaps this is their first Halloween in the neighbourhood.

Perhaps this is their last Halloween before they decide they are too old.

We don't know.

But we can make the few seconds they spend at our door memorable.

We can smile.

We can say, “Great costume!”

We can ask their name.

We can let them choose their candy.

We can laugh with them.

And when the teenagers arrive, we can resist the temptation to say, “Aren't you a little old for this?”

Instead, perhaps we can say, “Happy Halloween!”

Because here's the thing.

One day, those children will be sitting where we are sitting.

They'll be the ones answering the door.

They'll be the ones buying the candy.

And they'll remember the people who made Halloween special.

Maybe they'll remember the grandmother who always had the best treats.

Maybe they'll remember the man who complimented their costume.

Maybe they'll remember the house where someone handed them two pieces of candy instead of one.

We may never know that we have become part of someone's childhood memory.

That's a pretty wonderful thought.

We spend a lot of time talking about what we leave behind as we get older.

Money.

Houses.

Photographs.

Possessions.

But perhaps one of the most important things we leave behind is much smaller.

A memory.

A smile.

A kind word.

A moment when somebody felt welcome.

Halloween gives us a chance to do that.

So, this year, when the doorbell rings and you hear that familiar chorus of “Trick or treat!”, remember the child you once were.

Remember the excitement.

Remember the costumes.

Remember the pillowcase.

Remember running from house to house with your friends.

Remember believing that the world was full of possibilities.

And then open the door.

Welcome the adventurers.

Because that's what they are.

They are heading out into the darkness, knocking on doors they have never knocked on before, meeting people they don't know, wearing costumes that allow them to become somebody, or something else for a night.

They are discovering.

They are exploring.

They are making memories.

They are having an adventure.

And isn't that exactly what we were talking about?

You don't know what you don't know.

Those children don't know what adventures life has waiting for them.

Neither do we.

So, let's encourage them to explore.

Let's give them a little candy and a lot of encouragement.

And perhaps, while we're at it, let's remind ourselves that we don't have to stop having adventures just because we've accumulated a few more birthdays.

This Halloween, don't just hand out candy.

Hand out a welcome.

Smile at the little ones.

Smile at the not-so-little ones.

And when you close the door after the last trick-or-treater has disappeared into the night, take a moment to remember your own Halloween adventures.

You may discover that the magic was never really about the candy.

It was about being young, being curious, being brave enough to knock on a stranger's door and discover what was on the other side.

That's something none of us should ever outgrow.

Life Is an Adventure, If You Let It Be One

There is a phrase I have come to appreciate more as I get older:

You don't know what you don't know.

It sounds obvious, doesn't it?

But think about it for a moment.

We spend much of our lives collecting knowledge. We go to school. We learn a trade or profession. We raise families. We travel. We make mistakes. We fall in love. We lose people we love. We change jobs. We buy houses. We learn how to deal with disappointment, celebrate success and somehow get through all the things life throws at us.

After eight decades, I've learned a few things.

I've also learned that every time I think I finally understand how something works, someone, or something, comes along and proves me wrong.

And that's not necessarily a bad thing.

In fact, I think that's the point.

Life isn't about confirming everything we already believe.

It's about discovering what we don't know.

When we are young, we expect to learn.

When we get older, there can be a temptation to think we've already learned enough.

We've been there.

We've done that.

We've seen it before.

We know how this story ends.

But do we?

Probably not.

Every generation experiences things that previous generations never imagined. Technology changes. Medicine changes. The way we communicate changes. The way we work changes. The way we travel changes.

And we change, too.

That last part is easy to overlook.

The person I was at 30 isn't the person I am at 80.

I've accumulated experiences, friendships, disappointments, successes and failures that have changed the way I see the world. Some things I believed strongly when I was younger have changed. Other beliefs have become stronger.

That's what happens when we remain open to learning.

One of the things I enjoy about getting older is that I no longer feel I have to know the answer to every question.

I can simply ask.

“Why?”

“How does that work?”

“What do you think?”

“What am I missing?”

Those are powerful questions.

And they can take us places we never expected to go.

That's why I still ask questions.

It's why I still talk to strangers.

You never know what story the person sitting beside you has to tell.

You never know what you might learn from someone half your age, or twice your age.

It's why I still take the occasional wrong turn.

Sometimes intentionally.

There is something wonderful about not knowing exactly what is around the next corner.

We tend to think of a wrong turn as a mistake.

Sometimes it is.

But sometimes a wrong turn becomes an adventure.

You discover a little café.

You find a beautiful walking trail.

You meet somebody interesting.

You see something you would have missed if you had stayed on the planned route.

Some of the best parts of life aren't found on the itinerary.

They happen because something didn't go according to plan.

That is particularly important in retirement.

For decades, many of us lived by schedules.

School schedules.

Work schedules.

Family schedules.

Appointments.

Deadlines.

Meetings.

Then suddenly we retire and discover that nobody is telling us where we need to be tomorrow morning.

At first, that can be unsettling.

But it can also be an invitation.

An invitation to explore.

Try something you've never tried.

