By Laura Caton

I'm 60 and technically retired, but it's more accurate to say I just needed a break. After more than 16 years in a partnership role, I felt tired and wanted a change. But I also needed a clear plan for what was next. I gave a one-year notice, hoping for an epiphany, a sudden realization, or insight about my next steps, but none came.

The first month was a real struggle. I habitually sat at my computer every morning, almost as if I was still in the thick of my professional life. Thankfully, I volunteered every week, which gave me some meaningful time on my calendar. 

By the second month, I began sleeping in until 7:00 or 7:30. I would lie in bed and listen as my neighbors headed off to work, thinking about all those mornings I used to get up at 5:00 a.m. to drive through Boston traffic for early meetings north of the city. At first, it felt like I was spiraling downward, losing control or direction since I was so used to starting my day much earlier. What a slug! Now, I don't overthink it anymore.

By the third month, I began to relax. I enjoyed the improving weather, played tennis, took walks to the beach, and spent time puttering around my garden. I even helped a few friends update their resumes and LinkedIn profiles. Was this me finally settling into some real time off? Not quite. The strange guilt I felt about not working was only temporarily relieved by my stint working at a concession booth at a local music center. For at least 40 nights, I was part of a team again and back to work.

The fourth month brought a wave of self-doubt. I found myself questioning why I left my job without a clear plan. It felt almost fraudulent to say I had "retired." However, I began to realize the importance of enjoying my free time, meditation, going for walks, being there for my two aging parents, and indulging in my love for reading and listening to podcasts. I signed up for a garden design certification class through Cornell and booked a slot for immersive Italian lessons for the winter.

My schedule was filling up (I am good at filling time blocks), but I still needed more direction. The question of "what's next?" continued to linger. Friends encouraged me to "just relax." It's okay to chill and have lunch with a friend and not feel like every day has to have a purpose and outcome.

Month five. Present day. The summer job is over—now what? I'm not entirely sure, but I'm finally not panicking. Here's what I do know: I don't want to work full-time; I'd love to contribute to a nonprofit focused on helping underserved children; I might start writing children's stories again, and I might even apply for a job at my favorite coffee shop. It keeps me connected with others and gets me out of the house. There's no "right" way to retire; we'll all approach it differently. But having a few things in place is essential.

When discussing retirement, we often emphasize the financial implications, but we seldom address what happens afterward, which can significantly impact mental health. In a recent conversation with a CEO, I shared some of the challenges I've encountered with retirement—what it means to me and how I believe others might perceive my decision to leave my previous role. He mentioned that he hopes to retire in about ten years but is uncertain about what that will look like, given that work has been his life. He empathized with the sense of lost purpose and structure that can accompany retirement.

My uncle was an attorney in Rhode Island, and when he lost his government position due to a change in administration, he quickly sank into a deep depression. His job had entirely defined him, and his whole identity was tied to his work. He had few interests, activities, or hobbies outside of church, and when the depression set in, he even stopped attending church.

Harvard Health and numerous other studies consistently highlight that adults who retire early face a greater risk of cognitive decline. If you haven't already cultivated a range of hobbies, outside interests, close relationships, and philanthropic activities—now is the time to start.

I feel lucky to have a solid network of friends, a supportive community, nearby family, and various interests. Plus, being in good physical shape means I can easily haul buckets of ice and serve beer without trouble. I am not worrying as much about what is next; I have faith that what is next is around the corner. 

Side note: the things I miss. Being part of a team, belonging, feeling relevant, having a schedule and structure, and having a solid reason for saying no to things I don't want to do because, ah gee, I'll be out of town on business that day :)