Dear Lorraine,
I retired fourteen months ago from a career in hospital administration. Thirty-one years at the same system, the last twelve as a regional VP. I had a plan. My wife and I were going to travel. I was going to read all the books I’d been putting off. I was going to learn to cook something other than eggs.
None of that has happened. Or rather, some of it has happened, and it doesn’t matter. We went to Portugal in October and I spent the whole trip feeling like I was playing a part. The books sit on my nightstand. I made a risotto once and it was fine and I haven’t made another.
What bothers me most is that I can’t explain what’s wrong. I’m healthy. My marriage is good. We’re comfortable financially. I should be enjoying this. Instead I wake up at 5:15 every morning, the same time I woke up for work, and I lie there thinking: now what?
My wife says I need a hobby. She’s probably right. But a hobby feels like a consolation prize.
Sincerely, Richard in Dayton
Dear Richard,
You wrote me a careful, honest letter, and I want to start with one sentence buried in the middle of it, the one I don’t think you realized was the most important thing you said.
You went to Portugal, and you felt like you were playing a part.
That’s the whole thing, Richard. That’s what you’re actually telling me. You don’t feel like yourself. Not because something is wrong with you, but because for thirty-one years you knew exactly who you were. You were the person who ran things. The person people called when the problem was too big. You had a title and a parking spot and a calendar full of decisions that mattered. And then one day you didn’t. And nobody tells you that when you leave a job like that, you don’t just lose the work. You lose the version of yourself the work created.
Your wife says you need a hobby. I like your wife already, because she’s trying, but she’s solving the wrong problem. A hobby fills time. You don’t have a time problem. You have a who-am-I problem. Pickleball isn’t going to fix that. (Though if you do take it up, stretch first. I’ve seen what happens to men your age on those courts.)
Here is what I want you to notice. You didn’t write to me about boredom. You wrote about shame. You said you “should” be enjoying this. That word, “should,” is doing a lot of heavy lifting in your letter. It’s the word people use when they’re comparing how they feel to how they believe they’re supposed to feel, and finding themselves lacking. You are not lacking. You are grieving. And the thing you’re grieving doesn’t have a casket or a service, so nobody brings you a casserole.
You are grieving your competence. The daily proof that you were good at something hard. The feeling of being needed, specifically and by name. Retirement took that away and replaced it with a calendar that belongs entirely to you, which sounds like freedom and feels like a desert.
So here is what I think you should do, and I’m going to be direct about it.
Stop looking for something to fill your time and start looking for somewhere to be useful. Not busy. Useful. There is a difference. Busy is reorganizing the garage. Useful is the thing that makes someone glad you showed up. You ran a hospital system for twelve years. You know how to manage people, solve problems, make things work when they shouldn’t. Somewhere in Dayton there is an organization that needs exactly that, and they can’t afford to hire it. A clinic board. A mentoring program. A community group that has plenty of passion and no idea how to run a meeting.
I’m not telling you to volunteer because volunteering is virtuous. I’m telling you to volunteer because you need to be in a room where your particular skills matter to someone other than yourself. That is not a consolation prize. That is the next version of who you are.
One more thing. You wake up at 5:15 every morning. Good. Keep doing that. That’s not a problem. That’s a man who is ready to go somewhere. Now give yourself somewhere to go.
Lorraine Kessler is a retired clinical social worker who spent thirty years in private practice in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, specializing in midlife and later-life transitions. Write to her at letters@sundayeveningreview.com.
