What Do I Actually Want to Do With My Time?
One of the things I looked forward to most about retiring early was having almost complete freedom over my time.
And I love it.
I love not waking up to an alarm unless I choose to. I love being able to travel without counting vacation days, exercise in the middle of the morning, spend several weeks in Mexico, take a random Tuesday afternoon off, or change my plans simply because I feel like it.
What I didn't anticipate was that having the freedom to do whatever I want with my time isn't the same thing as knowing what I want to do with it.
For most of my adult life, that question was largely answered for me.
There was a business to build, clients to serve, children to raise, a household to manage, workouts to squeeze in, appointments to keep, and an endless list of things that needed my attention. I might have wished for more free time, but I rarely had to wonder what I was going to do with the next several hours.
Then I sold my law practice and retired early.
For the first year, I stayed pretty busy. I trained for another ultramarathon. My husband and I moved to a new state and settled into a new home. We explored an entirely new part of the country, hosted lots of visitors, and enthusiastically participated in just about every local festival and special event we could find.
Eventually, though, we settled in. And I started to feel a little adrift.
Not unhappy or regretful about our decision to retire. Just...adrift.
I had heard people talk about struggling with retirement because they lost their sense of purpose. I don't think that's exactly what happened to me. I still felt purposeful. But suddenly I had something I had spent decades wanting more of:
Time and freedom.... lots of it.
And I began to realize that I'm not particularly comfortable with large amounts of idle time.
I've always had a strong work ethic. Some of that may be inherited—the old New England belief that there's always something useful that could be done. Some of it probably came from growing up believing that accomplishment, self-sufficiency, and contribution mattered enormously.
And I still believe they matter.
I want to contribute to my family. I want to contribute to other people. I want to participate meaningfully in the world around me. I like exercising my brain. I like learning. I like thoughtful conversations. I like writing. I like working toward something.
I don't think any of that is a problem.
But I'm beginning to recognize how easily a value can quietly turn into a rule.
"I value using my life meaningfully" eventually became "I should always be doing something meaningful."
I'm beginning to understand that those statements aren't the same thing.
Interestingly, I don't have much trouble resting.
I can take a nap. I can sleep nine or ten hours. I can spend an afternoon reading a book by the pool. I can get a massage or lounge on the beach. I thoroughly enjoy all of those things—in moderation.
What makes me uncomfortable is idleness.
It's the afternoon when I don't particularly feel like reading or writing or exercising or going anywhere, and I suddenly realize I have several hours ahead of me with absolutely nothing I need to do.
Now what?
Even Mexico has taught me this about myself.
We spend stretches of time there, and it's beautiful. I love the warmth, the ocean, the slower pace and the ability to relax. But after a while, I start craving stimulation again. I want more activity. More variety. More people. More things that engage my brain.
It's one of the reasons I enjoy coming back to Santa Fe regularly. The change breaks up the rhythm and gives me different things to engage with.
For a while, I wondered whether this was something I needed to fix.
Maybe I needed to get better at doing nothing.
But I'm not sure that's actually the lesson.
I don't aspire to become really good at passing time.
I want to build a life filled with things I genuinely want to engage with.
And I'm realizing that figuring out what those things are may be one of the challenges—and privileges—of this particular season of my life.
Recently, I took a part-time job.
It's completely different from the career I left behind. It's fun, low-stakes and mentally stimulating. I get to meet new people, have more social interaction, and earn some extra "fun money" that we can use for travel and entertainment without dipping further into the money we've set aside to fund our retirement.
I'm enjoying it tremendously.
I've also started dancing. I'm writing. I'm exploring ideas through My Thrive Life™. I'm exercising, traveling, meeting people and trying different things.
I don't think any one of those things is the answer.
I'm trying things on.
For most of my life, I was very good at knowing what I was working toward. Build the business. Raise the kids. Reach the goal. Train for the race.
This chapter feels different.
I don't have a five-year master plan for what my life is supposed to become. And increasingly, I don't think I need one.
Maybe part of consciously shaping what's next is allowing myself to discover it by living.
That means trying something because it sounds interesting. Continuing when I enjoy it. Letting it go when I don't. Following my curiosity. Paying attention to what gives me energy and what doesn't.
And perhaps most challenging for me, allowing some space to remain open when I don't yet know what I want to put there.
Because if every empty hour makes me uncomfortable enough that I immediately fill it with something, I may never give myself the opportunity to discover what I actually want.
That's the distinction I'm beginning to see.
I don't need to stop valuing productivity or contribution. I don't need to convince myself that spending hours binge watching tv or mindlessly scrolling my phone is somehow just as fulfilling to me as writing, working, learning, exercising, traveling or connecting with other people.
It isn't.
But I can value contribution without requiring every hour of my life to contribute something.
I can enjoy activity without needing constant activity.
And I can allow myself not to know what I want to do next without interpreting that uncertainty as a problem that needs to be solved immediately.
Perhaps that's one of the less obvious challenges of freedom.
We spend so much of our lives wishing we had more control over our time. But when we finally get it, we still have to decide what we want to do with it.
I'm learning that I don't want a life that's simply full.
I want a life filled with things I genuinely want to engage with—people, experiences, ideas, work, movement, adventure, rest, and whatever else captures my curiosity as my life continues to evolve.
And sometimes there may need to be a little empty space between one thing and the next.
Maybe feeling a little adrift in that space doesn't mean something has gone wrong.
Maybe sometimes that's simply what freedom feels like before we decide what we want to do with it.
What Do You Want to Fill Your Life With?
If you’re in a season where you have more freedom, more choices, or simply find yourself wondering what you genuinely want next, my free My Thrive Life™ Discernment Guide can help you slow down, sort through the noise, and get clearer about what actually matters to you.
