I'm Not Dead Yet! - Mary Tribble

In a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, an undertaker slogs through a muddy medieval village clanking a piece of metal and announcing, “bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!”

A family member steps up with a stiff, pale man wearing a nightshirt who is slung over his shoulder. He starts to put the old man on the cart.

Man: Here’s one-

Undertaker: Ninepence.

Old Man: I’m not dead!

Undertaker: What?

Man: Nothing! Here’s your ninepence….

Old Man: I’m not dead!

Undertaker: ‘Ere! ‘E says ‘e’s not dead!

Man: Yes, he is.

Old Man: I’m not!

Undertaker: ‘E isn’t?

Man: Well… he will be soon— he’s very ill…

Old Man: I’m getting better!

Man: No, you’re not; you’ll be stone dead in a moment.

Undertaker: I can’t take ‘im like that! It’s against regulations!

Old Man: I don’t want to go on the cart….

Man: Oh, don’t be such a baby.

Undertaker: I can’t take ‘im….

Old Man: I feel fine!

Man: Well, do us a favor…

Undertaker: I can’t!

Man: Look, isn’t there something you can do…?

They both look around. The undertaker gives the old man a swift blow to the head. He goes limp and the man tosses him onto the cart.

In 1998, I felt a little like that man in the nightshirt slung over someone’s shoulder. After running my company for over ten years, my career, my vision, and my spirit were crumbling. The qualities that had brought me success—zeal, unbridled ambition and a fair amount of competency—fed my despair. While I was at the height of my career, I felt weighed down with administrative challenges, employee turnover, and cash flow issues.

I was desperate and broken.

That winter, to find my way, I went on a two-week silent walk across the Sahara Desert. I spent the time reflecting, evaluating my purpose, and considering options. Should I give up and close my company? Should I try to sell it? Or should I soldier on, potentially sliding to eventual defeat?

Several years later, I took part in an MBA case-study with grad students from the McColl School of Business at Queens University. I told my story to a class of clever and ambitious young students, leaving the narrative there: in the desert, doubting my future and questioning my options.

The class broke into groups to discuss next steps for my business. In reality, this was a simulation—by the time this case study was unfolding, I had taken on a business partner and expanded my business, adding staff and capabilities and eventually tripling revenues. But at this moment, the professor asked the students to recommend a post-Sahara strategy for my company.

Hands-down, all the students agreed: close your business and apply your skills elsewhere. The company’s foundation was too shaky, they told me, and you had hit your peak. My business has run its course.

I felt like the undertaker had bopped me on the head while I was insisting, I’m not dead yet!

By the time I took part in that case study, I was well on my way to many more years of running my business but doing so in a way that met my purpose, nurtured my soul, and served my employees and clients in a more meaningful way. I sold the company to a key team member before helping stage the Charlotte 2012 Democratic Convention. Then after a few years of consulting, I returned to my alma mater to lead the alumni engagement team for about a decade.

Despite expert opinions, I wasn’t dead yet.

Recently, however, I’ve felt like that medieval undertaker has been walking my neighborhood and ringing his bell. A few years ago, I felt my time at Wake Forest had run its course, and I retired. I mapped out a plan for a phased retirement, reducing my responsibilities and hours over three years until officially retiring last fall. Fortunately, the university has kept me engaged part time, producing and hosting the Wake Women Podcast. I’m grateful for the opportunity to stay connected to my alma mater while engaging in meaningful work.

But honestly, the transition has been rough. I’ve spent my career making things happen, and I wasn’t sure how to operate in the world without a clearly defined roadmap to success. After 40 years of moving and shaking, how would I possibly make an impact without occupying a seat of influence? Without a position of purpose, could my life have meaning? Could I find significance without a strategic plan? What contribution could I possibly make to the world?

Retirement suddenly felt like I had thrown myself on the cart before I was ready.

It’s taken a while to find my footing.

It’s still early days, but I’m making sense of the transition from a life of doing to a life of being. Instead of a boardroom table of clients and vendors, some days my world looks like a circle of women sitting in silence. Work trips have taken a back seat to long weekends with old friends. Conversations and walks around Salem Lake have replaced business lunches and Zoom calls. My mornings, once a flurry of mad activity from alarm to sitting at my desk, have melted into impromptu encounters with neighbors during a leisurely stroll with my dog.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m still making things happen. The Wake Women Podcast gives me the opportunity to lift the voices of inspiring women. My consulting work with area non-profits allows me to apply my decades of problem-solving experience to community issues I care about. And my writing gives me a way to reflect on the world and my place in it.

So, I’m (sort of) retired.

But I’m not dead yet.