Redisovering Myself: The start of a sudden Retirement

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  • Rocking Retirement: Three Generations, One Stevie Nicks, and a Whole Lot of Velvet

    I’ve spent a good chunk of this new retirement playing Grandma UberEats and rage-cleaning boxes of stuff I apparently couldn’t live without in 1998.

    But this past weekend?
    I was done.

    Apron off. Boots on.

    My daughter, my granddaughters, and I piled into the car for a pilgrimage to see the High Priestess of Rock herself: Stevie Nicks.

    And I’ll tell you… it’s a little wild sitting in a car with teenagers singing along to the same Fleetwood Mac songs that got me through my 20s.

    Back then, I had a cassette tape and a pencil for rewinding (if you know, you know).
    This weekend, they had it streaming in high-def like it dropped yesterday.

    But… the soul of the music hasn’t changed one bit.

    The Togetherness Trap (The Good Version)

    Usually, when I talk about the “togetherness trap” of retirement, I’m referring to my husband following me from room to room to discuss whatever home improvement project we suddenly need to do.

    But this was a different kind of togetherness.

    When the first notes of “Rhiannon” hit, I watched my granddaughters’ faces light up… and I wasn’t just “Grandma” this weekend—I was the one who knew the songs and the stories behind the drama.

    And while my career might have ended “suddenly,” my role as the Cultural Ambassador of Cool is just getting started.

    What I Learned Watching Stevie

    Watching Stevie Nicks twirl across that stage in velvet and lace like time has absolutely no authority over her… yeah, I had a moment.

    Because she’s not slowing down.
    She’s not fading out.

    She’s just… still being Stevie.

    And honestly? That’s the goal.

    A few things I’m taking with me:

    Velvet is now a neutral.
    If it doesn’t swish when I walk, I’m not interested.

    Music is the great equalizer.
    A 15-year-old, a 17-year-old, and a 40- and 60-something all feeling the exact same thing at the exact same time? That’s magic.

    My “reliable” years were not wasted.
    I had the snacks. We had the tickets (and great seats, I might add). I had a parking exit strategy that would impress a tour manager.

    You can take the woman out of the workforce…
    but you cannot take the logistics out of the woman.

    Full Circle

    Walking back to the car tired, a little deaf, and running on pure “Silver Springs” energy, somewhere between the stadium and the parking lot, it hit me—

    This is what this stage is actually about.

    Not slowing down.
    Not sitting still.

    Just finally having the time to share what you love with the people you love… without watching the clock.

    But as we were walking through the parking lot, still riding high from the concert, the wind shifted.

    And I caught a smell.

    “Wow,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
    “I’m really surprised a skunk came this close to all this noise and just… went for it.”

    We walked in silence for about two seconds.

    Then—

    Laughter. Immediate. Loud. Slightly disrespectful.

    “Debz…” one of them said, looking at me with that perfect mix of pity and amusement.
    “You never smoked weed?”

    I laughed right along with them.

    “No,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure it showed up at a few of the same parties I did back in the day.”

    But honestly… it was a perfect night.

    Stevie Nicks on stage.
    The unmistakable scent of the 70s in the air.
    Three generations laughing, sharing, and making a memory.

    For a minute, there was no age gap.
    No “back in my day.”
    No “you wouldn’t understand.”

    Just music, memories… and one very misunderstood “skunk.”

    And if that’s not rocking retirement, I don’t know what is.

  • I Accidentally Tried to Turn My Sudden Retirement Into Income (With Help From “G”)

    I did not wake up one day and think:

    “Wow, you know what would be fun?
    Starting an online business after suddenly retiring.”

    No.

    I woke up thinking:
    👉 “What do I do… and how am I going to make this work?”

    This Is Not the Instagram Version of Retirement

    You know the version:

    • coffee on the porch
    • slow mornings
    • maybe a beach for dramatic effect

    Yeah… no.

    My version looked more like:

    • checking grocery prices like it was a competitive sport
    • redoing the same budget 14 different ways
    • paying bills and thinking, “I have to do better”

    And a lot of:
    👉 “What now?”

