Two weeks into retirement and I find myself continually confused. In a good way.
I don’t wear a watch and since I’m not sitting at my desk with a computer monitor and phone, both declaring the time, I have no idea as the day progresses what time it is.
Turns out it doesn’t matter.
I go to bed when I’m sleepy and Katie-girl gets me up in the morning when she’s not, generally earlier than I’d wake on my own. But that’s no problem, we go about her business and then go back to bed. Or not.
It really doesn’t matter.
I don’t know what day it is either. I suppose that will become more of a problem when I schedule appointments or volunteer for something. Or set a deadline for a some project.
But at the moment it doesn’t matter.
Predictably, the good intentions I had for retirement — going out for a walk every morning, spending an hour a day weeding flower beds hasn’t materialized. It’s rained you know.
But the good news is that in retirement there’s always another morning. Nothing has to get done today, there’s time tomorrow. And the next tomorrow.
Which still surprises me. And leads to naps in the middle of the day.
The definition of retirement turns out to be time.
What a luxury.