I feel like this project today is worthy of two letters. Overall, I want to be better organized, and some of that is computer-ish, with better use of OneNote; one part is paper-ish, for financial records and old school and work stuff I want to whittle down; and then there is just decluttering.

I have had a project I have wanted to do for 20 years, and this is the year I hoped to do it. Purge a ton of clothes. That’s barely an exaggeration. I have clothes that represent basically two sizes smaller than I have been for the last six years. The eternal hope, of course, for all of us fat b******s is that we’ll eventually go back down in size, and while we’re transitioning back through those previous sizes, we’ll want to wear some of the old clothes for comfort, nostalgia, and frugality. Except you are rarely the same shape going down as you are up, and the longer you spend up, the less likely you’ll go back down.

I put some old stuff in bins some time ago, maybe even as far back as when we moved to this house from our previous one, and there might even have been ones from a previous move. Perfectly organized, just not weeded, and I couldn’t pitch without sorting.

We had some major plumbing work done on our house today, which necessitated cleaning out the walk-in closet, or at least a significant part of it. So with a huge whack of clothes already piled on the bed, why not purge before returning? I thought I might wait to do it until I retired, as many of the clothes are work/casual dress pants and dress shirts that I used to wear every day for work. Now that I’m primarily remote and nearing retirement, I’m mostly doing polos for in-person and whatever I feel like it from home (a few too many Ts probably). Anyway, I digress.

The point is that I have extra clothes from three “eras” and it was time to start the purge. I figured I would do an hour tonight, but at the hour, I was basically done Phase I (recent work clothes) really well. And Andrea was willing to stick around and help for phase II (casual pants, undershirts, socks, etc.) and phase III (old bins that were almost 100% dead on arrival).

We ended up spending about two hours in total. Andrea was purging too, although she has done more regular purges and even some recently, so hers wasn’t as aggressive, but me?

We now have ten bags of stuff to get rid of…two are recycling, one is pillows, and the rest are for donation — with some curtains and beach towels in one with some of Andrea’s stuff, and then another seven bags of my clothes.

SEVEN garbage bags of clothes. Including two empty bins that were under beds, and another bin just randomly in my bedroom. I found some pants that still had TAGS on them that I had outgrown before I wore them. I kept a few things for future smaller me, things are heading in the right direction finally, but was relatively ruthless.

I’ve been feeling like I should do this for almost 20 years and probably wanting to do it for at least ten. Why tonight? Why this year? Why this time? I could point to the meds I’m taking, but maybe it’s more the idea of just wanting to declutter some more before I retire. I’m not entirely sure.

I just know I wanted to get it done. And somehow it happened! Andrea even did some weeding of my tie collection — I had 23, she brought it down to 7. Which doesn’t include about 30 that I got rid of about 20 years ago or another 5 or 6 about 15 years ago. I almost never wear ties, not sure I even need 7, but some were too sentimental favourites to let go yet. And yes, of course, I have the red tie still. Silly question.

Now, if I can just do the same de-hoarding of books.

I’ve mentioned before, in bits and pieces, that I’ve kind of isolated myself over the last five years of the pandemic. And that is saying something since I was a strong introvert before. But I stopped a bunch of regular things, and of course, I’m working from home, not in an office. I do have lots of meetings a day in Teams, and with my retirement looming in the next 592 days, I am cognizant that those will end and a lot of my planned activities are solo endeavours. The big trips around North America, kayaking, writing, astronomy, etc. I do plan to join some retiree groups that do cards or lunches a few times a week, to see if I can find a small tribe. There’s a group of former government policy wonks now retirees who meet for breakfast once a week or once a month (not sure), so maybe I can get in on some of their chats.

But something odd happened recently. It’s weird to write this as a white male; it happens to lots of people all the time. But when I go to the doctor’s office, I don’t frequently feel heard.

Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t discourteous. But I often struggle to articulate which of the ten things that are bothering me are the most important to discuss. If I’m in about blood pressure, but I’m having trouble with cuts healing, are they related? Does it have anything to do with my ear hurting? I have a list, and I’m there for one thing, but what I often feel that I really need for the first appointment is to be properly triaged.

But that isn’t a great option when they get paid to handle one or two things and move on.

Yet when I went for my last physical, I felt heard. I felt totally seen. He knew I was there primarily for a medical form that the government needs me to fill out for my pension stuff, not really a proper full-on physical, aka I had a trigger, not just “hey, I need this”. He was late starting, almost 30 minutes, and I was getting annoyed. Not because I was waiting but because I figured that they would shorten my physical time and ask me to come back. Again.

Nope. He came in, and we worked through all the immediate stuff. Then talked about the mental health stuff that I was willing to defer to a later visit, but he wanted to do it now. So we did, and I got my happy pills. Plus, on the other stuff I asked about, I got some good advice. My entire list was covered and then some. And then we did the physical. Not rushed, asking me lots of questions and listening to my answers. Fantastic experience.

And when I left, I found it hard to put into words what was different. And I realized that, as an obese man frequently dealing with doctors who tell me everything is weight-related, not once had he commented about weight or nutrition. He looked at every issue, heard me, gave me what he could, offered advice, and support. And he listened. I felt validated. Heard. Seen.

In most aspects of the world, as a large white man who isn’t afraid to stand up for himself, I don’t normally have that problem. If I want to be seen or heard, I can push to do so. Like most people, I have issues with customer service or support, but not for the same reasons that many do. I have seen 20yos snickering at me in my shorts and compression socks, looking at how big I am or uncool. Whatever. It doesn’t resonate with me much. I notice; I don’t fret.

Yet in medical situations, I have frequently found it unsettling.

Retirees sometimes talk about being invisible, more so women than men, but men too. I worry sometimes about my blogging, that I get few comments. Until I noticed last week that there were a bunch of comments on Facebook/Meta that, for some reason, the website failed to tell me about. I found them by accident, going back six months or so. I see comments on my blog, but I wasn’t seeing the ones on social media. Weird.

Anyway, I am aware of the potential for both invisibility and isolation in retirement. I’m hoping to engage on astronomy more, as I mentioned earlier, my DND group (also mentioned previously) and a couple of other areas still to come in the A to Z of 2026. Preventative steps to shock-proof my retirement, perhaps. Stay tuned.

Let me know if you have less-than-obvious tips on avoiding both isolation and invisibility.