    Enter “G” (a.k.a. ChatGPT)

    Somewhere in the middle of all this, I started using ChatGPT.

    I call it “G” because at this point we’re basically coworkers.

    And by coworkers, I mean:
    👉 I panic
    👉 G gives me ideas
    👉 I panic slightly less

    What Started As “Help Me Figure This Out” Turned Into…

    At first I was just asking G things like:

    • “What do people even do after sudden retirement?”
    • “How do I make money without losing my mind in all this confusion?”
    • “Is it too late to just start over?”

    (We’re still working through that last one.)

    Then G said something like:
    👉 “You could turn what you’re learning into something that helps other people.”

    And I thought:
    “Well that sounds like a lot of work…”

    …which, to be fair, it was.

    But I Made a Guide. And a Toolkit. And… Nothing Happened.

    I created:

    • a guide
    • a toolkit

    And then I waited.

    And waited.

    And… nothing.

    No sales.
    No messages.
    Not even a pity purchase from someone who knows me.

    At that point I seriously considered:
    👉 throwing my laptop into the nearest body of water
    👉 or pretending I never tried this

    Then I Did What Everyone Does… I Tried Everything

    After nothing sold, I went into full stubborn “fix this immediately” mode.

    Which apparently looks like:

    • “Maybe I should try TikTok”
    • “What about affiliate marketing?”
    • “Wait… dropshipping?”
    • “Do people sell printables? Should I sell printables?”

    At one point I had:
    👉 five tabs open (that’s a conservative number)
    👉 zero direction
    👉 and a growing sense that I was making this worse

    Meanwhile, G Was Trying to Rein Me In

    While I was busy trying to reinvent my entire life in 24 hours…

    G was over there like:
    👉 “Let’s focus on one thing.”

    And I was like:
    👉 “Yes, but what if I do ALL the things?”

    G:
    👉 “No.”

    Me:
    👉 “…but what if—”

    G:
    👉 “Still no.”

    The Problem Wasn’t Lack of Ideas

    It was too many ideas.

    Too many directions.
    Too many “this could work.”

    Not enough:
    👉 “this is what I’m actually doing right now.”

    What Finally Started Making Sense

    Once I stopped trying to:

    • chase every idea
    • learn everything at once
    • fix everything overnight

    Things got… simpler.

    Not easier.
    Just clearer.

    And what became clear was this:

    👉 People don’t need more information.
    They need a place to start.

    So I Changed It (With G Watching Closely)

    Instead of separate pieces, I pulled everything together into one simple plan:

    👉 what to do in your first 30 days
    👉 how to steady things
    👉 how to stop the overwhelm from taking over
    👉 and how to start moving forward

    Not perfect.
    Not complicated.

    Just… practical.

    If You’re Feeling Like This Too…

    If retirement showed up earlier than expected…

    If money feels tighter than you’d like…

    If you’re sitting there thinking:
    👉 “I don’t even know what to do first”

    You’re not behind.

    You’re just in the middle of figuring it out.

    (I say this as someone still very much figuring it out.)

    Here’s What I Put Together

    With a lot of trial, error, and conversations with G…

    I created a simple place to start:

    👉 a 30-day reset plan
    👉 a way to steady things
    👉 and some realistic next steps

    No overthinking. Just a place to begin.

    If you need a place to start, you can find it here:
    👉 Start here: 30-Day Reset Plan for Sudden Retirement

    [inshttps://suddenretirement.gumroad.com/l/puyjwzert link]

  • The Plot Twist… Took a Coffee Break

    Apparently even blogs about reinvention need a little reinvention.

    If you’ve noticed a small… let’s say pause… in my blogging, you would be correct. My last post and I have been sitting across the room from each other like two people who meant to call but never quite got around to it.

    The truth is, retirement (especially the sudden kind) comes with a strange side effect:
    You suddenly have time.

    And when you suddenly have time, you also suddenly have the urge to fill every single minute of it trying to figure out what you’re supposed to do with the rest of your life.

    So instead of writing here, I went down the rabbit hole of the modern retirement hobby:

    Searching for the perfect work-from-home side gig.

