It takes a luncheon to raise nostalgia

Do you ever forget who you are?

I confess that I’ve occasionally lost sight of my identity over the eight years that I’ve been retired. That’s because for decades, my identity — I’m embarrassed to admit — was wrapped up in my career.

I know. I’m either appallingly narcissistic or massively insecure — or both!

But, my job was very much who I was.

I was reminded of that fact this holiday season when I attended the annual Christmas luncheon for retired employees at Orange Coast College. There, I saw lots of old friends, and we regaled one another with hugs, stories and gossip.

One glance around the room and I was “home.”

I worked at OCC for 37 years, until my retirement. I gave it every fiber of my being, but don’t feel sorry for me. I loved every minute of it. I couldn’t have been happier at any other workstation in the cosmos. The job fit me better than my collection of Reyn Spooner Aloha shirts.

For 37 years, it seemed to me a match made in heaven.

It came about by accident, right? Hardly. I’m believing it was a God thing.

What were the odds that I’d stumble into the best career journey I could possibly take? The process had to be wired, right? But by whom? Not me, certainly. I had no ability to wire anything.

Maybe an aligning of the planets did the trick? Or a harmonic convergence? Or the odd meteor shower? No. More likely, it was divine providence.

I’m an OCC graduate. While a student, the college became an anchor in my life. I later returned to work there. I loved Orange Coast College more than any human has the right to love anything — save God and his family.

I joined the staff in 1971. My hiring came about by an extraordinary set of circumstances. Hired as public information assistant, I was wise enough to realize that I deserved not a single accolade, so I worked hard to prove myself. I did that for 37 years.

I retired in 2008 as senior director of community relations.

I welcomed retirement when, in the fullness of time, it arrived. I left with a personal proviso: “When you retire, Jim, retire! No hanging about pretending to be both fish and fowl. Don’t risk becoming a moldering obtruder.

“No sneaking back to the college’s lovely environs on spectacular spring days. No volunteering for special projects. No hanging out at football practice or theater rehearsals, or swilling coffee in the Student Center. No sniffing out old Administration Building contacts for the latest scuttlebutt.

“Don’t be spirited back. You’re done! Time to get on with your life.”

Instinctively, I knew this.

Have I missed OCC? You bet! I struggled to put it in my rearview mirror. That roomful of former colleagues the other day brought back so many warm and satisfying memories.

Since 1971, I’ve unconsciously measured the success of my life with my accomplishments at OCC. When things went well at Coast, things were “well with my soul.” When things seemed unsettled, I was not so happy.

Today, the college and I have separate identities. Someone else is “Mr. OCC,” and that’s as it should be.

But I miss the victories along with the potential defeats. I miss sleepless nights. I miss important speeches. I miss pressured meetings and weekends at my desk. I miss surging adrenaline. I miss working with students, faculty and staff. I miss writing. I miss deadlines. And I miss interacting with reporters. It was all a grand experience.

Now I accept — nay, welcome! — new freedoms. I savor Christmas pageants starring my grandkids; quiet moments with my lady, Hedy; and occasional naps.

Like a paunchy old prizefighter, I could never do today what I once did. And I realize that.

Besides, I now have weightier assignments. Like falling asleep the other night on the couch clasping my three-year-old grandson to my chest, a muted Clipper game glinting on the flat screen.

Finally! I know who I am.

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.