The Next Act

Last night, we watched the Winterfest fireworks from our deck. They were technically for the weekend’s celebration, not for me—but I let myself pretend otherwise.

Today feels like one of those first day of the rest of your life moments.

I retired last week. After more than 30 years with the same company, I said goodbye to my favorite people (and a few others), cleared my files and inbox with reckless efficiency, and turned in the handcuffs otherwise known as a laptop and an employee badge.

I don’t think it’s fully landed yet. The low-grade anxiety of endless project lists, overbooked calendars, and chasing outcomes that only become clear when you miss them is still hovering. I can feel the Sunday blues trying to sneak in, even though they’ve officially been fired.

But I’m not worried.

As someone who’s lived a lifetime with self-doubt, I’m surprisingly confident about this: I’m going to be very good at retirement. I will knock this new life out of the park. And eventually, I’ll stop talking about it like it’s a quarterly performance metric.

So what’s next? I have plans. Lots of them. Probably too many. The difference now is that I’m excited about both the work and the play it will take to bring them to life. I only have to show up for myself—and for Bob and Cash, whose expectations are refreshingly reasonable.

This is the start of my next act as an artist, designer, maker, entrepreneur, creativity evangelist, slow-living strategist, nature-lover, recreational dabbler, and local character.

One of the quieter gifts of retirement—of age, really—is caring less about what other people think. Not in a license-to-be-a-jerk way, but in a finally-free-to-be-honest way. I’m looking forward to a reset to my most authentic self. I suspect people will like her more than the version who spent years marinating in the corporate grind. I know I will.

I don’t have this next chapter figured out yet—and that feels like part of the point. I’m paying attention, asking better questions, and letting the shape of things reveal itself slowly. If you’re navigating a change of your own, you’re welcome here. We’ll see what shows up.

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I’ve been revisiting a few books that have shaped how I think about work, retirement, and designing a life that actually fits. Sharing them here in case they’re useful to you too:

Designing Your Life by Bill Burnett & Dave Evans

A practical, non-corny take on applying design thinking to your own life — especially useful when you’re asking What do I actually want to make of this chapter? It helped me think about retirement not as a finish line, but as a prompt to experiment.

Design the Life You Love: A Step-by-Step Guide to Building a Meaningful Future by Ayse Birsel

A step-by-step exploration of how the ways we think about purpose, love, and daily choices shape the life we actually live. It’s a gentle reminder that design isn’t just for products — it’s for the messy, beautiful work of making a life feel like yours.

Retirement by Design: A Guided Workbook for Creating a Happy and Purposeful Future by Ida Abbott

A hands-on workbook that uses design-thinking principles to help you make this chapter instead of just waiting for it. It’s full of prompts and exercises that invite real reflection—what you want, who you want to spend time with, and how to test ideas before fully committing.