by Diane Rehm
DIANE: Yes, it's not all steady growth. There are sharp ups and downs. There are times when you think, I've got to get out of here. This is making my relationship with my partner even worse. So it's not simply a straight line upward. But even now, therapy has its long-term rewards that you and I continue to reap, even as we strive, in this forty-second year of our marriage, to enhance the relationship even more.
JOHN: I do agree.
Retirement
John
In January 2001 I retired after forty-five years of practicing law, both in and out of the government. During almost all of those years, I specialized in international trade and served the cause of liberalizing commerce among nations. I have consistently believed that nations that trade with each other are less likely to wage war against each other. Protectionism is politically appealing in the short run and economically destructive in the long run.
I had, however, grown tired of practicing law, especially since the profession increasingly suffers from two related trends that I deplore. The first is to judge a lawyer not by qualitative but by quantitative criteria, especially the number of his or her billable hours. The second is to assess a law firm in terms of the bottom line—that is, the amount of profit rather than the extent of service. I was therefore ready for retirement. The question was, how successfully would I manage it. Looking back over my first year of retirement, I feel good about what I've done. I believe that I've been responsive to my hopes and sensitive to Diane's feelings. It was my hope to engage in volunteer activities that would take advantage of my talents and allow me to reach out to others. In three areas, I've done so—that is, serving as a docent at the Freer and Sackler museums of Asian art, reading for the blind and dyslexic, and assisting patients at the Hospice of Washington. In each case, I had looked into each program before retiring and had taken the appropriate steps to qualify as a volunteer.
Diane's feelings have been, I think, mixed. I have no doubt that she strongly supported my decision to retire. Moreover, she applauded my choices of volunteer activities. At the same time, she has been somewhat apprehensive about how my new routine would affect our relationship. For example, she's not thrilled by the fact that on some occasions she leaves the house while I'm still asleep, and returns while I'm taking a late afternoon nap. She's also uneasy about her inability to reach me during the day, since I am in and out of public buildings. Previously she could get in touch with me (or my secretary) by phone at the office. Now, because I don't care to carry a cell phone, I am largely out of touch.
More generally, Diane and I are both continuing to adjust to my new way of life. We're asking similar questions: Will my newfound freedom bring us closer? How, if at all, will my experience with the dying at the hospice affect me and our relationship? What steps will we take to establish a new division of household chores, given my increased number of free hours?
Whatever the answers to these questions, it's clear that my retirement is having, and will continue to have, an impact on our relationship. I hope that, as we're doing in other respects, we can talk our way through the difficulties as they present themselves. In this way, my retirement may prove enriching for both of us.
Diane
After forty-five years of practicing law, John retired at age seventyone. He has looked forward to, and planned carefully for, this period of his life, choosing activities he wanted to devote time to and training for those activities. There are many benefits, of course. Now he can sleep later in the morning, no longer facing that excruciating sound of an alarm at 5:30 or 6:00 a.m. He can plan his day around the activities he chooses, conducting art gallery tours, visiting museums, going to church, stopping in for noonday concerts, and best of all, he can use time exactly as he pleases. I'm glad for him. I'm, at times, even envious of him, though I myself am not ready to retire yet.
However, as I walked in the door at 6:00 p.m. this evening, after rising at 5:30 a.m., and being at the office since 8:30 this morning, I found a certain irritation arising in me. I heard music coming from the upstairs bedroom, which immediately informed me that John was lying on our bed, asleep, as the music he loved was playing in the background. These late afternoon naps have become a regular part of his daily schedule since his retirement, and I find myself somewhat annoyed by the practice. After all, I'm thinking to myself, he has all afternoon to nap. Why is he napping around the time when I'm coming home? Why can't he have an earlier nap, and then be refreshed and welcoming when I come home?
He awakens, of course, when I walk into the bedroom, and I hug and kiss him. But he's not really interested in talking, because he's still between that beautiful gray dreamworld of sleep, enjoying the solitude he so adores, and the reality of the intrusion of another human being. I ask him a question about his lunch today with his law partner of more than thirty years, and he responds, “I'll tell you all about it.” Meaning, “We can talk about it at dinner.” Why, I think to myself, can't he tell me all about it now, rather than later? Why do we have to save a snippet of conversation? Is it that he's too sleepy? Or is it part of his desire to control even the timing of our conversations? It will be interesting to talk with him about this, to see what his reaction will be to my observation, indeed, my complaint.
Dialogue on Retirement
JOHN: When I retired, I think I avoided the trap into which a newly retired person can fall. I really planned ahead and laid out a full regime to occupy my time with pleasure. I know intelligent, thoughtful individuals who've not looked ahead, simply assuming that, after retirement, things would fall into place, that they'd find things to do and create interesting, rewarding days. It's just not that easy, and looking back, I'm rather pleased. First of all, you and I talked about this at length. Second, I've laid out a program of volunteer activities that have proven to be rewarding and enriching, and, I think, of interest to both of us.
