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I think I’m doing it wrong, it feels like I’m getting younger

There is a man I admire immensely, the epitome of a perfect retiree. Whenever I stop by, he’s busy working on something, usually outdoors in any weather. It could be putting in a new patio, plumbing a bathroom, upgrading his camper, or building furniture.

When he sees me, he lights up and immediately drops what he’s doing, tosses me a beer and leads me around with a proud swagger to show off his new accomplishments. Then he asks me what I want to do, and we do it together. For as long as we want.

Richard isn’t the typical poster child of retirement. He doesn’t travel the world building homes for the needy or work in soup kitchens on Sundays. He’s just a regular guy who loves his wife, family, friends, and hobbies. He doesn’t appear to put any effort into it, it’s just part of the fabric of who he is.

I want to be just like Richard. Dedicated and productive, stress-free and happy. Naturally.

Maybe I’ll get there, but for now — 90 days into my retirement — I’m still a feather in the wind.

Background

I retired at the end of July, with stars in my eyes and a parade of ideas as long as my arm. Work had been fine, but the time had come. I was tired of popcorn personalities and working with know-it-alls who didn’t.

I wanted the freedom to be active and creative — or not — on my schedule, not someone else’s

An unstructured day driven by my own whims was all I wanted. To pick up a project and put it down, maybe never finish it. To go hiking or cycling when the urge hit me. Visit friends or binge a show on TV. Sit quietly and pet the dog or go skiing. That was my idea of retirement.

I felt like I had enough money. My dance card was full, so I didn’t expect boredom for at least a few months. I’ve researched retirement extensively and I knew what to expect. I was prepared, but would I be happy?

Happiness vs. money

People tend to equate money with happiness. Looking deeper though, it isn’t the money itself, rather it’s the financial security that money delivers. When you take away the specter of financial ruin, one can enjoy life at any financial level.

According to the World Happiness Report, Finland, Denmark, and Switzerland rank the highest in happiness year after year. They have a strong network of support services, so no citizen will be destroyed from a financial disaster. They can relax and enjoy life like my friend Richard.

I have a very detailed financial plan, but I still worry about some random disaster flushing away all my money. A health problem, family emergency, or a market crash could be devastating. For most of us, there’s no amount of money that will give us 100% confidence, so we all retire with some uncertainty. I shudder to think of those who live on the razor’s edge, struggling from one Social Security check to the next, one misfortune away from financial collapse.

How much effort do you put into planning for happiness?

We need happiness plans. There should be as many “Happiness Advisors” as there are financial ones. Maybe more. They could teach the skills necessary for building a social network, enjoying one’s self, organizing activities, and the like. This would be a game changer, particularly as we get older and our social options narrow.

My happiness plan is to consciously choose to eat well and exercise so I can live a long and healthy life doing things that make me happy. It includes family and friends and staying busy with meaningful and productive activities. And maybe a little goofing off — I’m retired after all.

Staying busy

My biggest fear is running out of engaging activities and drifting rudderless. As a result, I’m doing everything imaginable and more. I’m up at 6:30 every day and work through it like I have a job. The difference is I’m not bound by the rules of employment, I do what I want at the pace I like. My new boss is a pushover.

I figured the first month would be easy (and it was), but I expected the honeymoon would end quickly. Not so. I may dwell on my age and ultimate demise on occasion, but most of the time I feel energized, electric, younger. I haven’t felt this way for years. My senses are more acute, I’m more aware of the beauty around me, my friends are the golden nuggets of my day, and my marriage is fantastic. It’s like stepping out of an old sepia picture into a vivid 8k video.

I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. Is this normal?

A typical day for me looks like this:

• 3–4 hours writing and marketing
• 1–2 hours reading
• 2–3 hours working on home improvement projects or hobbies
• 1–2 hours hiking, biking, exercising
• 2 hours goofing off, which might be lunch with a friend or diving down some rabbit hole

I spend a fair amount of time visiting friends and family, and those can be full-day undertakings. I’m helping friends with a kitchen remodel. I took pottery classes (something I did in college). I refinished furniture for my daughter and am building a table for a friend. I’m a handyman and a tech support resource for everyone who knows me. For several days I bottled wine (and was paid generously in delicious varietals). I built a website for a high school reunion, and several for myself. I’m planning trips to Mexico, Central America, and Europe and trying to find a way to afford them.

Not working is working very nicely

I’ve discovered that watching people work is a fascinating sport when one has no intention of ever joining their ranks again.

Three months ago, my job was to lead a group of really smart people who write complicated software programs that improve people’s lives. They’re still smart and still writing programs, but I’m not leading them — or leading anything for that matter.

I’ve gone from captain to castaway, but I can still observe and criticize with the best of them.

The level of workplace indifference is appalling. Retail associates, grocery store clerks, restaurant servers, hardware store workers — it seems like everyone I interact with would rather be doing something other than helping me. I want to scream at them about how they should take pride in their work, but instead I just bite my lip and watch. I’m not an old curmudgeon yet, but I can see the footprints on my lawn.

Everywhere I turn there are signs urging me to come work for one company or another. They offer top pay and benefits and for a moment I pause, thinking it would be fun to work in a brewery or a coffee shop, I’d be the best employee they ever had. But then I remember the feeling of dread when I was punching the clock, and then I remind myself of how nice it is to be my own boss, one with very low expectations.

The American Dream is gone. Was it ever here?

One thing about not working bothers me. Potential. I have none of that anymore.

I’m fortunate to be able to enjoy a nice retirement. Not rich, but not a struggle. What separates me from those who still work is the recognition that I’ll never be richer than I am now. I’ll never be the President, a CEO, or live in a mansion. No matter how desperately I want it, I’ll never own my own yacht and hobnob with kings and queens. Chances are most workers won’t either, but at least they can still cling to the dream— that anyone can rise from humble beginnings to become whatever they desire.

I’ve lost The American Dream. Retirement took it away. That is if it ever really existed.

34 million Americans are severely impoverished. Twice as many more struggle to meet the basic expenses of life. While I’m losing my so-called American Dream, the poor have never even had a glimpse of it. Where do people with different skin colors, education levels, physical and mental capacity go to chase their American Dream? They won’t find it in gang wars and coal mines. Not in psych wards, prisons, and rehab centers. Not in good, honest, hardworking people who never had access to opportunity. The American Dream is a carrot on a stick and I’m among the lucky few with long arms.

Rejuvenation

I’m older than credit cards, zip codes, and hula hoops. When I was born, I heard the starter pistol for the space race, but the US was still tying its shoes. NASA didn’t exist, but I could see the wonder of space through the words of Ray Bradbury and Kurt Vonnegut.

In my lifetime, brave adventurers stood on the moon and traveled to the bottom of the deepest ocean. We built phones that are better than what Captain Kirk has hundreds of years in the future. Today we can grow our own organs and print hypersonic jet engines.

Holy Moses, it’s been an amazing time to live.

“We’ve all got time enough to die”

Chicago

Some say I should sit in my rocking chair and watch the world go by as I complain about “Kids these days!” That’s one path, the one where you grow old. I prefer the one where I grow young. That’s where I actively participate in the future, where I squeeze every drop out of each day, and where I collapse into bed at night, as exhausted as a teenager on game day.

I may be growing old mathematically, but for now I feel more like Benjamin Button.

Time will catch up to me one day and crash over me like the surf, but until then I’ll try to retire like my friend Richard. And when you come over I’ll toss you a beer and show you what I’ve done.