If you feel stuck, you’re not failing. You’re pausing.
That distinction matters, especially after retirement or during the
years leading up to it. There’s a lot of quiet pressure to “figure it out,” to
replace one full life with another just as full, just as productive, just as
impressive. When that doesn’t happen quickly, people assume they’re doing
something wrong.
I’ve been retired for twenty-five years, and I still remember how hard
it was to recognize that I was, in fact, retired.
Like many people, I eased my way out rather than stepping cleanly away.
I talked in an earlier post about people who return to their old workplaces
just to visit. I was one of them. I also continued working part-time for a
while, telling myself, and others, that I was “transitioning to retirement.”
That phrase gave me comfort. It created space between who I had been and who I
wasn’t quite ready to become.
Looking back, I can see that what I was really doing was giving myself
time.
After my term on the charity board ended, I didn’t rush to replace it
with something equally demanding. Instead, I took on different
responsibilities. I gave workshops on health and wellness. I created a program
to train others to deliver those workshops. I started my blog. None of these
things were dramatic reinventions. They were small, intentional steps that
allowed me to stay engaged without locking myself into another version of
full-time work.
Gradually, almost imperceptibly, I began to slow down the amount of paid
work I was doing.
At the same time, my wife and I started taking extended trips to visit
family. We checked off a few long-held bucket list items. Our days and weeks
began to feel different, less rushed, more open. What I didn’t notice at the
time was that I was slowly moving away from who I had been as a worker and
toward who I was becoming as a retiree.
That shift didn’t happen in big leaps. It happened in small steps.
This is why I’m wary when people talk about retirement, or midlife
change, as something that requires burning everything down and starting over.
For most of us, that approach is not only unrealistic but also unnecessary.
Meaningful change is far more likely to stick when it grows out of where you
already are.
If you’re feeling stuck, start by paying attention to what you’re
already doing that feels even slightly right. What conversations leave you
energized rather than drained? What activities make time pass more easily? What
responsibilities feel chosen rather than imposed?
You don’t need to commit to anything permanently. Think in terms of
experiments, not decisions. Try something for a season. Say yes with an exit
plan. Let curiosity, not obligation, guide your next step.
Starting again doesn’t mean abandoning your past. It means allowing it
to evolve.
The practical work of this stage of life is gentle work. It involves
loosening old routines, testing new ones, and trusting that clarity will come
through movement, not before it. Small steps taken consistently create
momentum. Momentum creates confidence. Confidence opens doors you didn’t know
you were ready to walk through.
In the final post of this series, I’ll talk about creating more space
for what you want, why wanting something more for yourself isn’t selfish, and
how reconnecting with your own values can shape a life that feels both grounded
and generous.
If there’s one thing I hope you take from this post, it’s this: you
don’t have to know exactly where you’re going. You just have to take the next
kind step forward.
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