Relevance deprivation syndrome
Retirement for most people, even if they had a lousy job, is not always a blessed experience and for someone like Bessie who had a CEO position it is a very sad experience which manifested in typical relevance deprivation syndrome behavior.
"The company I served for two decades wanted a generation change and I was given the golden handshake," says Bessie. "It was a terrible blow to my self-esteem and with long years of increasing oblivion stretching ahead of me, I felt totally lost."
"At first I consoled myself by moving into a beautiful home and stocking the library with all the books I had promised myself I'd read one day," says Bessie, "but after flick reading reports for all of my life I found it impossible to concentrate."
"Then I started work on the garden, like so many of my retired friends are doing, but I found no joy whatsoever in getting my hands dirty," laughs Bessie. "I'm a head person, I work with my head, not my hands."
"Just when I was about to do the big trip thing I received a call from my successor asking for advice and I perked up immediately," says Bessie, "but getting involved in my old life was the worst possible thing I could do."
"I fell into the trap of feeling I was still needed and could very well make a come-back and in that delusional state I started giving unsolicited advice," sighs Bessie. "Finally, when my calls weren't returned it was like a slap in the face."
"Worse was to come when I lost the company vehicle and other perks," says Bessie. "I thought these were part of my retirement package but apparently I didn't read the fine print too well."
"I answered a knock on the door one day and was told by some flunky that he's come to take possession of my prized motor vehicle," sighs Bessie, "and then I received an official letter cancelling my travel allowance. Bang went the big trip."
"Of course I can afford to buy myself a new car and take any number of overseas trips", says Bessie, "but it's the principle of losing privileges that I had grown accustomed to that upset me so much."
"And then came the day when I met a former colleague when I was in the city keeping a dental appointment and he didn't recognize me," sighs Bessie. "I don't think he acted blank on purpose -- he genuinely didn't recognize me and that's not because I looked any different. It's because I had ceased to exist as a person to him and to everyone else at the company."
"When someone mentioned the relevance deprivation syndrome to me I denied that I was a victim of it," says Bessie, "but I guess that's exactly what my problem was."
"I don't have any relevance any more in the company I served for two decades and it still hurts and will probably continue hurting for the rest of my life."
"Unlike some politicians and some ex-CEOs who can spend the rest of their lives dining out for free on their past glories," says Bessie, "I have to face the fact that I am not in this league."
"It's not even worth my while to write about my life as a CEO -- or the world of business in general," says Bessie. "That sort of thing has been done to death by others and if my ex-colleagues are not interested in me and my advice then why would anyone else be interested?"
"I suppose I should be thankful that I reached the top level of the company and received a very generous retirement package -- even without the perks I lost," says Bessie, "but as much as I realized that retirement would come one day I never imagined it would be so empty."
"I suppose that's the price all high-profile people have to pay when they face retirement," says Bessie. "A professor can retire to his books, a mom to her grand-kids and someone who works with his or her hands is always going to find something to do in retirement."
"Without underlings or an audience to maintain one's importance, high-profile people pushed onto the retirement scrapheap are very sad people living very sad lives," says Bessie, "and if I were in a position of power right now I'd ensure that all high fliers were given counseling as part of their retirement packages."
"The company I served for two decades wanted a generation change and I was given the golden handshake," says Bessie. "It was a terrible blow to my self-esteem and with long years of increasing oblivion stretching ahead of me, I felt totally lost."
"At first I consoled myself by moving into a beautiful home and stocking the library with all the books I had promised myself I'd read one day," says Bessie, "but after flick reading reports for all of my life I found it impossible to concentrate."
"Then I started work on the garden, like so many of my retired friends are doing, but I found no joy whatsoever in getting my hands dirty," laughs Bessie. "I'm a head person, I work with my head, not my hands."
"Just when I was about to do the big trip thing I received a call from my successor asking for advice and I perked up immediately," says Bessie, "but getting involved in my old life was the worst possible thing I could do."
"I fell into the trap of feeling I was still needed and could very well make a come-back and in that delusional state I started giving unsolicited advice," sighs Bessie. "Finally, when my calls weren't returned it was like a slap in the face."
"Worse was to come when I lost the company vehicle and other perks," says Bessie. "I thought these were part of my retirement package but apparently I didn't read the fine print too well."
"I answered a knock on the door one day and was told by some flunky that he's come to take possession of my prized motor vehicle," sighs Bessie, "and then I received an official letter cancelling my travel allowance. Bang went the big trip."
"Of course I can afford to buy myself a new car and take any number of overseas trips", says Bessie, "but it's the principle of losing privileges that I had grown accustomed to that upset me so much."
"And then came the day when I met a former colleague when I was in the city keeping a dental appointment and he didn't recognize me," sighs Bessie. "I don't think he acted blank on purpose -- he genuinely didn't recognize me and that's not because I looked any different. It's because I had ceased to exist as a person to him and to everyone else at the company."
"When someone mentioned the relevance deprivation syndrome to me I denied that I was a victim of it," says Bessie, "but I guess that's exactly what my problem was."
"I don't have any relevance any more in the company I served for two decades and it still hurts and will probably continue hurting for the rest of my life."
"Unlike some politicians and some ex-CEOs who can spend the rest of their lives dining out for free on their past glories," says Bessie, "I have to face the fact that I am not in this league."
"It's not even worth my while to write about my life as a CEO -- or the world of business in general," says Bessie. "That sort of thing has been done to death by others and if my ex-colleagues are not interested in me and my advice then why would anyone else be interested?"
"I suppose I should be thankful that I reached the top level of the company and received a very generous retirement package -- even without the perks I lost," says Bessie, "but as much as I realized that retirement would come one day I never imagined it would be so empty."
"I suppose that's the price all high-profile people have to pay when they face retirement," says Bessie. "A professor can retire to his books, a mom to her grand-kids and someone who works with his or her hands is always going to find something to do in retirement."
"Without underlings or an audience to maintain one's importance, high-profile people pushed onto the retirement scrapheap are very sad people living very sad lives," says Bessie, "and if I were in a position of power right now I'd ensure that all high fliers were given counseling as part of their retirement packages."
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