I started negotiating my retirement with the vice-chancellor of my university in late 2001, soon after I turned fifty-five, and I completed the negotiations with the director of finance in early 2002. The main bits behind us, we turned to petty details. I said I wished to retire in July 2003, at the end of the academic year. The director of finance told me no-one retired at that time. The standard practice is to retire in September, which includes a month or two of well-deserved vacations. That is the end of the academic year proper, given that the next academic year begins in October. Of course, this is what I opted to do. A few months following our negotiations I learned that my last salary would be paid by the university on September 30, and that my first pension payment would arrive on October 1. In other words, I am still on vacation now, although I have not been working since late July. There are five days to go. Five full days. Only then will I actually be retired and become an emeritus professor, presumably on account of my exemplary service to the university. Now, these last five days of my vacation, as well as of my working life, deserve some attention. I cannot let them pass without due attention. But what am I to do? Any ideas? Any brilliant ideas?

Addendum I (September 28, 2003)

I got all kinds of responses to this piece, which I sent to friends as an electronic postcard. Among others, Giuseppe Mastruzzo made a whole list of proposals, most of which had to do with things I would not be able to do as an emeritus. Nothing hit me between the eyes, though. This morning I found a message from Ghada Abuzaid, who suggested I reflect on my academic career in the days left until official retirement. “You have not cast too much light on that side of Ranko in your writings,” she wrote. Herself at the beginning of her career, which leans toward academia, she wanted to know what she could learn from my “journey across the oceans.” These are her words. She is from the Sudan. “Not a bad idea, this,” I responded. “If the muses oblige, I will attempt some kind of wrap-up.” I meant it, too. And I made an attempt to capture the gist of my academic journey. I got nowhere, though. As I have already noticed since I moved to Istria, I have a hard time looking back. For the time being, at least, I can look only forward. And I can think mainly in terms of two longish lists. The first concerns the ends: to focus on the spiritual and sacred; to live simply, purely, and cleanly; to concentrate on writing and painting; to be of help to others on the way; to keep close to my children; to keep close to friends… The second list concerns the means: to retire from professional life in all its forms; to take care of my health and stay in good shape; to manage my resources with due care… To wit, my academic career has already receded into insignificance. More important, a meaningful wrap-up, including everything I have done or not done as an academic, is a long way away.

Addendum II (September 29, 2003)

Puzzled by my recent neglect of the past, and perhaps even disdain of it, today I checked my spreadsheet showing the flow of addenda from year to year. The picture is quite startling, indeed. This year I have written seventy-one addendum, not counting this one. Looking backwards, fifty-eight of these extend pieces written this year, while eight, three, and two extend those written in 2002, 2001, and 1998, respectively. That is all. There is not a single addendum extending pieces written from 1976 to 1997, a period spanning twenty-two years since the onset of my writing project. In short, my hunch was correct. Thanks to my spreadsheet, which I maintain quite meticulously, there is no doubt that I have been favoring the future to the past. The only question is what, if anything, I ought to do about it.

Addendum III (September 30, 2003)

Leave the past behind; leave the future behind; leave the present behind. Thou art then ready to go to the other shore. Never more shalt though return to a life that ends in death.

The Dhammapada, Translated by Juan Mascaró, Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1973, p. 84.