Maybe I've Been Training for Retirement My Entire Life
Looking back, I realize something about myself.
I’ve always been willing to step into places where I didn’t quite know what I was doing.
Not because I wasn’t scared.
Because I was curious.
When I was fifteen, I taught myself to drive in my older sister’s Corvair.
On the days she took the bus to work and my parents were gone, I’d quietly slide behind the wheel. At first I drove only through the alleys behind our neighborhood. Eventually, I ventured onto the streets.
Talk about “unsafe at any speed!”
Every time I had to speed up enough to merge with traffic, my heart pounded.
I never got caught.
I never crashed.
More importantly, I learned something that would shape the rest of my life:
Fear doesn’t always mean stop. Sometimes it simply means you’re learning.
During college, I took a year off to work as a laborer at Bethlehem Steel.
I was one of only two women in the plant.
Some men walked through the shop just to stare or make rude comments. The machinists I worked alongside chased them away. They respected that I worked hard and treated people with kindness.
That experience taught me another lesson.
The world contains difficult people.
It also contains wonderful people.
When you show up honestly, you’ll usually find them.
After graduation, I accepted a job as a live country radio DJ. My sister couldn’t believe I had the nerve to do live radio.
What she never knew was that my hand shook every time I lowered the needle onto the next 45.
But something magical happened.
Listeners began calling the station—not just to request songs, but to cheer me on.
Another unexpected gift.
Another reminder that people are often kinder than our fears predict.
Then came the biggest leap.
I packed up and moved from Pennsylvania to Houston, Texas to make my fortune.
The boyfriend who came with me lasted two weeks before heading back home.
I stayed.
I hardly knew a soul.
The people I worked with adopted this young Yankee until I found my footing. Years later, that decision would even lead me to meet the man who became my husband.
When I look back across my life, I notice a pattern.
I’ve always been willing to place myself just outside my comfort zone.
Not recklessly.
Intentionally.
I’ve discovered that when we step into unfamiliar waters, we don’t just discover new places.
We discover new versions of ourselves.
And surprisingly often, we discover the kindness of strangers who become friends.
Today, I think that’s exactly what retirement asks of us.
It asks us to walk away from the familiar structure we’ve known for decades and step into a chapter with no map.
That’s unsettling.
But what if this isn’t the first unfamiliar place you’ve ever entered?
What if your entire life has been preparing you for this one?
Every challenge you’ve survived...
Every skill you’ve learned...
Every risk you’ve taken...
Every time you’ve figured things out...
You’ve been collecting evidence that you can do hard things.
Maybe retirement isn’t asking you to become someone new.
Maybe it’s inviting you to trust the person you’ve been becoming all along.
So this week, I’d like to offer you a gentle challenge.
Do one small thing that feels just a little outside your comfort zone.
💪 Take the class.
💪 Start the conversation.
💪 Volunteer.
💪 Travel somewhere new.
💪 Introduce yourself.
💪 Say yes before you’re completely ready.
You may discover a new passion.
You may discover a new friend.
Most of all, you may discover another part of yourself that’s been waiting patiently for an invitation.
That’s been the greatest surprise of my life.
And I have a feeling it’s one of the greatest gifts waiting for you, too.