Photo by Rémi Thorel on Unsplash

Spoiler alert: I’m not going to go back to work

There are few times in one’s life when they’re set upon a pedestal and complimented. Olympic gold medal ceremonies and final retirement meetings are among them.

Did I question my retirement decision? A little I suppose. When everyone says “Gee, you were a great leader. We’ll miss you. Such big shoes to fill…” and all that, I daydreamed about staying. But of course, nobody is going to say anything negative to a man in his last work meeting. They’re not going to say “Begone, good riddance. Glad to see you go.” So, I snapped out of my melancholy and closed my laptop. And then I grinned so hard it hurt.

Euphoria. I wish I could bottle up that feeling and drink it every morning.

Day 1, Saturday

Weeks ago, I reached out to some friends, many of whom I hadn’t seen for years, even decades. I invited them to come over and hang out for the day and help me celebrate. We had wine, beer, sushi, and pizza on the menu. The weather was good and a ton of people showed up.

It was awesome. I told them no gifts were allowed but they all brought something anyway. Books, wine, bourbon, a pottery class, and even a song written about me and performed live in my living room. We talked and reminisced over adventure stories of our youth until the wee hours of the morning (which was only 11:30 because we’re old). I fell asleep with tears in my eyes. I felt honored to have such great friendships that have lasted generations.

My first non-work Monday

Monday morning started the same way as a normal workday. I woke up early (couldn’t sleep in like I’d planned), made coffee, and sat down at the computer. I could see my reflection in the blank screen, and I thought about my team. I knew exactly what they were doing and what projects they were working on. I knew what meetings were planned for the day and what they’d be discussing. It felt like everyone was behind the monitor, feverishly working away while I watched in secret through the two-way mirror.

The day was surreal. I lost myself in writing, organizing files and projects, and a lot of pacing and tinkering. All along I kept thinking, “What am I forgetting to do?” Nothing, as it turned out.

Week 1

It didn’t take long to slough off thoughts of work. The novelty of freedom was seeping through the cracks and warming my heart. I packed up my corporate-issued computer, shredded my badge and credit card, and shipped it all back. It felt good. My final paycheck will arrive in a couple of weeks to formally mark the end of an epoch.

I expected to spend time in reflection, hiking around to the beach and through the forest, gourmet shopping, cooking, and resting with good books. None of that happened. My mom went in for surgery and I helped with that (the recovery, not the surgery). A long-lost friend’s mother passed away and I joined him at the memorial and a local bar afterward. I built a website for my high school reunion, studied up for that pottery class, and started a big woodworking project I’d been postponing.

Other than the death and surgery, it was glorious not working.

My first job was buffing floors at church when I was 14 years old. In high school I flipped burgers at the local DQ and made $1.65 an hour (which I boasted was ten cents above minimum wage). All told, I spent 49 years on the crazy train of employment, selling, printing, marketing, managing, technology-ing, and even entrepreneur-ing.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…” 

Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Getting off the train was easy and hard. And now I watch it slowly chugging away, carrying a small part of me with it, never to be seen again. In retrospect it was a good career and I’m fortunate to have been given so many wonderful opportunities. Too many people don’t have anywhere near the opportunities I had, and that’s a sad fact of life — a fact that will be one of my guiding motivations in retirement.

Week 2

Still in a tizzy, I powered through the week like a polar icebreaker. Every day I woke up early, made coffee, checked my list, and off to “work” I went.

Everyone has their own way of keeping track of things to do. Mine is a simple list in a Word document. I cross them off and move them to the bottom when done, a pleasantly rewarding act. My list has been growing for weeks with all kinds of little things I’ve wanted to do when I find the time — which I now have. I ticked off one after another, delighted as it shrunk. Set dentist appointment, post that article, hardware store, update my web site, visit mom, dry-cleaning, pull ivy, vote, wash windows, update LinkedIn, fix toilet leak, call friends, hang curtains, buy plane tickets, and so much more. Whew!

