Redisovering Myself: The start of a sudden Retirement

Tag: writing

  • “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.

  • Breaking Into TikTok as a Senior: The Side Hustle Struggle 

    A few months ago, a friend of mine—who’s in her 40s—told me she was making a few hundred dollars a week from a side hustle on TikTok. She was posting fun, casual videos, gaining followers, and watching the money roll in. “It’s easy!” she said. “You can do this! You just need to get to 5K followers.”
    “It won’t take long!”
    I love her optimism.

    So, I created an account, posted a few videos, and… seven weeks later, I’m still stuck at 1,700 followers.
    Meanwhile, other friends? They hit 5,000 in 2 weeks tops. What gives?

    I keep asking myself, “Do I need to be a hip 20-something to make this work?” (Spoiler alert: I’m definitely not). They’re cruising along while I’m here, trying to figure out which filter makes me look less like I just woke up from a nap. It’s like they have the social media secret sauce, and I’m still searching for the recipe.

    I’ve also been experimenting with Instagram and trying to grow my blog—because, of course, every senior needs a blog about navigating life post-retirement, right? But as I juggle all of this, I can’t help but wonder: Is this side hustle even worth it? The extra income sounds good, but does it justify the time spent figuring out hashtags and mastering TikTok dances my knees just don’t seem to want to do?


    Well, a few hundred dollars a week sounded good! Who wouldn’t want to make a little extra income without diving into a full-time gig? The idea of extra cash was too tempting to pass up.

    But then I got on TikTok and quickly realized that it’s not just about dancing to viral songs or lip-syncing to movie clips. No, it’s about creating content that actually resonates with people. And let me tell you—trying to film myself without my phone falling over or my dog walking across the screen is a true art form.


    TikTok’s algorithm doesn’t care that I’m a senior. It doesn’t look at me and say, “Oh, she’s 65—let’s put her content at the bottom of the feed.” Instead, it focuses on engagement—how many likes, shares, and comments your videos get. So, I’m not being excluded because of my age. But still, it feels like I’m trying to play catch-up while everyone else is on the express train.

    There are days when I look at my follower count and think, “Is this really worth all the hours I’ve spent trying to get this just right?” After all, retirement is supposed to be the time where I can do whatever I want—like enjoying coffee without wondering how many likes it will get on Instagram.

    But then I remember why I started: extra income. A little extra cash could make life even sweeter—whether it’s spoiling my grandkids or treating myself to something fun. Am I getting rich? Not even close. But am I having fun and learning something new every day? You bet!


    Here’s the Truth –     building an audience doesn’t happen overnight—especially with TikTok’s unpredictable algorithm. Sure, my friends are posting videos that are always on trend and getting a ton of views, while I’m over here wondering if I’m supposed to use hashtags like #GrandmaDoesTikTok or #SeniorGoals. (Do those even exist? Should I make them up?)

    It’s a process. And that process involves a lot of trial and error. I’ve posted plenty of videos that flopped, and yes, I’ve probably shared a few that made my grandkids want to crawl under the couch in embarrassment. But hey, at least I’m trying, right?

    The good news is—it’s not about going viral overnight. It’s about finding what works, being consistent, and most importantly, having fun. TikTok, Instagram, and blogging are all about experimenting with different ideas and figuring out what clicks. My path might be slower than others, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth the ride.
    Can we still find success without sacrificing our freedom?

    The answer is: Yes! It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. A side hustle doesn’t mean you have to give up your leisurely walks in the park, your afternoon naps, or your coffee dates with friends. It’s about finding that perfect balance where you can earn a little extra cash, stay creative, and still have plenty of time to enjoy life.

    Plus, let’s be real: A side hustle is a great way to feel like you’re part of the digital age. It’s a modern hobby that pays off—without the need for knitting needles or collecting stamps (no offense to knitters or stamp collectors). If you can learn to navigate TikTok, Instagram, or blogging, you’re staying sharp, staying relevant, and having fun with technology.
    I won’t lie—TikTok and side hustles have been a lot more work than I expected. But the journey has been rewarding. I’m not just doing this for the money (though that part doesn’t hurt), I’m doing it because it’s fun, it keeps me connected, and it challenges me to keep learning. And that’s a good thing right?

    “What’s your side hustle dream?” or “Have you tried TikTok or Instagram as a side hustle? Share your thoughts (or tips!) in the comments below!”

  • “Living Vicariously Through Everyone Else’s Spring Break”

    Ah, spring break—the time when everyone else is soaking up the sun, jet-setting to exotic destinations, and escaping the daily grind. Meanwhile, back at home, my daughter and teenage granddaughters are on their own spring break and  living their best lives, lounging like they’re auditioning for a spa commercial. As for me? I’m playing personal chef, cranking out takeout meals like I own a culinary UberEats business. Oh, and did I mention I’m also house-sitting her pets? The cats demand more attention than a reality TV diva, and the dog seems to have forgotten what “personal space” means. But hey, I love them—clearly, I do, or I wouldn’t be playing maid to their furry kingdom.

    And then there’s my brother—oh, my brother. He’s been regaling me with extremely important tales of how he didn’t get to go to Florida for spring break when he was young. Now, here’s the twist: back in the late 70s, he partied like it was 1999… every single weekend. Apparently, he’s still processing the deep, lifelong trauma of missing out on beach parties he technically never needed. So, in a grand act of redemption, he insists that he must go to Florida this year to make up for it. (I’m pretty sure there’s a midlife crisis mixed in there somewhere, but I didn’t ask for details.) Meanwhile, my angel of a sister-in-law and I are doing our best to talk him out of it—gently reminding him, with all the love in the world, why this could be a terrible idea.  Honestly, if he weren’t so passionate about everything, I might miss these entertaining rants.

    Then there’s my husband—bless his heart. Between hanging ceiling fans and changing light bulbs in every room (I swear, the man’s keeping the entire electrical industry in business), he’s been reminding me, oh, every five minutes about our must-do trip to Saguaro National Park in Arizona. He’s convinced that hiking among the saguaro cacti is the ultimate spring break experience. And while I get it—the park is stunning—I can’t help but wonder if we could maybe squeeze a beach into that itinerary. Perhaps I’ll tell him the cacti are looking for new friends and need a break from all the attention. But of course, I’ll think about going, because I love him. (And maybe because I’m dying to watch him struggle with a GPS in the middle of the desert)

    Meanwhile, I’m here at home, wishing I could be anywhere else. The only “vacation” I’m getting is from deep-cleaning photos and memorabilia from the past 40 years. Every corner of the house looks like it’s been untouched since my last real vacation—which, let’s face it, was about a decade ago. As I continue my “rage-cleaning” session, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve invented a new workout routine. But honestly, I’m thankful for these little vacation moments, even if they come with a mop, a broom, and enough patience to qualify for sainthood.

    So here I am—cooking, cleaning, house-sitting, and pretending this is my version of spring break. At least there’s wine. Love you all, even if I do need a nap… and a beach… somewhere far, far away.    😎   

  • 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.