Eight Years Retired: Time Well Spent

My former firm recently announced a new Managing Partner, complete with a fresh rebranding look and the requisite forward- and backward-looking quotes. It wasn’t the announcement itself that struck me, even though I enjoyed hearing the news and still feel a lingering responsibility to the legacy of a position that I first shaped at the firm. This time, what struck me was its timing, landing in the same month as my own departure eight years ago. Of course, my retirement had far less ceremony, even to me. Just a few speeches, a few handshakes, and what felt like a giant leap into something else — even though it turned out to be a slow, steady landing.

Funny, though, the news didn’t stir the old feelings I used to get early on when I was reminded of my former role, feelings about whether I’d ever find a comfortable fit again, the way I once felt there. Maybe because there are too many new feelings now, happily settling me into where I’ve come to be.

This year, as I try to recall my first month of retirement, I can’t quite remember what it felt like. I do remember planting my first vegetable garden, even though it was too late in the growing season. But that didn’t stop me — it was my time, and I wasn’t going to miss out on it. I planted radish seeds because they grow quickly, but they did little more than shoot a few hopeful sprouts before the frost. Kind of like me that first year, as I marked my new beginning with a holiday ornament styled as a radish seed packet. Little did I realize that the garden turned out to be my first act of spending time, not investing it. And it taught me that beginnings don’t need to be perfect; they just need to be lived.

I used to think the secret about retirement was that it isn’t just about escape or leisure time, at least that’s true for me. But now I know the deeper secret: that retirement is about shifting how I relate to time.

Although the occasion of an anniversary is when I’m noting this change, I didn’t get here all at once. The shift came about gradually and subtly, as I realized I no longer needed to invest myself completely and unequivocally the way I once did. It wasn’t that all the uncertainty disappeared — I still have moments of not knowing whether something will turn out the way I’d like. And who doesn’t? But what’s changed is my relationship to uncertainty and the entire context in which I view my time.

You might be thinking, doesn’t she know that having time is what retirement is about? But the habits of investment can die hard. It wasn’t that I stopped doing things, but I did them anxiously, thinking whatever I chose had to be the absolutely right choice to deliver my contentment for the long haul. Anything else felt like a poor investment. Now, I find I’m doing things within an entirely different context. It’s no longer about finding the perfect way to invest my efforts to hit my mark, but about spending time in ways that feel worth trying and seeing where they lead, or don’t. I’ve stopped asking what my time will earn and started asking what it means to spend it well.

When we’re younger, we invest in life: we build careers, make homes, raise families, save money, plan for the future. We treat time like capital: something to grow, defer, and protect for later. Uncertainty isn’t an option; decisions must be made, and they demand a long-term investment. You commit to your career to earn success; you invest in your future to ensure you have one. Now, time is no longer something to bank but to spend. Not wastefully, but deliberately, and where it matters.

I remember the affection I developed for notebooks in my first year of retirement, born of a desperate impulse to hold my thoughts, hoping they might offer clues. Maybe that’s how I began learning to spend time: by noticing it.

True to my style, I planted some fall seeds in the space left by my spent summer squash plants this year — I did some research and found that broccoli rabe has a good reputation for fall growth. It didn’t work out, but I’ll try a little earlier next year.