    And let me tell you… the internet has opinions.

    Apparently I could have been:

    • A virtual assistant
    • A course creator
    • A dropshipping mogul
    • A Pinterest strategist
    • A TikTok product reviewer
    • A digital product empire builder
    • Or someone who sells planners to people who plan to use planners

    I tried to understand all of it.

    I watched videos.
    I took notes.
    I opened about 47 browser tabs.

    At one point I’m fairly certain I had a spreadsheet explaining another spreadsheet that tracked my potential spreadsheets.

    Somewhere in the middle of all that “figuring it out,” I quietly stepped away from the blog.

    Not because I didn’t care about it.

    But because I was busy trying to solve the great post-retirement question:

    “What am I supposed to do now?”

    After a while though, I realized something.

    All that searching started to feel suspiciously like… work.

    The kind of work where you’re staring at screens, chasing productivity, and forgetting the whole point of stepping away in the first place.

    So I did something radical.

    I stepped away again.

    Not from retirement.

    Just from the pressure to immediately turn retirement into a perfectly optimized business model.

    And in that quiet space something became clear.

    This blog was never supposed to be a productivity report.

    It was supposed to be the story of figuring it out.

    The messy middle.
    The experiments.
    The side roads.
    The moments where you think you have a plan… and then life laughs politely.

    So here we are.

    Back on track.

    Not because everything is suddenly organized and crystal clear.

    But because this journey — the detours, the false starts, the “maybe this will work” ideas — is exactly what sudden retirement looks like.

    And if I disappear again for a few days here and there?

    Well… that might just mean I’m out there testing another plot twist.

    After all…

    Retirement deserves one.

  • One Year Into Sudden Retirement (and I Finally Exhaled)

    It’s been one year, today, since I made the decision to leave my job because the environment had become toxic.

    Not “kind of stressful” toxic.
    The kind that seeps into your sleep, your patience, and your Sunday nights.

    The first week after I left was… a lot.
    There were all the emotions — relief, anger, fear, hope — often cycling through in the same hour. I rage-cleaned like it was an Olympic sport. Closets were purged. Cabinets reorganized. If something sat still too long, it was in danger of being donated.

    There was also a lot of soul searching.
    The quiet kind. The “who am I without this job?” kind. The kind that sneaks up on you while you’re wiping down baseboards at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday.

    The months that followed were a roller coaster.
    Some days felt exciting and full of possibility. Other days felt unsettling and unfamiliar. I missed the structure, questioned my decisions, and wondered what do I do now — usually while folding laundry for the third time that day.

    It wasn’t until the last three months that something finally clicked.

    I began to feel the comfort of retirement.
    The freedom.
    The ability to plan my day without mentally checking work emails, deadlines, or unfinished projects.

    For the first time in years, my time felt like it belonged to me.

    I learned that there are other ways to earn income if I need to — and just as importantly, other ways to spend my days creatively. I found myself writing again. Baking. Gardening. Creating just because I wanted to, not because someone expected something from me.

    I spent time with my husband, my daughter, and my granddaughters without the nagging guilt of “I should be working on something.” No mental to-do list running in the background. No unfinished project tapping me on the shoulder.

    And somewhere along the way, I started enjoying things again.

    Rediscovering myself has been amazing — and it’s still ongoing.
    Because here’s the thing no one really warns you about:
    We lose pieces of ourselves to jobs, responsibilities, expectations, and other people’s priorities. Slowly. Quietly. Almost without noticing.

    Sudden retirement didn’t give me everything back all at once.
    But it gave me space.
    And in that space, I’m finding myself again — one day, one project, one peaceful morning at a time.

    Turns out leaving a toxic job doesn’t solve everything… but it does dramatically reduce the number of Sunday-night stomachaches — and increases the amount of baked goods in the house.

  • I Took a Three-Month Break… And Here’s What I Learned About Sudden Retirement

    When I started Sudden-Retirement.com, it was pure survival.
    A pressure valve.
    A place to pour all the shock, anger, and “What on earth just happened?”

