Your financial ducks are in a row. You’re staying on top of your health. You’ve lined up your leisure activities and added notable dates to your calendar.
Still, after doing all that, you feel like there’s more to consider. Reinvention takes some work.
I don’t consider myself ‘retired,’ but I do include myself among those who are retooling their lives now that a full-time job is a thing of the past. I’ve written previously for Sixty and Me about living a happy retired life, one without career demands.
In a recent Sixty and Me article I addressed three things about retirement that can take us by surprise. The next topic worth examining, as you consider your life during retirement, is a simple question that’s loaded with possibility: What are you yearning for?
Every life transition has both peaks and valleys. We become excited about new possibilities, yet we can’t avoid the shadows. Transitioning into retirement isn’t any different. It’s a glorious and fun-filled time of life. And it has a darker side.
A lot is being written these days about the joy we’re finding at 60 and in the decades beyond. But is this counter-intuitive? After all, our lifetime is winding down, we’re facing a lot of endings, and our next chapters are undeniably shorter than our first.
Life is short. Take the trip. Buy the shoes. Eat the cake. (Anonymous)
The older I get, the harder it is to argue with this advice. Knee deep into my sixth decade, I’ve gathered a few more pearls of wisdom along the way. These lessons are helping me blaze an easier trail through my journey of aging.
The road I live on isn’t paved. It stretches for a mile – a dusty avenue wide enough for two vehicles, and treacherous after a heavy rain.
I knew this a dozen years ago when we found our property, which ultimately became our home, at the end of this road. But I never loved the drive in. My aging compact car rumbled fiercely every foot of the way; forget ever staying clean.
I have a love/hate relationship with time. I used to feel like I had all the time I needed. It could drag on forever. Or maybe that was only true when I was five.
Around the age of 50, I started telling myself a scary story, the one where I’m running out of time.