DIANE: I'm glad that you've done a lot of planning, because I do think that was key. You thought about this for two years before you retired. You said you'd apply for a docent position at the Freer and Sackler museums, and, in fact, went through a yearlong program of study for that. Now you're engaged in those activities, and they excite you, and that's what pleases me so. There's excitement in your voice. Our son said he'd never seen you so happy. So I think what you're doing is not only making you happy, you're exuding that happiness and sharing it with others around you. As I talk about my own retirement, whenever that may be, David has said to me, “Mom, Dad planned for a long time before he retired. I'd like to see you do the same kind of planning.” Of course, as yet, I'm not there. At some point I will be.
JOHN: That raises the second point I wanted to discuss, which I'll call “an imbalance of regimes,” which we are now facing, because you are still working, and very busily. These imbalances, I think, have been annoying and even irritating. Just one obvious example: I often get up considerably later than you. You may get up at five-thirty or six in the morning, while I may get up at seven-thirty. Or I may even still be in bed as you leave the house. In the afternoon, I may take a nap, and when you've come home, I'm still sleeping. I can understand how that might create a funny feeling, with no one coming to the door to greet you. These are interim problems, because I think a different set will arise when you retire. I think we're coping with the imbalances, but I know I don't feel totally comfortable yet in my new regime vis-à-vis your current regime.
DIANE: Why don't you feel comfortable with my regime? We've talked about why I don't feel comfortable, but why don't you?
JOHN: I meant to say that I'm still uncomfortable with mine, insofar as it may not mesh with yours.
DIANE: I'm still involved and excited about the day-to-day happenings in the world, because, after all, that's my work. You have an opportunity to read the papers more carefully than I in the morning, because I have to dash off. At the same time, we still have lots to share and talk about, since, in our different ways, we're still involved with the world. What scares me is the idea of my r
etiring and turning full time to the garden or leisure. I can't see myself doing that.
JOHN: You mean not keeping up with the world? No, I can't see you doing that. It's not a fear I have.
DIANE: No, I don't think so either.
JOHN: Take the simple question: Once you retire, do we share three meals a day?
DIANE: Somehow I doubt it. Perhaps two, but not three.
JOHN: I think you're right, but that could be a challenge we'll face. But I want to revert for a moment to our present situation and the theme of imbalance. I'm now free to go to a movie in the afternoon alone, but I must confess I'd feel guilty doing so, and especially if the movie was a good one. If it was, the question would be whether it was good enough to see twice, this time with you. That's the kind of issue I'm still wrestling with in terms of what I call the imbalance of regimes.
DIANE: Are you saying that you'd like it if, from time to time, I could take off from the office and join you for a movie in the afternoon?
JOHN: Yes. I guess I'd like to see my leisure induce you to set aside a bit more time, particularly as you approach retirement. As you know, in my law firm I began to scale back, I passed clients off to my partners, making it easier for me to move toward retirement. I'd like to see you begin to ease down, instead of making an abrupt shift from a full day to a total nonengagement in your profession.
DIANE: I do think that's conceivable. When I set the date for my retirement, it will be necessary for the station to try out various people over a period of time. For example, I might work four days a week so we'd have an opportunity to try a new host one day a week. I know you've been encouraging me to do that for years. It's not something I want to do quite yet, but I'm getting there.
JOHN: I just hope you'll give yourself a lot of lead time. As I found out, even as you reduce the time at the office, you've got to be setting the machinery for retirement in place well beforehand.
DIANE: I'd like to get back to emotions, and the emotional changes I perceive in you as a result of your retirement. I do see you as a happier person—lighter and easier. When you said you were going to retire, of course I was frightened because I've seen so many people get lost. I was frightened for you and for me. You've had a history of separation and withdrawal. I feared retirement might create in you that much more of a desire to retreat. Somehow what's happened has been almost the opposite.
JOHN: I consciously chose three volunteer activities that involve other people. Indeed, they require me to reach out and give them something, whether it's comfort at the hospice or the ability to hear a book when I read for the blind and dyslexic, or a tour of the Freer and Sackler museums. In all those cases, I'm reaching out and connecting with other people. That's been a healthy shift for me.
DIANE: Don't you think it's interesting that you chose those three kinds of activities when, as you've described yourself in this book, you really have been a solitary person? Once again, this seems to be going against your own grain.
JOHN: Going against my grain in some respects. But the desire to help others in a modest fashion has been with me for some time, perhaps since I attended Friends Seminary in New York City. As you know, one of my discomforts about private practice these days is that clients are almost always corporations. You don't deal with individuals and their own problems and situations. That really began to weigh on me and reinforced my determination to engage in activities that involve and benefit other people. I can do that so much more easily now that I'm no longer beset by people at the office— clients, partners, or associates. The choice of people to work with was in my profession largely involuntary. It's now voluntary, which means I work only with those I choose, without resentment and indeed with pleasure.
DIANE: I'm struck by how we seem to be changing places with respect to our attitudes toward retirement. In your activities, you're engaging directly with people. As I contemplate my retirement, I'm thinking more of solitary pursuits, like gardening, painting, and writing. At the same time, I wonder whether your engagement and involvement with other people has changed or begun to change your relationship with me here at home.