    This blog was my therapy before I admitted I needed therapy.
    My confessional before I even knew what I was confessing.
    My release valve when everything felt too tight.

    But somewhere in the middle of all that ranting… something else happened.
    I rediscovered my voice.

    I remembered that I actually love writing.
    Not corporate emails.
    Not meeting notes.
    Not “per my last message” diplomacy.
    Real writing — messy, honest, funny, mine.

    And once that creative switch flipped back on, it didn’t stop.

    During my “I swear I’m coming back soon” break from the blog, I somehow wrote an entire e-book about reinventing yourself after retirement — because apparently I had a lot more to say than could fit in a blog post.
    Then I wrote a short memoir about my grandfather, because the man was indeed one of a kind and those stories deserved to live somewhere other than family text threads.

    And then… Easter happened.

    I built a scavenger hunt for my granddaughters — nothing fancy, just Grandma-level mischief with clues, riddles, and a little chaos.
    But listening to how much fun they had doing it and what they wanted for next year something clicked:
    I could make fun.
    Like… literally create it.
    On paper.
    In printables.
    In games.
    In ways that brought people together.

    And suddenly, The Cozy Printables Co. was born.
    (Technically it was born somewhere between clue #6 and the jelly bean meltdown, but you get the idea.)

    Turns out retirement isn’t just about slowing down.
    Sometimes it’s about opening up.
    To hobbies.
    To curiosity.
    To reinvention.
    To the dangerous question: What if I try this?
    And then trying it anyway.

    So here I am — back.
    Not because I “should.”
    Not because it’s good for pageviews.
    But because I miss this space.

    I miss talking about the weirdness of reinventing yourself when everyone assumes you’re busy organizing your spice drawer or sitting in the rocker doing a crossword puzzle.
    I miss laughing at how “retired” somehow turned into “busier than I’ve ever been.”
    I miss sharing the real stuff — the messy, funny, hopeful truth of starting over at a stage of life that doesn’t come with a map.

    And I want you with me.

    Sudden Retirement isn’t the end.
    It’s the plot twist.
    And I’m finally ready to write the next chapter.

    Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing:

    • What the first year of sudden retirement actually felt like
    • How writing an e-book (and a family memoir!) changed everything
    • How an Easter scavenger hunt accidentally launched a business
    • The things no one warns you about this stage of life
    • And how to find purpose, humor, and maybe even income after the 9–5 disappears

    If you’ve ever felt lost, angry, excited, confused, or out of place in retirement…
    Welcome to the club.
    I’m right here with you — learning, laughing, creating, and reinventing one project at a time.

    Thanks for being here.
    Here we go, again.

  • 🐔 Why Are Retirees So Obsessed with Sourdough, Gardening, and Chickens?

    A Soft Reflection on Time, Peace, and the Unexpected Joys of Slowness

    After decades of alarms, meetings, deadlines, and responsibilities, something curious happens when we finally step off the treadmill:
    We pause.
    We exhale.
    We look around… and start thinking very seriously about starter dough.

    Time off — especially the kind that comes with retirement — invites reflection. It’s like waking up in a quiet house after years of background noise. At first, the silence feels strange. Then it becomes sacred.

    And in that stillness, a surprising craving bubbles up.
    Not for action or output.
    But for… simple things.

    Bread.
    Seeds.
    Feathered friends that cluck and wander and don’t expect you to join Zoom.

    The Great Retiree Plot Twist: From Boardrooms to Backyard Chickens

    You may have noticed this shift. Maybe you’re feeling it too.

    Suddenly, people who once ran teams and managed schedules are:

    • Watching sourdough rise like it’s a TED Talk.
    • Naming their tomato plants.
    • Talking about “the girls” in the coop like they’re coworkers on break.

    Is it a little funny? Yes.
    Is it also incredibly profound? Also yes.

    Here’s why we think retirees are being pulled toward gardening, baking, and backyard livestock:

    🌱 1. It’s Grounding (Literally)

    Gardening puts your hands in the earth and your mind in the moment.
    After years of screens, speed, and synthetic everything, we crave the real. Dirt under our nails. Sunshine on our necks. The satisfaction of a sprout.

