I stay busy doing things that matter to me

 There’s a moment that doesn’t get talked about enough.

It’s not the retirement party. Not the speeches, the cake, or the handshake at the door. It’s a quieter moment, maybe a week later, when someone casually asks, “So, what do you do?”

And for the first time in decades… You hesitate.

Because for years, the answer rolled off your tongue. Teacher. Manager. Electrician. Nurse. Owner. Your work wasn’t just what you did; it was how you located yourself in the world. It gave structure to your days, people to connect with, and a reason to get up when the alarm clock felt like an enemy.

Then one day, that label disappears.

And here’s the truth most retirement brochures skip over: losing that identity can feel like losing your footing. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But enough to leave you wondering, “Okay… now what?”

Research backs this up, but you don’t need research; you’ve seen it. The people who struggle most in that first year of retirement aren’t usually the ones worried about money. They’re the ones wandering a bit, missing the rhythm, the sense of usefulness, the quiet pride of contributing.

Retirement isn’t a finish line. It’s an open space.

And open space can feel like freedom… or it can feel like falling, depending on how you step into it.

So, here’s the shift: instead of asking only, “Do I have enough to retire?” start asking, “Who do I want to be when I get there?”

Not in some abstract, philosophical way, but in the real, everyday sense of how your life will actually feel on a Tuesday morning in November.

Let me give you a few paths, questions worth sitting with, maybe over coffee, maybe on a long walk. No rush. These aren’t questions to answer once. They’re questions to live into.

First, the identity question:
If you couldn’t use your old job title, how would you describe yourself?
Not what you did, but what you care about. Are you a helper? A builder? A storyteller? A mentor? A learner? A community connector? This is the foundation. Everything else builds from here.

Then the rhythm question:
What do your days look like when they feel good?
Do you need structure, or do you thrive in open time? Some people need a reason to get out the door by 9 a.m. Others bloom when the clock disappears. Be honest, these matter more than you think.

The connection question:
Who are “your people” now?
Work gave you built-in relationships. Retirement doesn’t. So, where will your conversations, your laughter, your sense of belonging come from? Friends, family, volunteering, clubs, coffee groups, this doesn’t happen by accident.

The contribution question:
Where do you still want to make a difference?
Because here’s something I’ll push back on: the idea that retirement is about “taking it easy” forever. That sounds nice for about… two weeks. Then most people start to feel restless. You don’t stop needing purpose just because you stopped getting paid.

The curiosity question:
What have you always said, “I’d love to try that someday”?
This is your “someday.” Learning, creating, exploring, it keeps your mind alive and your spirit moving forward.

And finally, the courage question:
What are you a little afraid to step into?
New roles, new communities, new versions of yourself. Retirement asks for a bit of bravery. Not the loud kind, the quiet kind that says, “I don’t fully know who I am in this stage yet… but I’m willing to find out.”

Because here’s the bigger picture.

Retirement isn’t about shrinking your life. It’s about reshaping it.

The financial plan gets you to the door.
But identity, purpose, connection, and curiosity, those are what make you want to walk through it.

And when someone asks you, a week or a year into retirement, “So, what do you do?”

Imagine smiling and saying something like:
“I stay busy doing things that matter to me.”

Now that… that’s a life worth building.

 

Jumpin’ Jack Flash… and Still Jumpin’

Back in the 1960s, when guitars were loud, hair was longer, and parents were worried for all the right reasons, a scrappy little band from England called The Rolling Stones burst onto the scene. You may have heard of them.

They gave us Jumpin' Jack Flash, a song that didn’t just make you tap your foot… it made you jump. And here’s the kicker: decades later, they’re still going. They may not be touring right now, but let’s be honest, retirement hasn’t exactly caught them yet. They’re still, in spirit, jumping.

Now, most of us didn’t spend a lot of time in the ’60s analyzing lyrics; we were too busy dancing. But if you listen closely, that song tells a story. It’s about a rough start, hard knocks, and things not going smoothly. And yet, after every line of struggle comes that defiant chorus:
“It’s all right now… in fact, it’s a gas.”

