The Fist Month

The first month of 2025 has been, to put it mildly, a plot twist I didn’t see coming. I always assumed retirement would be a gentle, well-planned transition—maybe I’d take up knitting, travel the world, or become a professional napper. Instead, life yanked the rug out from under me, and I found myself staring at the great unknown, wondering, “Now what?”

You see, my “retirement” wasn’t exactly voluntary. I quit my job—not for a grand adventure, but because the workplace had devolved into something out of a reality TV show where the boss was the reigning champion of “Bully-in-Chief” who thrived on intimidation, while a select group of favorites seemed to glide through work unscathed, bending rules with a smirk and a well-placed compliment. ” The daily specials included workplace drama, passive-aggressive emails, and a side of endless overtime, with unfinished work haunting my evenings and weekends like a bad sitcom rerun. I often fantasized about flipping my desk in dramatic protest, but in the end, I settled for the more responsible option: walking away before I lost my sanity. And just like that, I was free… sort of.

The first couple of weeks was a blur of what my husband affectionately calls “rage cleaning”—a full-throttle attack on every speck of dust and misplaced item in my house. Picture me, wielding a vacuum like Thor’s hammer, shouting battle cries at stubborn grout stains. Every forgotten pile of clutter met its doom, every dusty surface trembled in fear. If nothing else, I was determined to scrub my way into a sense of control.

But once the house was sparkling, (though lets be honest, not exactly sparkling) reality set in. What now? I still woke up early, out of sheer muscle memory, only to remember there was nowhere I needed to be. My biggest morning decision became whether to put on real clothes or stay in what I now lovingly call my “all-day lounge uniform.” (Spoiler alert: the lounge uniform wins every time.) Retirement, so far, felt less like freedom and more like playing hooky from life—minus the thrill of sneaking around.

My husband handled retirement differently. When his plant shut down, he seamlessly transitioned into tinkering with cars, fixing things around the house, and embracing the great outdoors. Meanwhile, I was busy contemplating whether I should finally learn how to bake bread or just continue buying it like a normal person. Turns out, some people actually name their sourdough starters and treat them like beloved pets. Honestly, I’m both intrigued and slightly alarmed by this level of commitment to fermented dough.

Before retirement, my schedule was packed. I was either shuttling my grandkids to activities, cheering them on from the sidelines, or caring for my aging parents. My job title could have been “Grandma-Uber,”. Later, after my parents passed, I became the family archivist, sorting through decades of memories and deciding which distant cousin deserved the vintage cookie jar. My days were full, dictated by the needs of others. And now? Now it’s just me, an open calendar, and a very clean house.

The question of “Now what?” is bigger than I expected. It’s not just about what to do with my time—it’s about rediscovering who I am beyond my career, beyond my responsibilities. But maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to figure it all out immediately. Maybe I can take my time—try a part-time job, revisit old hobbies, or discover something entirely new. (Though I draw the line at forming emotional attachments to dough.)

What I’ve learned in this first month is that self-discovery isn’t about having a flawless plan. It’s about patience, curiosity, and embracing the unknown. Whether it’s rage cleaning or contemplating the mysteries of sourdough, every small step counts.

So, to those of you who have retired—or are thinking about it—how did you navigate the transition? Did you dive into new hobbies or stumble into a new routine? Share your wisdom! Let’s try and figure this out together—one day (and maybe one questionable sourdough experiment) at a time.