Retirement, Reimagined

A basket of blooms, a trusted companion, and the path still ahead.

Retirement-Life Balance: A Quiet Recalibration

There was a time when I thought retirement would mean fewer commitments, slower days, and wide-open stretches—room to rest, to wander, to think. I imagined mornings without urgency, afternoons filled with books or gardens, and the long, uninterrupted arc of a day entirely my own.

As it turns out, retirement isn’t the absence of work—it’s the reshaping of it.

For many of us—especially women—retirement doesn’t arrive at a single moment. It drifts in slowly, often after decades of caregiving, invisible labor, and quietly holding the rhythms of a family life—particularly for those who stepped away from formal careers to raise children or support a partner’s path.

I “retired” from my career in communications when our expat journey began—three young children in tow, navigating new countries and unfamiliar systems. Government restrictions meant I couldn’t work in the traditional sense, but I was working. Every day. I shifted to a different rhythm, and life unfolded around me. I had our fourth child at 42. The years that followed were full of movement and meaning—just not the kind that fits neatly on a résumé.

And so, for me, retirement didn’t truly begin until just a few years ago, when our children were launched into lives and careers of their own. Only then did I feel a shift, a quiet clearing of space. Time that felt, at last, like mine.

But as the space opened, it quickly filled.

I began to take on pursuits that spoke to the parts of me long tucked away: writing, photography, reimagining interior spaces, tending to the gardens, renovating the house, hosting creative retreats, volunteering in the community. The calendar began to stretch again—but differently. No titles, no offices, no paychecks—but the energy, the investment, the devotion? All still there.

And so now, I think less about work-life balance, and more about retirement-life balance. A new kind of negotiation between what I take on and what I let go. Between contributing and retreating. Between doing and simply being.

Retirement, for me, includes all the meaningful efforts I now choose—Tahilla Gatherings, creative projects, serving on local committees, supporting community work, helping behind the scenes where needed. But everything else remains: home, family, health, aging, friendships, the unexpected.

And the balance? That’s the part I’m still learning to name.

Because balance isn’t symmetry. It’s not an even split. It’s a daily calibration—a question I return to again and again:

“How do I want to feel at the end of the day?”

Sometimes I crave the solitude of my studio, a slow walk on the trail, time with my camera, a quiet hour with pen and paper. Other days, I come alive in conversation—planning a new event, sitting in meetings, dreaming something into being with like-minded people. Both matter. But both need space.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the people walking this same path—the ones who said yes to a second act, or a third or fourth—because they still have more to give, more to create, more to learn. They’re the ones saying:

“I thought retirement would be restful. It turns out it’s just…different.”

Are these my people? My creative kin? Like-minded souls?

We may not have a formal name, but I recognize the spark when I see it—the quiet energy of a person still becoming, still curious. We meet in garden clubs, workshops, community projects, even in chance conversations that turn into something more.

So I return to the question of balance—not to solve it, but to stay in conversation with it. And maybe that’s enough.

Maybe retirement-life balance is not a destination, but a rhythm we keep returning to.