    🍞 2. It’s Slow — and That Feels Right

    Sourdough doesn’t care about your calendar.
    It rises when it rises.
    It teaches patience, presence, and pleasure in process — things retirement finally gives us space to enjoy.

    Plus, feeding a starter is weirdly emotional. Don’t ask me why.

    🐓 3. Chickens Are Surprisingly Therapeutic

    Yes, chickens.
    They’re quirky, busy, and oddly calming. Watching them peck around is the equivalent of nature’s white noise machine.
    Plus, eggs. Beautiful, pastel, free-range eggs.

    It’s like having a low-stakes hobby that produces breakfast.

    💚 4. These Hobbies Reclaim Time as a Gift

    In the workforce, time was always managed, budgeted, or fought against.
    Now? Time can stretch. Breathe. Bloom.

    These peaceful rituals aren’t just pastimes — they’re personal ceremonies. They whisper, “You’ve earned this.”

    So No, You’re Not Losing It

    If you’ve felt the mysterious urge to:

    • Compost like it’s your new religion
    • Start an herb garden in your kitchen
    • Learn how to make bone broth
    • Buy chickens and name them after old coworkers…

    You are not alone.
    You’re just in your next beautiful, slower chapter.

    Final Thought

    Whether or not you bake the bread, plant the seeds, or raise the hens, the message is the same:

    You get to live gently now.
    You get to love your days without a deadline.
    You get to trade pressure for presence.

    So if the sourdough calls… answer it.

    It’s probably delicious.

  • The Art of Doing Nothing (And Why It’s Harder Than It Sounds)

    Retirement gave me the gift of time.
    Then time asked, “Now what?”

    I used to dream about this—
    No alarm clocks.
    No email chains titled “quick follow-up” that were never quick and always followed by five more emails.
    I imagined slow coffee, birdsong, and alphabetizing the spice rack just because I could. I thought I’d become one of those serene, productive retirees who start the day with yoga and end it with gratitude journaling.

    Instead, I became someone who spends an hour Googling “how to keep chickens cool in summer” and then forgets what day it is.

    The Myth of the Unstructured Day

    Retirees love to say, “I’m busier than ever!”
    And sure—we are. But it’s a weird kind of busy.
    Not “back-to-back meetings” busy.
    More like “stood in the kitchen for 45 minutes trying to decide what to eat, didn’t eat, and then remembered I already had lunch” busy.

    I wake up with a wide-open day, full of potential… and then spend it debating whether to:

    • Clean out a drawer
    • Re-pot a plant
    • Start a new novel
    • Or finally learn what that blinking light on the dishwasher means

    Spoiler: I do none of those things.
    I end up at the hen house with the chickens, trying to convince them to stay in the shade like it’s a TED Talk on “Shade Management for Overheated Hens.”

    Why Blank Space Is Harder Than It Looks

    For most of our lives, we’ve lived by the clock.
    Bell schedules, shift changes, deadlines, dinner at 6.
    Now? The only thing on my calendar is “possibly nap” and “definitely coffee.”

    My most consistent daily meeting? A judgmental dog.
    He sits beside me, impatiently waiting for me to throw the ball—and looking like he’s ready to file a formal complaint.

    Blank space is beautiful in theory—but when you’re used to structure, it can feel a bit like trying to assemble IKEA furniture without the instructions.
    (It looks easy, until you’re crying at 2 p.m. in your robe, surrounded by screws and regrets.)

    Redefining Productivity (and Making Peace with Pajamas)

    Here’s the trap: we still think productivity equals output.
    Crossing things off. Getting things done. Accomplishment, measured in tasks.

    But what if it’s something softer now?

    Some of my most meaningful days include:

    • Writing one paragraph
    • Talking to the dogs like they’re coworkers
    • Drinking coffee without checking my phone
    • Remembering that quiet is not the same as empty

    Maybe doing nothing is just… doing something different.
    Letting your brain stop spinning.
    Letting your creativity come out of hiding.
    Letting the spice rack stay unalphabetized because you’re busy watching a butterfly land on the porch rail.