That’s not just a lyric. That’s a life strategy.

Fast forward a few decades, and here we are, the same generation, just with better stories and slightly more reliable footwear. Retirement shows up, not as an ending, but as a new verse. And sure, this chapter has its challenges. Loss happens. Bodies creak. Downsizing replaces upsizing. And some mornings, you make noises getting out of a chair that used to be reserved for heavy lifting.

But here’s the truth: we were never the “sit quietly and cope” generation. We questioned things. We changed things. We turned things upside down when they needed it. So why would we approach retirement any differently?

You don’t “win” against aging by pretending you’re 30 again; that’s a fast track to pulled muscles and confused grandchildren. And let’s be honest… skinny jeans have an expiration date.

You win by keeping your spirit intact. By laughing at the aches, planning the next adventure (even if it’s just coffee with a friend that turns into two hours of storytelling), and refusing to let the calendar tell you how alive you’re allowed to feel.

Retirement isn’t about slowing down; it’s about shifting gears. Less obligation, more intention. Less rush, more rhythm.

So, when life throws a few bumps your way, as it always has, you can still borrow a line from your younger self and say:
“It’s all right now… in fact… it’s a gas.”

Because the truth is, this stage of life?
It’s not the encore.

It’s the part where you finally get to play exactly the music you want. 🎸

Grandparents Raising Grandchildren: A Different Kind of “Retirement Plan

Retirement is supposed to come with a slower pace. Maybe a bit of travel, a few mornings where the biggest decision is coffee or tea… and then life steps in and says, “How about school lunches and bedtime stories again?”

Many grandparents across Canada are finding themselves in exactly that situation, raising their grandchildren when their own children can’t. It might be due to addiction, illness, loss, or circumstances that didn’t go the way anyone hoped. However it happens, the result is the same: you step in, not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary.

And just like that, retirement becomes recess duty.

Here’s the truth: it’s more common than it used to be. That doesn’t make it easier, but it does mean you’re not alone. There’s a quiet network of grandparents doing school pickups, helping with homework, and learning that “screen time” is apparently a topic worthy of international debate.

The first big challenge is emotional, yours and the child’s. Children are perceptive. They will notice that their “parents” are a little more seasoned than the others at school pickup. Honesty matters here. Not every detail, not all at once, but a truthful, age-appropriate story builds trust. Kids handle truth better than confusion.

If your adult child is still in the picture, things can get complicated. There’s a balancing act between protecting the child and allowing the parent to remain involved where it’s safe and appropriate. If that relationship can be preserved honestly, where “mom is mom,” and you are the steady support, it can make a world of difference later on. It’s not always neat, but it’s often worth the effort.

Then comes energy. Let’s be candid, young children have two speeds: full throttle and asleep. Many grandparents lean more toward “let’s read a book and have a snack.” That’s not a weakness; it’s a strength. Stability, patience, and presence matter just as much as chasing a soccer ball. Still, this is where family and community step in. Aunts, uncles, neighbours, and friends can help fill in the high-energy gaps.

And yes, there’s the practical question that sits quietly in the background: Can I do this for the long haul?

That’s not pessimism, that’s responsible thinking. Planning matters. Legal arrangements, financial supports, and a backup plan for the child’s care if something happens to you are all part of the job now. It’s not easy to think about, but it gives everyone peace of mind.

The good news? You don’t have to figure it out alone. There are solid supports available:

• Government of British Columbia – Offers information on guardianship, financial supports, and services for kinship caregivers.
• Family Services of Greater Vancouver – Provides counselling and family support programs, including help for grandparents raising grandchildren.
• Grandparents Raising Grandchildren Trust – While based in New Zealand, it offers excellent practical guides and emotional support resources that are widely useful.
• AARP – Surprisingly helpful, with online guides, legal checklists, and stories from other grandparents in similar situations.
• 211 British Columbia – Dial or search online to find local programs, financial aid, and support groups near you.

