When retirement means the opposite of a bucket list | members only

I decided as a strange little seventh grader that my life should be shaped like a bell curve. I’d be educated until I was 22, work until 66, then spend 22 years having adventures: learning

languages, traveling the globe, reading great books I’d never have time for otherwise, reinventing myself in age-defying ways. The first two phases went as planned: I got a master’s degree

at 22 and left newspaper journalism at the start of the pandemic. But four years into retirement, I’ve accomplished none of the challenging goals I set as a boy. Instead, my wife and I have

embraced what Italians call _dolce far niente _— the sweetness of doing nothing. “Ah,” said a friend. “You’ve lowered your expectations.” No, I’ve simply adjusted my priorities. The guy who

once stroked the head of an adult lion to make him purr now sits on his front porch, watching an orb weaver build spiderwebs for Halloween decorations. The traveler to five continents looks

out over two-fifths of an acre relandscaped for native birds, butterflies and bees, scrutinizing it with the eager eyes he once turned to the lava fields of Iceland and savannas of Tanzania.

And I’ve never been happier. I made the greatest discovery of my retired life the day I eliminated the word “should” from my vocabulary, at least as it applied to me. I once thought I

should read all the plays of Shakespeare, but half a dozen turned out to be duds. I believed I should learn French for international travel, until I realized 400 words and 40 basic sentences

would get me around Paris comfortably. “The social whirl mostly passes my wife and me by these days, and that’s fine.” So I’ve replaced “should” with “want to.” When I want to exercise, I

take a 10-mile ride on a stationary bike with weights in my hands. When I don’t, I ignore the handlebars that point at me like accusing fingers. When I want to sit on the back patio and

stare into tree-shadowed space, I confer with cardinals and chickadees with no sense of time passing. I’m told breakfast is the most important meal of the day, people accomplish more in the

morning, we ought to eat at set times and stick to sleep schedules. Nuts to that. I eat sensibly when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired, read until 4 a.m. if I can’t tear myself away from a

book. (Those might be obscure novels by Herman Melville, but they’re likelier to be whodunits from the mid-20th century, the golden age of mysteries.) The world still intrudes, with our

consent. I deliver meals for Feeding Charlotte, which connects donors with local nonprofits, and I’m never late. My wife and I are Reading Buddies for elementary school children through the

public library, and we’re always on time for those kids.