How our financial and emotional prep set us up for a successful retirement.
Pulling away from our just-sold home in our Ram truck, I turn in the passenger seat and watch it fade from view. Nearly everything we own fits in the small trailer we’re towing behind us. The reality that we’re now without a home gut punches me, and I feel short of breath.
For a minute, I distract my racing mind with inconsequential thoughts like whether the new owners will maintain the lawn well or if I’ll miss watching the bats darting through our backyard each evening at dusk. I’ve enjoyed our neighbors and the beautiful landscape we cultivated together.
By the time we pull out of our neighborhood for the last time, I close my eyes and imagine my anxious thoughts slipping through the sunroof. As we hit the open road, the warm September sun floods the cab of our truck and my breathing steadies. I turn up the music, letting P!nk add some vibrancy and texture to the moment, and realize that though we’ve just sold nearly everything we own, I’m feeling a deep sense of abundance.
When my wife and I retired together, at 59 and 62, respectively, we were ready for a break from the responsibilities of our respective careers. She was a physical therapist, and I managed eight busy outpatient physical therapy clinics. We hadn’t planned to retire for another three years, but a few unexpected events changed our minds.
I enjoyed my job immensely, but I knew the stress was taking a toll on my physical and emotional health. When a close colleague of mine died at his desk of a heart attack at the age of 51, it served as a wake-up call to consider what I valued and how I wanted to reorient my life to coincide with those values. Shortly after Scott’s death, my mother died of a stroke, and a few months later, my wife’s dad passed away. These losses became a catalyst for our early retirement.
Before we decided on a retirement date, we worked closely with our financial planner for months to strategize whether it was financially feasible to exit our careers early. Those planning sessions were immensely helpful as she patiently ran multiple scenarios through forecasting software to give us an idea of what would and wouldn’t work.
We also spent hours talking about what we wanted our future to look like. These conversations can be tricky, with each of us having different needs, desires, and dreams. We needed to be transparent about what we wanted individually before figuring out what we wanted as a couple. As we talked, one word — untethered — kept bubbling to the surface for both of us. We didn’t fully understand what was happening emotionally, but our desire to be untethered from responsibility became the cornerstone of our retirement experience.
Before, whenever I envisioned retirement, it always looked like an ending. I would be leaving my job and the daily grind of working full-time. Not surprisingly, when I announced my retirement about five months prior to my last day, the most popular question I received was, “What will you do after you quit?”
In America, we elevate doing. Our lives are organized and classified according to actions, responsibilities, and an ever-growing to-do list. Rarely do we break out of the doing box to entertain the idea of being.
As my wife and I continued to talk about it, our questions about retirement shifted from what we were going to do to who we wanted to be.
Three years into retirement, I’m inclined to believe that it’s less of an ending event and more of a mindset we embrace. It’s something we become rather than something we do. This can be a problem for retirees who find their identity and value in their careers.
About five years before my career came to a close, I wrestled with my beliefs about success and identity. I managed a region of healthcare facilities that were remote from our main office, and though I loved my autonomy, it meant I didn’t receive much feedback from my boss. The silence could sometimes be jarring.
It was obvious to anyone looking that I was doing my job successfully. Our profits and clinic metrics were up. The company culture was happy and collaborative, and staff retention was high. I adored my position and the company I worked for, which was a big perk.
Sitting in my office one afternoon, I had an epiphany: I realized I didn’t need praise from my boss to feel good about myself or my job performance. The fact that I was reaching my goals and saw my hard work reflected in the employees’ attitudes was satisfying enough.
I adopted the mindset that my job was not my identity. Whether I was great at my job or horrible at it, what I did for a living wasn’t who I was. Nor was it the indicator of my value as a person.
Little did I know that these revelations would become stepping stones leading me into an emotionally healthy retirement. When the accolades and career success were stripped away, I wasn’t left searching for my identity; I was stoked about all the possibilities in front of me.
As my wife and I latched onto the word untethered, it guided us to sell our home and most of our possessions. It took us less than three months to accomplish the task, and soon after, we pulled away from our just-sold home to travel the country in a teardrop-shaped travel trailer.
The day we left our neighborhood for the final time, I couldn’t figure out why I felt rich. At that point, everything we owned fit into our trailer and a 9×5-foot storage unit, and based on our bank account, we weren’t even in the same zip code as wealthy. As we drove, I thought about the anatomy of the wealthy, wondering what the connection might be.
Anytime I’ve pondered being independently rich, the one thing that comes to mind is freedom. With unlimited finances, it’s easy to think you’d be free to do whatever you want. Or, maybe it’s that you’d be free to buy anything you want.
Like squishing a piece of Play-Doh in my hand, I tried to press into what I felt that day as we drove away from our home. I finally realized I felt rich with a sense of freedom and possibility. Now that I was untethered from my job, home, and responsibilities, the whole world was open for me to experience.
This wasn’t about money at all. This was about my mindset.
More than three years into retirement, and after countless interactions with other retirees, I think the dialogue surrounding retirement could use an overhaul. More than an event, it’s a transition. Rather than viewing retirement as never working, perhaps we see it as an opportunity to work for enjoyment, fulfillment, or to learn something new.
My wife, the former physical therapist, found that working part-time in an upscale outdoor retailer allowed her to learn something new and share her passion for backpacking. At 60, she was giddy over her minimum-wage retail job simply because she was learning a new skill set.
For me, retirement unleashed my creative side and freed up my time to begin writing. For years, I’ve wanted to write and publish essays, but the stress of my career stripped away the energy needed to cultivate my imagination. Traveling the country has given me many unique experiences to write about.
My wish is that others heading into retirement have the opportunity to experience the endless possibilities before them. Few will want to experience being fully untethered like my wife and me, but if we can let go of the doing mindset and instead focus on who we want to become, retirement will be more enjoyable.
Read more from Kim Kelly Stamp here.
