When I retired at 54 with my husband, I worried we'd be bored spending all our time together. I'm learning to focus on myself.
Courtesy of Leonie Jarrett
- When my husband and I sold our law firm, we retired early; I was 54 years old.
- At first, I was worried I'd be bored and didn't want to spend every minute with my husband.
- Eighteen months into retirement, I'm feeling spiritually lighter and focusing on self-growth.
I retired at 54 when I sold the law firm I owned with my husband.
I had poured nine years of my life into that law firm. The business was hard and relentless work, but I loved it. Before all that, my adult life focused on building my career as a lawyer and raising a family. Now, our youngest child of four was finishing school. The child-raising was done, and my business was sold. Suddenly, it felt like I had nothing left.
With the rest of our lives before us, my husband and I wondered who we were without our kids or careers.
I worried about what my husband and I would do with our new free time
I was lost. For the first time in my life, I had no purpose or direction. I had oodles of time to do whatever I wanted, but I didn't know what that was.
My husband and I agreed that we should sell the business; we did not agree on early retirement.
"We are too young to retire," I told him repeatedly. "We still have so much to offer."
"Don't be crazy. We should grab the opportunity of a new, slower life with both hands," he often answered.
Our marriage has been a long and happy one. I wasn't concerned about spending a lot of time with my husband, but I was concerned about spending all our time together. Leading up to retirement, I wondered: What would we do, what would we talk about, and would we get sick of each other?
The questions boggled my mind during the first few weeks of early retirement as I started cleaning out the cupboards — begrudgingly. The task was so boring and mind-numbing that I worried the task was a representation of the rest of my life.
Out of force of habit, I compulsively checked my emails countless times a day only to be continually disappointed when I saw shopping emails imploring me to buy the latest whatever.
Eventually, I noticed a change in myself
Day by day, week by week, I felt myself growing lighter. The furrow between my eyes faded. I didn't realize how often I had screwed my face in concentration trying to solve the latest problem. I didn't realize the extent of the weight I had been carrying on my shoulders — the weight of a team of 35 people and thousands of clients. The weight of the bushfire that I imagined was out there flickering, always threatening to flare up and damage the business, finally dissipated.
I started filling my days with things other than work and the 100+ emails that needed answering every day.
I met up with neglected friends and kept surprising myself as I told them I would fit in with their week. I no longer had to see when I could squeeze in a coffee date. I no longer had to take my laptop with me to the hairdresser or send emails while I was grocery shopping.
On our usual morning walk with our fur baby Golden Retrievers, my husband and I were able to slow down. The walks became longer and less hurried. We often finished with a leisurely coffee at a café.
Plus, we started traveling more and for longer periods.
Sure, I'm spending more time with my husband, but our time together now is more meaningful. And it's giving me a reason to find the new me.
I'm trying to write a new chapter for myself
As I explored who I wanted to become outside my career and outside my marriage, I decided I should start to write. I've signed up for a few online writing courses. I have started experimenting with flash fiction, short stories, memoirs, poetry, and travel writing.
Eighteen months into retirement, I can see that this period of my life is a gift. I can stop rushing, and I can start nourishing myself with things that I want to do. I have the luxury of time and the freedom to do what I want when I want. I can be present and not preoccupied.
Early retirement has gifted me the opportunity, quite literally, to write another chapter of my life — and this chapter is all about me.