The highlight of my week was a ceramics class my daughters generously gave me for retirement (I said no gifts, but they never listen). In high school and college, I was quite the potter but haven’t spun the clay for over 40 years. When contemplating retirement, I thought about all the things I enjoyed when I was younger, and pottery was one I wanted to revisit. On my way to class, I was a nervous nellie wondering if I could still do it. Turns out I could, and every week now I get a 3-hour trip down memory lane, and some nice cups and vases as well.

Saturday night we had a birthday dinner with some retired friends and my buddy said he frantically chased tasks and memories when he first retired too. “You’ll charge through them all and then you’ll wonder ‘What’s next?’” It’s a vicious cycle, but ultimately you’ll be able to relax and enjoy life more slowly. He said he now has one or two things to do each day and otherwise enjoys savoring his morning tea and the relaxed pace of his days.

I can’t imagine a relaxed pace of life right now. Still so much to do.

Week 3

I have this nagging feeling that I should be doing something more important, busying myself with meaningful endeavors. The urge is overwhelming, and I feel guilty when relaxing with a cup of coffee and a fiction novel. Maybe that’s why they call them “guilty pleasures.”

Just like you, I’ve worked my entire life, getting up each day with a sense of purpose, tackling projects assigned by others. Bosses, employees, vendors, customers, they all need something, and they need it right away. I used to preach to my staff, “anything we do must add value, and the sooner we’re done, the more value we contribute. So hurry it up!”

Retirement is a 180-degree pivot from pleasing others, to pleasing yourself. That won’t come easy.

Now I can assign myself my own tasks, and one of them should be: “slow down and relax.”

My ex-boss is a terrific guy and a good friend, and one day he called to check on me. It was a nice gesture. He was interested in how I was doing and what retirement was like — vicariously enjoying my adventure until he steps off his own train. He told me the company is doing well, projects are on schedule, and everyone is chugging along nicely. In a small and selfish way, I was disappointed to hear that my replacement was doing fine, and everything was running smoothly. I had hoped there would be a hiccup or two. Not big ones, but something to make them miss me.

It was a good week. My wife and I watched the sunset at a rooftop lounge. I took a long hike to a mountain lake with an old college friend, talking with such enthusiasm we got lost twice. I watched my grand-nephew driving high-speed sprint races on a dirt oval. The kid is 9 years old and drives better than I ever could.

No more paychecks. Now I face the daunting prospect of living off my wife’s income (temporarily) and investments. Another 180-degree pivot, moving from earning a salary and growing savings, to no salary and draining my savings. Hope I have enough.

Week 4:

My wife says she’s never seen me so relaxed. Funny how I don’t feel that way inside, but evidently my outer shell is starting to melt.

I’m truly enjoying my art. In college, I almost declared as an art major but realized there’s a term “starving artist” for a reason. So I swerved down the business path instead. It was the right career choice, but it sure is fun being creative once again. Sure, work has its moments of creativity, but in business creativity always has a purpose. Mine doesn’t have to.

Now I “work” at art. Creativity without purpose is inspiring.

I write for a couple of hours a day, do pottery a few hours a week, dabble with website design, and dedicate large chunks of time building cabinets and tables, laying tile, and remodeling rooms. I get double the pleasure from creating — first from doing it, and second from admiring it.

Projects are endless, challenging, and intensely rewarding. I’ve taken over most of the garage and for now, the weather is fine so the cars can wait outside.

I never could have done this when I was working.

Nope, not goin’ back

Retirement, I’ve found, comes in varying shades of euphoria. They range from the highs of reunions with old friends to the freedoms of hiking or cycling in the middle of the day, to the quiet moments with a piece of sandpaper. They come from doing pointless things like driving to see a lake because it’s there or walking the docks to admire boats I’ll never own. Scrubbing off that layer of obligation-to-others is the best thing I’ve ever done.

I miss work, but I’m not going back

There are days when I wake up and have nothing important on my schedule. Just plenty of to-dos that can be-done tomorrow. I could do nothing all day if I wanted to and there would be no consequences. 

I contrast that with my work life that seems so distant. It’s liberating to be free of deadlines and pressing deliverables. And consequences.

They say that 40% of all retirees return to the workforce for one reason or another. I can assure you, that won’t be me.