Retirement for introverts

I’ve always needed plenty of time alone. I enjoy getting together with a friend or two, but a lot of social activity or large groups make me feel exhausted. Then I need lots of solitude to recharge. I’m not unhappy. It’s not pathological, it just is what it is. No matter what line our culture tries to feed us, heavy socializing is not for everyone.

We introverts often find the workplace stressful, being surrounded by people and having to interact all day. So retirement can feel like a blessed relief. Finally, our time is our own, and we can choose how much interaction we want, and when, and with whom. I can spend days puttering around at home, taking my time with everything, not following a schedule. If I want to spend more time with other people I can easily arrange it. If I need a bit more structure, I can just sign up for something. I don’t have any bucket list; I’m happy to just float along. As long as I’m healthy, it’s bliss!

It would be lovely to imagine that I could just go on living in my own home until I die peacefully in my sleep some day. But realistically, at some point I’ll probably need care. And care homes are not designed for introverts.

If I can’t manage to look after my place anymore, have to stick close to home but still want easy access to activities and medical staff, then I’ll go shopping for a retirement home. They’re expensive and I might not find one I like, but at least I can take my time and do some comparison shopping. A lot of them seem to run sort of like an adult summer camp, with the expectation that you will socialize, socialize, socialize: join lots of activities, eat your meals in groups, get out of your room. But a few retirement homes are starting to recognize the need to accommodate introverts and include activities with lower social content in their programming, like using computers, puzzles, games, fitness, singing and gardening.

The real crunch will come if I get sick enough to need care round the clock – dementia, a broken hip – and have to go into a nursing home. Nursing homes in Ontario are warehouses: weakly regulated, poorly monitored, minimally staffed. About 70% of them are privatized. I would expect to share a room and the washroom will be down the hall. I’ll be lucky to get two diapers a day and a shower a week. The TV will be left blaring all day, and no one will answer the call bell at night. Programming, if there is any, will consist mostly of bingo. This is not fear-mongering; it is exactly what I discovered when I spent seven weeks in convalescent care in a nursing home a few years ago. There is no relief from the noise and no place to be alone. But neither is there much chance of companionship: of the 60 residents on my floor, not more than one or two were capable of carrying on a conversation. So I’d say nursing homes are probably equally hard on introverts and extroverts. But maybe I’d give a slight edge to introverts, who are used to entertaining ourselves with our own minds. With luck, maybe that will help see us through those rough days at the end of the road.