Today is a special day. It's the twentieth anniversary of my retiring. 31st May 2005 saw me on holiday in the Wiltshire countryside, at Coombe Bissett, south-west of Salisbury, relishing my escape from daily commuting by train to London, and not yet fully appreciating the possibilities of my new freedom, but knowing that life from now on could be one long holiday, adequately funded with an immediate pension. It was wonderful.
At that moment I had no idea how some important personal events would shape the time ahead. Meanwhile, some nice things were already pencilled in: I was not short of things to do, and the sudden ability to make all kinds of plan was intoxicating. The two-month New Zealand trip in early 2007 was one fruit of that. Meanwhile, there would be as much caravanning as one could wish for, and not mostly on weekends any longer. We could have extended outings. I was almost floating in the air, such was the release from routine and responsibility, and the sensation that all kinds of things could now be done.
Of course, being a tidy-minded and practical person, a new routine quickly established itself. But it was all geared to a life of leisure. In fact I wasn't completely free. M--- and I were still close; we still did all important things together, certainly all outings and holidays. And I'd have to sell my home: I couldn't afford to keep up the mortgage payments. I'd bank the money, lodge with M--- for a while, and find a smaller place that I could buy outright.
It didn't work out like that. But on 31st May 2005 all that was on my optimistic mind was the golden life to come. It would be easy and full of pleasure. I could see no clouds, no challenges, no need to worry. Ha! Within five years almost everything would have radically changed. It's just as well that we cannot really see into the future.
And yet, here I am, on 31st May 2025, on holiday again (presently in Northumberland, after going all the way from Sussex to Orkney, and then this far back towards where I started from on 28th April), in good health, active, and shortly to enjoy a nice salad in the caravan before an afternoon tour of the Northumbrian countryside.
On my own, yes; in fact on my own for the last sixteen years; but by choice, not ill fortune. One thing endless leisure gives you is the time to work out what your best mode of existence should be, and what you are not suited for. And I am definitely a person who should avoid entanglements and close relationships. I enjoy friendships; but only in short bursts. I am a solitary, independent, complete-in-myself kind of person. It took retirement to see that.
I have often pondered whether I hid behind my job, letting it dominate my daily life so that I could avoid thinking about whether I was truly content. I had an interesting job, and though never committed to it, it did willy-nilly lean heavily on any tendency to introspection. I had a strong work persona to maintain, and the job became an investment. I was loath to rock the boat, and disinclined to analyse who I was and where my life was going. So until I retired, I never explored any of the possible rabbit-holes an idle mind might explore.
I was uncomfortable, playing a role, doing what others expected of me, and not what I really wanted to do. I accepted it because so many others had to accept lives that ticked some boxes but not others. So before retirement set me free to think seriously about my condition, I tried to make the best of it. I had coping mechanisms. I could for example immerse myself in my interests. But all ultimately to no avail. Your true nature, and the kind of life right for it, will always become clear in the end. I learned that rather late, in my fifties, and I feel I should have seen it decades earlier. But better late than never at all.
My last day at the office was in fact 26th May 2005. I had a few days' annual leave untaken, and used them up by walking away five days early. The formal leaving lunch - joint with the others also retiring - had already taken place. I signed off a few letters and penalty notices (I had been a senior investigator with the old Inland Revenue), distributed cakes and other yummy things among the staff on my floor, handed in my ID card, then enjoyed a farewell drink at the better of the two pubs we used. And that was that. The train ride home was an odd experience. Something I'd done a thousand times in recent years, and now never again. Where would I go from here? I was fifty-two and retired.
And now I'm seventy-two, soon to be seventy-three. And I have some perspective.
I am certain that I did the right thing by retiring early. If you can do the same, then do it, even if you forego a full pension, as I did. Nothing beats freedom, and having full control of your life. Or at least, as much control as your ongoing circumstances allow. I am exceptionally well-placed in that way, not having elderly parents on my hands, nor a partner, nor a sibling, nor any children or grandchildren, not even a pet. None of these to worry about, to consult or consider, or to organise things for.
Some would say such a lack of surrounding family is a tragedy. Even unnatural. I don't know what to say to that. Perhaps the repost is this: I belong to nobody, and I'm nobody's concern or burden, and so it doesn't matter what I do, nor what happens to me.
And, if you like, that's the other face of complete freedom. It can seem very sweet, or very bleak.
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