Take a class.

Learn how to use technology instead of complaining that technology has ruined everything.

Go somewhere you've never been.

Talk to someone you don't know.

Read something outside your usual interests.

Volunteer somewhere different.

Try a new food.

Take a different route home.

Say yes occasionally when your first instinct is to say, “That's not really my thing.”

You might discover that it is.

And if you don't like it?

You've learned something, too.

That's the beauty of curiosity.

There is no failure in discovering that something isn't for you.

You simply know more than you did before.

The danger isn't getting older.

The danger is deciding that because we are older, there is nothing left to discover.

I don't want to live that way.

I don't want to spend my remaining years simply repeating what I already know.

I want to be surprised.

I want to learn something that makes me say, “I didn't know that.”

I want to meet people who challenge the way I think.

I want to hear stories I haven't heard before.

I want to take a few more wrong turns.

I want to leave some room in my life for the unexpected.

Because perhaps that's what an adventure really is.

It isn't necessarily climbing a mountain, travelling around the world or doing something dangerous.

An adventure can be as simple as walking through a door you've never opened before.

At our age, we have something young people don't yet have yet, decades of experience.

But young people have something we should never lose, the willingness to discover.

We need both.

Experience gives us confidence.

Curiosity keeps us growing.

So don't be afraid to say, “I don't know.”

Those three words aren't a sign of weakness.

They are an invitation.

“I don't know.”

“Tell me.”

“Show me.”

“Let's find out.”

After eight decades, I keep coming back to the same lesson:

You don't know what you don't know.

And that's not something to fear.

It's something to celebrate.

Because somewhere out there, perhaps around the next corner, in the next conversation, on the next unexpected journey, is something you haven't experienced yet.

So, keep asking.

Keep looking.

Keep exploring.

Keep going.

And continue the conversation

Take the occasional wrong turn.

Whatever you do, don't close the door on an adventure simply because you think you've already seen everything.

You haven't.

Neither have I.

And that's what makes tomorrow interesting and what makes it more interesting is all the ghosts, goblins, superheros and witches who will vist us tomorrow on Halloween.

Don't Plan Every Minute of Your Life

When I was working, I had a plan for most days.

There were meetings to attend, appointments to keep, deadlines to meet, projects to finish and people expecting me to be somewhere at a particular time.

That was work.

Retirement was supposed to be different.

Yet I have discovered that one of the easiest traps to fall into during retirement is continuing to live as though someone is paying us to be busy.

We fill the calendar.

Monday: appointment.

Tuesday: golf.

Wednesday: volunteer.

Thursday: lunch.

Friday: another appointment.

Saturday: something we promised to attend three weeks ago.

Before long, we need a vacation from our retirement.

I have decided that isn't the way I want to spend my retirement.

I don't have a daily or weekly plan. I keep track of my commitments, of course, because forgetting an appointment is not a particularly good retirement strategy. But I try not to schedule more than one major thing a day.

Why?

Because I want some empty space.

Empty space sounds unproductive, but it isn't.

Empty space gives life somewhere to happen.

There are two five-letter words I have learned to be suspicious of.

The first is PLANS.

I'm not against planning. Some things absolutely require planning. If I'm going on a trip, I'm going to make sure I have a ticket. If I'm having surgery, I'm going to prepare. If I have an appointment, I'm going to write it down.

But I have learned not to take my plans too seriously.

Plan A is often just something that gives me the confidence to begin.

By the end of the project, trip, event or adventure, I'm usually somewhere around Plan G.

Something didn't work.

Someone changed their mind.

The weather intervened.

An appointment was cancelled.

A better idea appeared.

Someone I didn't expect to meet showed up.

And sometimes the change turns out to be better than the original plan.

Some of the most interesting experiences in my life have happened because the original plan went sideways.

That's where the unexpected friendship can begin.

That's where the interesting conversation happens.

That's where you discover a restaurant you would never have chosen.

That's where you find yourself saying, “I never expected this.”

And those moments are difficult to schedule.

The second five-letter word I try to avoid is LATER.

“I'm going to call him later.”

“I'll read that book later.”

“I'll go for a walk later.”

“I'll get around to that later.”

I've discovered that whenever I say “later,” there is a good chance that later will turn into tomorrow, tomorrow will turn into next week, and eventually the thing disappears completely.

Retirement gives us something work often didn't: choice.

We don't have to fill every hour.

We don't have to turn every day into a productivity contest.

We can have breakfast with someone because we feel like it.

We can sit in the sun and read a few pages.

We can take the long way home.

We can stop and talk to someone.

We can say yes to an invitation we received that morning.

We can spend an afternoon doing absolutely nothing, and discover that nothing was exactly what we needed.

That can be difficult for people who spent 30 or 40 years measuring their days by what they accomplished.

But retirement isn't a project that needs to be completed.

There is no final report.

There is no annual performance review.

Nobody is going to ask whether you achieved 87 percent of your retirement objectives.

So perhaps we need to change the question.

Instead of asking, “What do I need to accomplish today?”

Try asking, “What might I enjoy today?”