    A Soft Landing 

    If you’re staring at a blank page, a messy house, or a wide-open day wondering what to do with yourself… welcome to the club.
    Retirement isn’t a productivity contest.
    It’s a beautifully weird season of unlearning—and sometimes, just standing in the chicken coop whispering,

    “Hang in there, ladies. Mama’s got the hose.”

    The art of doing nothing is an art.
    And like any good artist, we’re allowed to experiment. To nap. To snack. To try again tomorrow.
    P.S.
    If you’ve mastered the fine art of doing nothing—or just have tips on how to keep backyard chickens from staging a coup—leave a comment. We’re all figuring it out together.

  • “I’m 67 and Have No Idea Who I Am (And That’s Okay)

    So here I am at 67, staring at a calendar full of absolutely nothing, and honestly? It’s terrifying. For decades, I’ve been Mom, Wife, Employee, Volunteer Coordinator, Chief Household Manager, and Professional Worrier. Now suddenly I’m just… me. But who the heck is that?

    The Great Passion Hunt (Spoiler Alert: It’s Messier Than Expected)

    Everyone keeps asking, “Are you getting to spend a lot of time on all your passions?” Um, excuse me? The last time I had a passion that wasn’t related to keeping someone else alive, fed, or out of trouble was probably 1982 when I was really into shoulder pads.

    I’ve been trying to rediscover my interests like some sort of archaeological dig through my own soul. So far I’ve unearthed:

    • A dusty easel from my “artistic phase” (lasted three weeks)
    • Recipe books I bought but never opened (apparently I was going to become a gourmet chef)
    • Boxes full of unfinished sewing and cross-stitch projects

    The problem is that for the past 40-something years, my biggest passion has been making sure everyone else could pursue theirs. Now they’re telling me it’s “my turn,” and I’m over here like a deer in headlights, except the deer is wearing sensible shoes and has no idea what it wants to be when it grows up.

    The Identity Crisis No One Warned Me About

    Turns out, when you spend most of your adult life being defined by your relationships to other people, figuring out who you are solo is like trying to remember your password from 2003. You know it’s in there somewhere, but good luck accessing it.

    The Art of Prioritizing Absolutely Everything (Because Everything Is Now Possible)

    The freedom is overwhelming. Do I finally learn French? Take up pottery? Travel to places where I can’t pronounce the food? Join that book club where they actually read the books? Start a podcast about how confused I am?

    I made a list of all the things I’ve always wanted to do. It’s currently 47 items long and includes everything from “learn to tango” to “organize the junk drawer” (yes, I put that on my passion list – judge me). The problem is that when everything is possible, how do you choose anything?

    I’ve started prioritizing by the “Why Not?” method. Someone suggests watercolor classes? Why not? Someone mentions a workout group? Why not? Friend talks about volunteer work at the animal shelter? Why not? At this rate, I’ll be busier than I was when I had a job and three teenagers.

    Does It Really Matter at 67?

    Here’s the thing that’s both liberating and slightly depressing: at 67, I’ve reached the age where a lot of things just don’t matter anymore.

    Do I care if I’m not good at pottery? Nope. Will I worry about looking foolish in that dance class? Not really. Am I concerned about starting over in a completely new field? Surprisingly, no.

    There’s something wonderfully freeing about reaching the age where you realize that most of the stuff you spent years worrying about was just noise. Will I master the guitar at 67? Probably not. Will I have fun making terrible sounds and annoying everyone else? Absolutely.

    The beauty of being 67 and suddenly free is that failure isn’t scary anymore – it’s just data. Bad at painting? Now I know. Terrible at yoga? Good information. Can’t remember the steps to line dancing? Join the club (literally – apparently, forgetting the steps is part of the charm).

    The Plot Twist: Maybe I’m Already Enough

    Here’s what I’m slowly figuring out: maybe the point isn’t to discover some hidden passion I’ve been suppressing for decades. Maybe the point is to realize that the person who spent 40 years taking care of everyone else is actually pretty amazing, and now she gets to take care of herself.

