The Next Bend in the Trail

 There is something wonderfully liberating about realizing that you don't know what comes next.

When we are young, we often believe we know where life is taking us.

School.

Career.

Marriage.

Family.

Mortgage.

Retirement.

The road seems to have signposts everywhere.

Then one day you reach retirement and discover something rather surprising.

The signs become fewer.

At first, that can be frightening.

Then, if you are lucky, it becomes exciting.

Because when there is no sign telling you exactly where to go, you get to look around.

You get to choose.

You may have spent forty years following schedules created by someone else.

Now you can begin creating your own rhythm.

And that rhythm doesn't have to look like anyone else's.

This is where I think we sometimes misunderstand retirement.

We treat it like the end of something.

But what if it is actually the beginning of an experiment?

What happens if I try this?

What happens if I learn that?

What happens if I say yes to an invitation I would once have turned down?

What happens if I take the trip?

What happens if I join the choir?

What happens if I volunteer?

What happens if I write?

What happens if I simply walk through the park and see where the path takes me?

There is something wonderfully freeing about those questions.

They don't require certainty.

They require curiosity.

And curiosity is one of the great gifts of growing older.

We know enough now to understand that things rarely go exactly according to plan.

We have already survived disappointments.

We've changed jobs.

Moved homes.

Raised families.

Lost people we loved.

Started over.

Made mistakes.

Recovered.

Adapted.

Laughed at ourselves.

Perhaps even more importantly, we have learned that we don't know nearly as much as we once thought we did.

That may not be a weakness.

It may be wisdom.

Remember the forest.

Every time I walk through one, I notice something I have never noticed before.

The forest hasn't necessarily changed.

I have.

I have slowed down.

I am looking differently.

Perhaps retirement offers us the same opportunity.

We can look at our lives differently.

The job we once thought defined us becomes one chapter.

The house we worked so hard to pay for becomes a place from which we launch new adventures.

The skills we developed at work become tools we can use somewhere else.

The friendships we made become deeper because we finally have time to enjoy them.

The dreams we postponed begin knocking again.

And some of those dreams may surprise us.

Maybe you don't want to climb Mount Everest.

Maybe your adventure is taking a bus trip with a group of people you barely know.

Maybe it is learning to paint.

Maybe it is reading all the books you never had time to read.

Maybe it is volunteering at the community centre.

Maybe it is travelling to see someone you love.

Maybe it is sitting on a bench in the sunshine with a coffee and realizing that you don't have to be anywhere else.

We have a tendency to think adventures have to be enormous.

They don't.

An adventure is simply an experience in which you don't know exactly what will happen next.

That can happen at 65.

It can happen at 75.

It can happen at 85.

You are never too old for the next bend in the trail.

And please don't forget the most important piece.

Smile.

Laugh.

Especially at yourself.

There is tremendous freedom in not taking yourself quite so seriously.

You will forget someone's name.

You will walk into a room and forget why you went there.

You will put your glasses down and spend ten minutes looking for them.

You may even discover that the glasses are on your head.

Laugh.

You've earned it.

Growing older does not require us to become solemn experts on life.

We are still allowed to be surprised.

Still allowed to make mistakes.

Still allowed to be silly.

Still allowed to dance badly.

Still allowed to fall in love with a song.

Still allowed to marvel at a sunset.

Still allowed to wonder what is around the next corner.

That brings us back to where this series began.

We spend so much time trying to define music, poetry, love, life and happiness.

Perhaps we eventually discover that none of them can be captured.

They have to be experienced.

Retirement is much the same.

You cannot completely plan it.

You cannot know everything it will bring.

You cannot put the best moments in a bottle and save them for later.

You can only step into the experience.

Look around.

Listen.

Notice.

Laugh.

Love.

And keep walking.

When you first start thinking about retirement, it is natural to feel vulnerable.

You may feel that you have so much to lose.

But may I remind you of something?

Never again, at any other point in this journey, will you have so much to gain.

There are new people to meet.

New places to see.

New things to learn.

Old dreams to revisit.

New dreams to discover.

And perhaps most wonderfully of all, there is a version of yourself you haven't met yet.

So don't stand at the edge of the forest worrying about everything you left behind.

Take a breath.

Step onto the trail.

Look up.

Smile.

The path is waiting.

And who knows?

There may be something wonderful just around the next bend.