There is an important distinction.

I'm not suggesting that we abandon all structure. A little routine is good for us. Having commitments, hobbies, exercise, volunteering and people to see can give our days meaning.

But don't build such a rigid schedule that there is no room for spontaneity.

Leave some doors unlocked.

Leave an afternoon open.

Leave room for the unexpected.

Because life doesn't always arrive according to our calendar.

Sometimes it walks through the door unannounced.

A friend calls.

Someone invites you for coffee.

You discover a book that changes the way you think.

You meet somebody who becomes an important part of your life.

You take a wrong turn and discover something wonderful.

You laugh at something you didn't expect to be funny.

Those moments don't usually come with a three-week notice.

They happen NOW.

That may be one of the great gifts of retirement.

For much of our working lives, we were told where to be and when to be there.

Now we have an opportunity to decide.

So don't confuse an empty space on your calendar with an empty life.

That space may be where your next adventure begins.

Make plans when plans are necessary.

But don't plan every minute.

Expect the unexpected.

And when something interesting comes along, don't automatically say, “Maybe later.”

Seize the moment.

Because **later isn't guaranteed.

Now is.**

Don't Take No for an Answer, Until You Know Who Is Saying It

 Here is a piece of advice I wish someone had given me years ago:

Don't take a “no” from someone who isn't empowered to give you a “yes.”

That doesn't mean you should become pushy, rude or demanding. It doesn't mean you should argue with the person standing behind the counter or make someone's day miserable because you didn't get the answer you wanted.

It means something much simpler.

Learn to ask, “Is there someone else I could speak with about this?”

There is a big difference between “No” and “I can't.”

The person you are talking to may not actually be the person making the decision. They may simply be following a policy, a procedure or instructions they have been given.

They may be telling you what they have been told to tell you.

That doesn't necessarily mean the answer is wrong. It simply means you may not have reached the person who can make the decision.

I was reminded of this recently while waiting in a medical office for a blood test.

There was a lineup at the registration desk. While we were waiting, a man came into the office carrying a stool sample. He needed to hand it in.

Instead of joining the line, he walked toward the back of the area where the testing was being done and spoke with one of the workers.

She told him to wait in line.

He didn't argue.

He went to the counter and spoke with one of the nurses. She also told him to go back and wait in the line.

Still, he didn't argue.

He simply went to another clerk.

That clerk listened to him, checked his information and took his sample.

Problem solved.

There was something else about this man that caught my attention.

He was 92 years old.

And he didn't look like someone who had spent his life accepting the first “no” he heard.

I don't know whether he understood the system better than the rest of us, whether he had done this before, or whether he simply figured there had to be another way.

But I admired his persistence.

He didn't yell.

He didn't complain.

He didn't tell the workers they didn't know what they were doing.

He simply kept looking for someone who could help him.

There is an important lesson here for all of us, particularly as we get older.

Sometimes we become reluctant to challenge decisions.

We may think, “I don't want to make a fuss.”

Or “I don't want to bother anyone.”

Or perhaps we think, “That's just the way things are now.”

Sometimes that attitude is perfectly reasonable.

But sometimes it costs us.

It can mean missing out on something we are entitled to receive, failing to get the help we need, or accepting a decision simply because the first person we spoke to didn't know how to solve the problem.

This happens everywhere.

At a doctor's office.

At a government office.

At a bank.

With an insurance company.

At an airport.

Even when dealing with a business that has provided you with a service.

The first person you speak with may have limited authority.

They may be able to explain the rules but not change them.

That's when a polite question can make all the difference:

“I understand. Is there someone who has the authority to make an exception or review this decision?”

Or:

“Who would be the best person for me to speak with about this?”

Notice the difference.

You're not demanding.

You're not attacking the person.

You're simply trying to find the right door.

And sometimes that door leads to a yes.

Of course, persistence has limits.

If you eventually reach the person who has the authority to make the decision and they say no, you may have to accept it.

But at least then you know you have reached the right person.

And if the answer is still no, you can ask one more useful question:

“Could you explain why?”

Understanding the reason behind a decision can sometimes reveal another possibility. Perhaps there is an appeal process. Perhaps there is another program. Perhaps you need different documentation. Perhaps you simply misunderstood the rule.

The goal isn't to get your way every time.

The goal is to make sure you don't give up simply because the first person you meet says no.

There is a fine line between being persistent and being a pain in the neck.

We should stay on the right side of that line.

Be respectful. Be patient. Listen. Thank the person for trying to help.

But don't be afraid to say, “Who else could I talk to?”

That 92-year-old man at the blood-testing clinic gave me a wonderful reminder.

At 92, he wasn't looking for an argument.

He was looking for a solution.

Perhaps that's the attitude we should all carry with us as we get older.

Don't fight the system. Learn how to navigate it.

Don't accept “no” simply because someone without the authority to say “yes” gave you one.

Ask another question.

Find another door.

And if you finally reach the person who can make the decision and the answer is still no, then you know where you stand.

Sometimes the most important thing isn't getting a yes.

It's making sure you asked the right person for one