    Maybe my passion is finally sleeping in without guilt. Maybe it’s reading entire books without interruption. Maybe it’s having conversations that don’t involve schedules, carpools, or anyone else’s problems.

    Or maybe my passion is writing rambling blog posts about how confused I am and discovering that other people are just as confused, which somehow makes it all feel less scary and more like an adventure.

    The Bottom Line (Or What I’m Telling Myself Today)

    At 67, I’m learning that reinventing yourself doesn’t have to mean becoming someone completely new. Sometimes it just means finally having the time and space to be the person you always were underneath all those other roles.

    And if that person wants to take up beekeeping, learn Italian, and eat ice cream for breakfast? Well, why not? I’ve earned the right to be exactly as weird and wonderful as I want to be.

    Besides, at my age, what’s the worst that could happen? I might actually enjoy myself.

    So here’s to all of us who are suddenly free and completely terrified. Here’s to finding out that “I don’t know” might just be the most honest answer we’ve given in decades.

    And here’s to discovering that maybe – just maybe – the best plot twist of all is finally becoming the main character in your own story.

    Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a junk drawer calling my name. Apparently, some passions really don’t die.

  • From Overwhelmed to Overjoyed: Finding Focus, Fun, and a Little Bit of Courage in Retirement

    Ah, retirement. That magical time when your inbox is empty and your calendar is, too—unless you’ve penciled in a nap. With so much freedom, how do you keep from turning every day into a Netflix marathon disguised as “self-care”?

    Fear not. Let’s explore how to stay focused, uncover new passions, make space for ourselves, and maybe even dust off an old dream—without losing our sense of humor along the way.

    Remember when your biggest challenge was juggling work, family, and a social life? Now, it might be deciding between a walk or a nap, or what’s for lunch. But too much free time can be just as overwhelming as not having enough. Without structure or purpose, the days can blur.

    Take Larry, for example. He recently bounced back from a health setback—after what felt like an endless parade of doctor appointments, he’s finally back to enjoying his days. Except for one hiccup. Literally. A steroid shot left him with a full week of relentless hiccups. Still, Larry’s stayed upbeat and remarkably punctual when it comes to lunch. Noon sharp, every day.

    He’s also discovered a new passion: tomatoes. A dozen varieties now fill his backyard garden beds. He’s not entirely sure when the squash, okra, black-eyed peas, cantaloupe, or watermelon will make it off the front porch, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. He’s just happy to be in the sun, digging in the dirt, doing something he enjoys.

    Larry’s story reminds me that a little structure—and a lot of enthusiasm—can keep us grounded and even joyful as we navigate this new chapter of life.

    Retirement is the perfect time to try the things you always said you’d get around to someday. Painting, gardening, woodworking, learning the guitar—it doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it excites you.

    Hobbies aren’t just pastimes. They keep our minds engaged, offer a sense of purpose, and spark joy. Whether you’re creating art, tending a garden, or trying something completely new, the beauty is in the process—not in being perfect.

    You don’t need to be an expert. Just be curious. Try, stumble, enjoy, repeat. You might surprise yourself.

    And don’t forget to make time for quiet joy. A solo walk. An afternoon with a book. A weekend away. These aren’t indulgences; they’re necessities. When we care for ourselves, we return to others more grounded, more present, and more whole.

    Have you always dreamed of writing a novel, a memoir, or even just keeping a journal? I have.

    As a teenager, I filled notebooks with poems—some clumsy, some surprisingly insightful, and many written in the chaos of growing up with more feelings than words. But over time, life got louder, and that quiet voice faded into the background. I never quite had the courage—or confidence—to pursue writing seriously.

    Now, in retirement, I’ve found space again. Not the silence of emptiness, but the silence of possibility. Space to think, to reflect, and to return to the words I once loved.

    One project close to my heart is gathering those old poems into a book—a small collection to share with my daughter and granddaughters this Christmas. It won’t be perfect, and that’s okay. It will be honest. A gift of memory and meaning, from the younger me to the women who follow.

