• Share

PRINT

My friend Harvey has a new spouse — and a big problem.

He’s 62. He remarried less than a year ago. He can retire in three years. He can hardly wait.

But not so fast. New Wife has seen enough of Old Harvey to have laid down a heavy condition.

She says she won’t let him retire until he has three hobbies.

He currently has none. What to do?

At a recent dinner, Harvey and I chewed on this one for some 30 minutes. We chewed so hard that we forgot to chew the chicken.

We ended up speed-eating our now-cold entrée — and making a list that might serve other men who are tiptoeing up to retirement and are facing spousal conditions.

First things first: Harvey listens to and respects his wife. He says he would never refuse to acquire three hobbies. But which?

Second things second: He has learned how to fight, he says. During his first marriage, which ended in divorce, he would have gotten all huffy and told then-spouse that he could retire whenever he liked. It was his life. She didn’t get a vote.

So, OK, the new couple is trying to work it out. But Harvey has kept his nose to the career grindstone for so many years that he isn’t familiar with any hobbies. He asked for my help.

I started off by being a wise guy (can’t help it; it’s in my DNA). I asked if Harvey could afford my hourly rate.

He answered in kind: My fee was a piece of rapidly cooling chicken.

Then we got down to business. Why did his wife insist on three hobbies? Clearly, she was afraid that he’d mope around the house as a new retiree, junking on tapioca pudding and daytime TV.

Harvey said he’d never be that guy. He’d probably re-read some classic histories, he said. Or do putter-putter chores every day. Or play with the dog. However, he said, “I don’t think that’s what my wife has in mind.”

Then what does she have in mind? She hasn’t said. But she has noted that she’s a big fan of that old (and worn out) joke: She married him for better or worse, but not for lunch.

So we made a list.

Criterion One: The hobbies have to get Harvey out of the house. That means college classes, square dancing clubs, roadside clean-up crews, things like that.

Criterion Two: The hobbies have to be free, or close. That means no sudden, undiscussed purchases of $100,000 antique cars, and no wildly expensive trips to the far corners of the globe.

Criterion Three: The hobbies have to be regular. No first aid training sessions where you show up only when you feel like it. They have to be scheduled and consistent.

Criterion Four: They have to stick to the ribs intellectually. No endless puzzle solving. They can be sentimental and retro, like cataloging old rock and roll records or collecting old movies. But they can’t be just drudge work.

Criterion Five (the most maritally radioactive of the bunch): They have to be for Harvey alone. His wife is a lot younger and still holds a full-time job, so she can’t join him at couples cooking class. If Harv is going to concoct omelets, he has to don the white chef’s hat by himself.

And yet, we hadn’t confronted the biggest hurdle. Why hobbies at all? Why not transition from one career into another? And why do the new landing pads have to be fun-with-a-capital-F?

Harvey has solved problems throughout adulthood, as an executive. Can’t he join nonprofit boards? Start his own consulting firm? Volunteer at a community organization?

If he did this, said Bob the Counselor, he’d be helping others, and also ticking the boxes that his wife insists that he tick. He’d be engaged. He’d be doing good. He’d have a reason to kick off the covers every morning.

Harvey winced. He wriggled. He said, “Gee, great ideas, but how would I begin?”

“By beginning,” I said. “You don’t need a license to be a good person. You already are one.”

Just then, the waiter cleared away the chicken and brought dessert — some three-layer monstrosity that screamed “Three Extra Pounds!”

Harvey declined. “I’m already a good person,” he said.

We clinked glasses. He was off and running.

Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.