Postal and Federal Disability Retirement: The Tough World in Which We Live

We have little patience for puppies who are slow to learn; less time for platitudes of “How are you?” or to fully enjoy a chance meeting of someone whom we haven’t seen for a while; and none for the troubles of those we are not acquainted with.

It is a tough world in which we live.

Yes, the history of this society has been one in which tradition is naught and courteousness is merely a bypassing thought, dominated by the continual need to succeed and acquire the material comforts of life.  Immigrants came here, abandoning the history and traditions of the “old country”, knowing that the new beginning would be a void without depth, but one which accorded an ability to make a living.

For the Federal and Postal Worker who quietly suffers from a medical condition such that the medical condition impacts one’s ability to perform the essential elements of one’s job, the magnification of the harsh world becomes apparent through the reactionary indifference of fellow coworkers.

No, it is not a mere coincidence or oversight that the bond of camaraderie has been severed; no, it is not an accident that even platitudinous greetings are ignored; yes, it is the reality of the harsh world in which we live.

It is thus time to consider filing for Federal Disability Retirement benefits, whether under FERS or CSRS, and to seek a new beginning, a new vocation, and a life thereafter, by proving one’s case before the U.S. Office of Personnel Management.

Sort of like being an immigrant.  Or a puppy who needs a patient master.

Sincerely,

Robert R. McGill, Esquire

Time and Age

Two old people on a park bench; and, of course, the image is one of time passing, of coiffed cauliflower clouds lazily drifting above, bringing passing intermittent shadows on a windblown fall day. A man and a woman; as the jogger passes by, seeing these two elderly figures sitting near, but not intimately so, to one another; the identifying passing thought: an old couple; grandparents; old people from another time. Such thoughts are often fleetingly dismissive; for some reason, each generation believes that theirs is “the one”; that those who are old are irrelevant; that grey hair and wrinkled foreheads; that deeply etched lines showing decades of smiling; of accordion-shriveled upper lips; of canes revealing painful arches and arthritic knees somehow diminishes one’s being.

The young are too busy with projects, plans and purposeful pursuits; Heidegger recognized the profound lobotomized bifurcation of our lives: old age and death are the penultimate ontological end; how we divert our focus upon that telos is the singular key for the young; for to ruminate upon our death is to become overwhelmed with existential angst; of the Prozac generation that we have become; for it is indeed our projects and hobbies which provide the diversion from such ruminations; and so the old have endured and survived, only to come ever so closer to that end which they spent their lives attempting to avoid; for death comes “like a thief in the night”, and all that we can do is hope that our projects and diversions will keep us occupied until the time of eternal slumber.

But it is still a puzzle, is it not, why the young view the old as irrelevant? The old are a source of wisdom, or should be; as Confucius once stated, By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and Third by experience, which is the bitterest. But to imitate would be to remind one of impending death; to experience would take us away from our diversions; and to reflect would mean we would have to face ourselves. And so the old are passed by; as joggers see the world peripherally, in a whisk of blurred images, of trees and rectangles of sidewalks; of pets being walked and automobiles passing; and two old people on a park bench. Lovely couple. Old. What’s my schedule for this afternoon?

Time passes; the daily engagement of diversions must be attended to. Otherwise, we may be forced to reflect upon the very worth of our being, and the worthiness of those very diversions which are meant to occupy our thoughts.

For, who among us can freeze time at any given moment of our lives, and honestly declare that we are acting as worthy stewards of such a precious commodity?