When you tell someone you are leaving your career, the standard response is usually a variation of, “Congratulations! Enjoy the relaxation.” But when I told my sister I was retiring, she asked me a much sharper, better question: “What are your plans?” It was a beautiful question because it didn’t assume an ending. It demanded an “and.”
Across the country, a quiet revolution is happening among working women. Many of them years older than the standard cultural milestones, are still clocking in, creating, and leading. They have no plans to exit the workforce because they refuse to step into a void. They look at the traditional concept of retirement and see something missing. They see a sentence that stops at a period, when it desperately needs a conjunction.
In my social circle, such a woman is my best friend, 7 years my senior.
To understand why we need this “and,” we first have to look at why we use the word “retirement” in the first place – and what it was originally designed to signify.
Where did this term surface? Linguistically, to “retire” comes from the Old French word retirer, meaning “to pull back” or “to withdraw.” For centuries, it was primarily a military term. An army would retire from the battlefield when they were defeated, exhausted, or no longer fit to fight.
The structural concept of retirement didn’t enter the modern workforce until 1889, when German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck created the world’s first state pension system. Bismarck wasn’t acting out of pure generosity; he was trying to stave off a political uprising from younger, unemployed Marxists. His solution was simple: pay citizens aged 70 (later lowered to 65) to voluntarily leave the workforce to clear room for the youth.
Historically and structurally, “retirement” signifies a withdrawal. It was built on the assumption that an individual had been entirely worn out by industrial or military labor and needed to be put out to pasture.
But women today are not defeated armies, and they are not worn-out factory gears. So why are we still using a 19th-century military framework to describe a 21st-century life phase?
We are culturally conditioned to view retirement as a financial destination. We track the 401(k), calculate the social security math, and check the box. We plan exhaustively for the exit, but we fail to plan for the entry into whatever comes next.
We don’t plan for the “and” because our culture erroneously treats rest as the ultimate goal. We are told that sitting at home, watching the sunset, or playing endless rounds of golf is the reward for a life well lived. But human science tells a completely different story.
What happens to a person when they retire and don’t have that “and”? They face a severe identity crisis.
For decades, work provides four critical pillars:
When a person retires without an “and,” all four of those pillars collapse at the exact same time. The first few weeks might feel like a wonderful vacation – the “honeymoon phase.” But soon, the unstructured time becomes disorienting. Without a project, a goal, or a reason to build, boredom can quickly tip into a quiet, painful despair. The phone stops ringing, the daily routines blur together, and a dangerous sense of irrelevance can set in.
This is exactly why so many vibrant older women are choosing to keep working. They aren’t staying out of financial desperation; they are staying because their work gives them life, connection, and a sharp mind. They realize that true freedom isn’t having nothing to do; true freedom is having the autonomy to choose what is worth doing.
If you do choose to leave your primary career, the secret to surviving – and thriving – is ensuring your sentence doesn’t end with “I retired.” It must be:
We need the “and” because humans are hardwired to contribute. We need a reason to stretch our minds and interact with the world. So, if you are standing at the edge of this milestone, don’t just look for an exit strategy. Listen to the wisdom of that one simple question: What are your plans? Find your “and” –because sitting at home without one is far too dangerous a retirement.
What is the primary purpose of your retirement? Have you gone through an identity crisis? What follows after your “and”?