A few months after I retired, I had a moment that took me completely by surprise. I had spent years looking forward to having more freedom. I had held senior leadership positions, managed large teams and carried the sort of responsibility that does not always disappear when you close the office door. Retirement was supposed […]
You make a cup of tea, look at the day ahead and realise there’s nothing you absolutely have to do. For years, that might have sounded wonderful. Now that it’s here, perhaps it feels wonderful some mornings and rather unsettling on others. What do you actually want to do? And why does having more time
My partner and I have been retired for a long time now, and we have finally adjusted well to sharing this stage of life. I enjoy that. There is something lovely about being able to spend time together without having to squeeze it around work. But it took time. Knowing each other well didn’t mean
Sometimes the question just comes to you. You might be making a cup of tea, looking at the week ahead or returning home from a holiday you had been looking forward to. Nothing is obviously wrong. Your life may be comfortable. You may have activities, people to see and plenty for which to be grateful.
I have relocated many times during my life—sometimes for work, sometimes for lifestyle reasons and sometimes because moving felt like the right next step. Each move brought new experiences, new places and new people into my life. But it also meant leaving people behind. There were work colleagues I once saw almost every day, friends
Every now and then I come across someone who makes me stop and think, Yes. That’s it. I had one of those moments recently when I read the story of a 100-year-old man. I’ll call him John, because I want to share what his story made me think about rather than identify him. John retired
A few months into retirement, I remember sitting with my morning coffee and wondering what I was supposed to do with the rest of the day. There was nothing particularly wrong. In fact, this was exactly the freedom I had worked towards. There were no early meetings, no urgent emails and nobody waiting for me
I didn’t suddenly find myself alone in my 60s—the connections that had held my life together simply began to disappear I did not expect connection to be one of the hardest parts of retirement. I had prepared myself—or at least I thought I had. I had worked out the finances. I had a bucket list.
When I first retired, I thought the main question had already been answered. I had decided when to stop working, finished the job and stepped away from the career that had structured so much of my adult life. What I had not answered was what would pull me forward once the job was gone. That
A few months into my retirement, I had a moment I wasn’t expecting. I was sitting at the kitchen table on a Tuesday morning. No calendar pulling at me, no inbox tightening my chest. Just three empty hours and a cup of coffee I’d forgotten to drink. And what I felt wasn’t the freedom I’d