    If you have a dream like that—whether it’s writing, painting, or simply telling your story—know this: it’s not too late. You don’t need a publisher or an audience to validate your voice. You just need to begin. And if you’re nervous, like me? That’s normal. Let’s do it anyway.

    Because the world needs more truth, more beauty, and more brave beginnings. And maybe—just maybe—your story is exactly what someone else needs to hear.

    Retirement isn’t just about slowing down. It’s about opening up. It’s a chance to explore, to grow, and to rediscover joy in places we may have overlooked during the hustle of working life.

    Whether you’re like Larry—planting tomatoes with hiccups and hope—or just starting to sketch out your next chapter, this time is yours. Stay curious. Try new things. Take care of yourself. And don’t let fear or self-doubt stop you from going after what you’ve always wanted.

    The journey matters just as much as the destination. So embrace it. Laugh at the missteps. Celebrate the small wins. And enjoy the ride.

  • Bloom Where You’re Planted… Or at Least Try Not to Trip Over the Hose

    Ah, spring. That glorious time of year when the sun finally remembers where I live, the birds return like they never left (with attitude, I might add), and our garden goes from “sad little dirt patch” to “mildly impressive botanical experiment.” Everything feels just a bit more alive—and wildflowers are popping up everywhere—nature’s way of saying, “Look what I can do without supervision!” They’re beautiful, unruly, and oddly relatable.

    I’ve always loved gardening, though I use the term “gardening” loosely. In the past, it usually meant me rushing out the door to work or some meeting, shouting instructions to Larry like, “Just stick the tomatoes somewhere sunny—but not too much sun!” and trusting him to make the magic happen. He’d plant, I’d supervise—from a safe distance, usually with coffee in hand and a very vague idea of what I’d even asked for.

    But this spring? It feels different. I’m still supervising, of course—old habits die hard—but now I’m also helping. Which is how I managed to stick my hand directly into a fire ant bed last week. Larry, ever the picture of calm (and sarcasm), looked at me and said, “Did you not see the mound of dirt… moving?” Then followed it up with, “Go wash your hands and put the itch cream on. And for heaven’s sake, where are your gloves?”

    I’d like to say I’ve learned my lesson, but let’s be honest—I’m more of a “dig with bare hands and a vague sense of purpose” kind of gardener. Still, there’s something deeply satisfying about being out there, side by side, getting our hands dirty—itchy or not.

    Spring also brings something else: track season. Which means I’ve officially become that enthusiastic grandma yelling, “GO! You’re doing GREAT!” like I’m coaching the Olympics from the bleachers. Watching my granddaughters sprint like lightning bolts fills me with pride—and sometimes mild panic when I realize I forgot my sunscreen and will probably resemble a tomato by day’s end.

    One of the best parts of track season? I get to hit the road again with my adult daughter for the meets (we do this during volleyball and basketball seasons too). It’s like a mini girls’ road trip—more sports drinks than spa stops. We snack, talk, laugh, argue, and honestly? It’s some of the best quality time I get, even if she does gripe about my driving.

    Spring also means Easter, and this year we started a new tradition. Since the girls are officially “too old” for a classic egg hunt, we went big with a good, old-fashioned scavenger egg hunt. Clues were hidden in trees, behind downtown park benches, and yes—even one detour to the cemetery to visit great-grandparents. (They were a bit skeptical about the timing of that clue, given the Easter theme.)

    The grand finale? Lunch at my house, complete with baskets filled with goodies for two beautiful teenage girls—because you’re never really too old for chocolate and surprises.

    And in all this chaos—muddy garden shoes, wildflower chases, track meet traffic—I’m rediscovering something important: me. I’ve got more time now, and I’m filling it with joy. Gardening with Larry (though I still question his decision to plant every variety of tomato known to man), planning adventures, or just sitting in the sun pretending I don’t hear the laundry calling. It’s like meeting myself again after a long, busy season—and I gotta say, she’s not half bad.

    So here’s to spring: for bringing blooms, bonding, and just enough pollen to make me question every life choice. I’m leaning into the chaos, soaking up the sunshine, and laughing through it all—because honestly, what’s life without a little dirt under your nails and laughter in your lungs?