And here’s something worth holding onto.

This wasn’t the plan, but it is a powerful second chance to shape a life. You bring patience, perspective, and a kind of steady love that only comes from experience. You’ve done this before. Maybe not under these circumstances, maybe not with today’s technology (good luck with the homework apps), but the fundamentals haven’t changed.

Children need safety. They need consistency. They need someone who shows up.

You’re already doing that.

So yes, it’s a different retirement than the one you imagined. Fewer quiet mornings, more packed lunches. Less “What’s for dinner?” and more “Why is dinner on the ceiling?”

But also, more laughter, more purpose, and more moments that matter.

Not bad for a “backup plan.” 

Can Grandpa Still Drive? B.C. Roads, B.C. Rules, and a Little Reality Check)

 There’s a moment that sneaks up on you.

It doesn’t arrive with flashing lights or a parade. It comes quietly, in the mail. A polite letter from Insurance Corporation of British Columbia that essentially says, “Happy Birthday… now let’s talk about your driving.”

This year, I turn 80.

And like many of my fellow Boomers, yes, there’s a whole convoy of us hitting this milestone, I received that letter asking me to visit my doctor and confirm that I’m still fit to drive. Not a suggestion. Not a friendly “if you have time.” More of a “we’ll need to check on that, thanks very much.”

It’s a rite of passage here in British Columbia, and it may be in your area as well. At 80, drivers are required to undergo regular medical assessments to keep their licence. After that, the check-ins become more frequent. You might say the province wants to make sure we’re still driving, and not just out for a Sunday cruise in 1998.

Now, let’s be honest. This isn’t an easy topic.

Driving isn’t just about getting from Point A to Point B. It’s independence. Its identity. It’s the ability to say, “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” and actually mean it. The idea of giving that up feels a bit like being told you can no longer have dessert, technically survivable, but emotionally questionable.

And yet… here we are.

The truth is, as we age, things change. Eyesight isn’t quite what it used to be. Reaction time has a few more “thoughtful pauses.” Night driving starts to feel like a high-stakes video game you didn’t sign up for. Even reading road signs can turn into a guessing contest: “Was that Maple Street,  or a new restaurant?”

The system in B.C. doesn’t assume you can’t drive; it just asks you to prove you still can. Your doctor becomes, in a way, your co-pilot in this decision. And here’s the interesting part: many seniors already know.

Not always out loud. Not always willingly. But quietly, there’s an awareness.

You start avoiding left turns across heavy traffic. You prefer daytime trips. You “just don’t feel like driving” in the rain anymore, which, in B.C., is a bit like saying you don’t feel like breathing.

So what helps when this moment arrives?

A doctor’s opinion carries weight. When it’s framed as safety, not punishment, it’s easier to hear.

Personal safety matters too. Nobody wants to trade independence for injury. The idea of a preventable accident tends to focus the mind remarkably well.

And then there’s the safety of others. No grandparent wants to be that story on the evening news. That one hits home fast.

There’s also a practical side that doesn’t get enough credit. Owning a car isn’t cheap. Insurance, gas, maintenance, it adds up. Giving up the keys can feel less like a loss and more like cancelling a very expensive subscription.

But here’s where the story takes a better turn.

Losing the driver’s seat doesn’t mean losing your life. It just means changing how you move through it.

Public transit in many communities is better than it used to be. Senior shuttle services exist. And families, those same children who didn’t listen to a word you said at Mile Zero, suddenly become very interested in giving you a ride.

Funny how that works.

You may lose a car… but you gain company.

So, can Grandpa still drive?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But the better question is this: can Grandpa still get where he wants to go, stay connected, and live fully?

Absolutely.

And if he occasionally offers a few “words of wisdom” from the passenger seat now… well, history tells us those probably won’t be remembered either.