One of the beautiful things about my life right now is the pace. Not so much the pace itself, but the fact that I get to set it. Every day. Even every moment if I want to. And therein lies the beauty of it, the crux if you will. It’s about freedom to decide.
I mean, think about it for a moment. I now have the ultimate freedom to choose. To visualize and picture my life, my day, each moment. And then let go. Spread my wings. Fly towards the sun. Release all limitations. And just see what happens. Do whatever I want. Whenever and wherever I want.
The driven days are over. In my rear-view mirror. The frenetic, hyper-hectic, swivel-eyed and head-spinning rush-rush-rush hell of urgency is done and dusted.
But this new-found freedom didn’t come easy for me. This past year I’ve fought it tooth and nail. And drilling deeper, to that soul-place where honesty dwells, the truth is, this kind of freedom scared me. Still does a bit. It felt more like the end of an era. And without that work, that agency connection, what was there? Who was I? So much of my identity was anchored to my nine-to-five. For a year I focused on the loss, not just the work but the people too. I’ve been in mourning in a way.
Saying goodbye and moving on has been hard. I’m not going to lie. Or sugar coat it.
At first, I didn’t know what the hell to do with this freedom thing that I had fantasized about. Dreamt about. Woolgathered and mused about. Longed for. This holy grail I had chased relentlessly and breathlessly when I was in the throws and thickness of my career. Especially on the bad days. But the thing is, even though it could be a pain in the ass on any given Tuesday, it was a pain I understood and knew how to ride out, walk through and maneuver. It was familiar.
Getting here happened so slowly and insidiously. Ten years ago, when I finally had the opportunity to legitimately retire, I no longer wanted to. I’m not a big fan of irony, but there it was staring me in the face. Instead of retiring I was embracing the idea of Freedom 80 or 90. This was my post-65 motto, my mantra, the cape that I donned. By then I was the self-proclaimed leader of the Girl Warriors. I wasn’t stopping. No siree.
It’s been one hell-of-a-ride, but I am beginning to embrace this change, this new normal. This life where I call all the shots. Where I determine what’s next. Each, and every, day. This freedom to go at my own pace. Follow my own footsteps. And not just fill my days. But to wake up each day with a purpose that I have defined. Not one dictated by others – the boss, colleagues and clients. I’m my own client now. My own boss.
It still feels a bit weird. But I’m figuring it out. It also feels creative. And exciting. Inspiring. Fanciful. Imaginative. Hopeful. And full of blue-sky opportunities. Who knows what I’ll invent? Watch me.
But there’s no rush. Not in this new reality.