JOHN: Yes—and perhaps you've already put your finger on it— it's made me a happier person. Being a happier person does spill over into our relationship.
The Other Partner as Professional
John
A successful marriage is one that affirms the several roles that each spouse plays, both in and outside the home. Traditionally, the male spouse was husband, father, and breadwinner. The female spouse was wife, mother, and homemaker. Ideally, our culture expected the husband and wife to respect and honor each other's roles. In recent years, this symmetrical model has been changed by the wife's entry into the workplace. More than fifty percent of married women are now pursuing careers. In most relationships, therefore, the husband and wife must create a new model for integrating their roles to the satisfaction of both.
For the first thirteen years of our marriage, I was the sole breadwinner, trying to straddle my familial and professional worlds. Diane's roles, on the other hand, were pursued strictly within the home. By virtue of my relatively senior legal position in the government, I was known in Washington circles. At social functions, Diane was seen as Mrs. John Rehm and not Diane Rehm in her own right. I was content with this perception, and assumed it would never change. And it didn't during the years when Diane was a volunteer at WAMU-FM. Society considered that role to be ancillary to her primary responsibility for the family. The seeds of change were sown in 1974, when she became a part-time producer of The Home Show at WAMU-FM. For some time thereafter, I felt and expressed deep pride in her growing accomplishments as a radio producer and, soon thereafter, a broadcaster. Pygmalion-like, I thought that I had played a role in giving life to her intellectual curiosity.
As the years passed, Diane became a recognized professional, first locally and then nationally. Meanwhile, no longer in the government, I was just one of many highly competent but little-known lawyers in Washington, D.C. Diane's burgeoning success first aroused in me a vague unease. Initially I dispelled that feeling by clinging to the fact that I was still the primary breadwinner. But unease then sharpened into troubling envy, which I tried to contain by drawing away from Diane. At this point Pygmalion's creation had gotten out of hand.
Ultimately, Diane's professional achievements forced me to confront the issue of my own self-esteem. Since graduating from college, I have suffered from fluctuating self-esteem—an at times feeble, and at other times robust, confidence and satisfaction in myself. In my experience, true self-esteem can't rest upon the flattery of others, nor can it be created by a recitation of good works. Instead, it arises from an elusive sense of wholeness, which allows me to accept my fears and exploit my strengths.
For some time I've felt—though didn't admit—that the degree of my self-esteem was in inverse proportion to the level of Diane's success. That is, the greater the recognition of her career, the lesser the value of my work. It was not that I envied Diane in her profession, since I had no desire to be a radio broadcaster. But Diane was upsetting the paradigm to which I was perhaps unconsciously clinging—that is, that the husband/father is the head of the household in the eyes of his family and community. This paradigm, of course, was prevalent during the early years of our marriage, and is viewed differently by today's younger generation.
It took me some time to come to grips with the fact that Diane's success did not have to diminish me. I had to disentangle myself from her activities and allow the value of my work to be assessed on its own merits. In this light, I feel good about the work that I have done, in and out of the government, to promote the liberalization of trade among nations. But even apart from Diane, my self-esteem remains vulnerable to nagging doubts.
With a generosity of spirit, Diane credits me with opening the door to her professional future. I credit Diane with seizing the opportunities as they came along. In this sense, we have shared in the creation and growth of her now internat
ional program.
Diane
I knew from the beginning of our relationship that John was serious about his professional life, and I totally supported his drive to succeed. I understood that what he did as an attorney for the government and in private practice was not only in his best interest but in our family's as well. What I didn't realize was exactly what that would mean: long hours away from home, putting job before family. For more than a dozen years, he couldn't deal with the separate demands of wife, young children, and profession all at the same time.
Of course I was immensely proud of him, and knew how highly his colleagues regarded him. I also knew just how important the work he was doing really was. How did I know? Because, on those rare occasions when we could go to a social gathering together, his coworkers, and even his superiors, told me so. Therefore, despite my loneliness, it was hard for me to voice any complaints to them.
I made friends with other wives whose husbands worked in the field of international trade, most of them older than I, but none with small children. While it was good to be in touch with other women and to know that their husbands were working similarly arduous schedules, I was not particularly comforted. I thought I was the only one with justifiable complaints. I felt sorry for myself, and I took my resentment out on John, making his day-to-day tasks that much more difficult.
During the Kennedy-Johnson era, John had risen to the senior position of general counsel to the U.S. Special Trade Representative, Governor Christian Herter. John regards his years in government as the most satisfying of his professional life, and I can understand why. However, I also recall them as the most difficult for our family. It was during those years that we got into a terrible pattern. He would work and work, and by the time he came home, I was so angry I wasn't even glad to see him. I complained. I whined. I cried. I screamed. He withdrew. It was a pattern that lasted for perhaps his entire tenure in govern- ment, with only short breaks for vacations at the beach or at the farm. Even those could not be considered sacrosanct. There were several occasions when we arrived either at the farm or at the beach only to learn that John had to leave to respond to clients' needs. The children were enormously disappointed, and I was livid, enraged that our only period for a joint family vacation had been taken from us.
