Retirement Musings from Phil Settecase former VP sales for Rust-Oleum corp.

Retirement is delightful, and I can't imagine a scenario that would motivate me to return to work. Sometimes I miss the camaraderie, both good and not so good, but then after a deep breath I remember all the baggage it comes with and then take solace in knowing that the trade-off is an exceptional value. I think if I could pick up a brief, focused assignment as a consultant from time to time I'd enjoy it, but I really haven't tried. If called, I'd weigh it seriously, but I won't be called. I'd mostly like to do some tech or content writing, but again I haven't pursued it. Retirement is a time of exploding self-awareness. I had no plan; I just woke up one day around Christmas, 2010, reminded myself that if we scratch ourselves beneath the surface the main reason we all go to work is so that we can accumulate enough money to quit, and so I walked into my boss's office on the first work day of 2011 and announced my intention to depart on my 63rd birthday on February 11, which was conveniently a Friday. It put them in a bit of a bind because the succession plan clock for a senior vice president role was set for two years in the future, and had they asked me to hang on longer or to work part time to ease the transition I would have. But they didn't. The first day of my new life was shocking. Clocks and calendars suddenly had no meaning. I didn't retire "to" something, as the pop psychologists advise, but I was determined to figure things out and burn the boats on the beach. I learned to cook pretty well. I put an Endless Pool in the basement. I dropped 27 lbs. I spent hours working on our wooded property. I bought a manual log splitter and have a two-or-three year supply of firewood for our two fireplaces and our patio fire pit. I hate painting, but I painted the entire interior of our rather large home and did a darn good job -- it's easy when there is no clock or calendar. I hiked throughout the parks and forests in these parts. I bought a Suzuki AN400 ABS motor scooter and at this writing have put 10,000 miles on it touring E and SE and Central Ohio, particularly enjoying the SE with its foothills of the Appalachians and rides along the banks of the Ohio River. I kept what turned into a 20,000 page journal the first year, which was as therapeutic as it was instructive. I wrote a shitty novel. I deliver food for Meals on Wheels. I volunteer at the local hospital. I've stayed in touch with my former associates, catching lunch about once a month with some of them near the old office and maintaining social contacts. I hadn't bowled in 20 years, but we joined a bowling league. Now I'm working on dropping another 30 pounds and picking up my exercise routine and completing negotiations with designers and contractors to gut our kitchen and replace everything. Now I sense that I'm hitting another transition. Once the kitchen project is completed I suspect that I'll put a little effort into finding some volunteer work that I can really sink my teeth into, something that draws from more than four decades of moderately successful sales and marketing work. Don't know what, but I'm confident it's out there. I just have no interest in Retirement is delightful, and I can't imagine a scenario that would motivate me to return to work. Sometimes I miss the camaraderie, both good and not so good, but then after a deep breath I remember all the baggage it comes with and then take solace in knowing that the trade-off is an exceptional value. I think if I could pick up a brief, focused assignment as a consultant from time to time I'd enjoy it, but I really haven't tried. If called, I'd weigh it seriously, but I won't be called. I'd mostly like to do some tech or content writing, but again I haven't pursued it. Retirement is a time of exploding self-awareness. I had no plan; I just woke up one day around Christmas, 2010, reminded myself that if we scratch ourselves beneath the surface the main reason we all go to work is so that we can accumulate enough money to quit, and so I walked into my boss's office on the first work day of 2011 and announced my intention to depart on my 63rd birthday on February 11, which was conveniently a Friday. It put them in a bit of a bind because the succession plan clock for a senior vice president role was set for two years in the future, and had they asked me to hang on longer or to work part time to ease the transition I would have. But they didn't. The first day of my new life was shocking. Clocks and calendars suddenly had no meaning. I didn't retire "to" something, as the pop psychologists advise, but I was determined to figure things out and burn the boats on the beach. I learned to cook pretty well. I put an Endless Pool in the basement. I dropped 27 lbs. I spent hours working on our wooded property. I bought a manual log splitter and have a two-or-three year supply of firewood for our two fireplaces and our patio fire pit. I hate painting, but I painted the entire interior of our rather large home and did a darn good job -- it's easy when there is no clock or calendar. I hiked throughout the parks and forests in these parts. I bought a Suzuki AN400 ABS motor scooter and at this writing have put 10,000 miles on it touring E and SE and Central Ohio, particularly enjoying the SE with its foothills of the Appalachians and rides along the banks of the Ohio River. I kept what turned into a 20,000 page journal the first year, which was as therapeutic as it was instructive. I wrote a shitty novel. I deliver food for Meals on Wheels. I volunteer at the local hospital. I've stayed in touch with my former associates, catching lunch about once a month with some of them near the old office and maintaining social