Don’t worry, be happy: tripping through the go-go years

Glancing at the clock on the sunroom wall, I noticed it was 10:23, and the postman had just dropped a parcel at the door. I thought about going to investigate this mystery delivery but decided the second coffee was much more appealing. Anyway, my seat was comfy, the sun was kissing my skin and I didn’t have anything pressing to do until playing tennis at one o’clock this afternoon. Plenty of time to make a light breakfast, get ready, and grab the parcel from the door.

My phone pinged with a message, and I glanced at the screen. Oh goodness, I noticed the time. I had 34 minutes to get organized and be on the tennis court! “Where in the name of all that’s new and shiny has my morning gone?” I thought to myself as I quickly dashed out the kitchen door and up the staircase to get ready. Twenty minutes later I rush down the stairs two at a time and fly out the front door before literally flying as I trip over the parcel still sitting on the doorstep.

Wincing from the pain of a grazed and bloody knee, I had to laugh. I guessed this was the universe’s little way of making me finally take notice of that mystery parcel, but through all my self-inflicted panic and a little hot under the collar I was chuffed to discover myself on the court for one o’clock, welcome once again I thought to myself to this recently discovered world of retirement time slip.

What a difference three months has made! When I was working with a regular, structured day, this would never have happened. Instead of an actual flying visit to the tennis courts by one o’clock courtesy of a parcel I’d be thinking about another six hours of work before heading for a tightly scheduled, but still enjoyable, 8pm game of tennis.

After a friendly 6-4 6-4 defeat my tennis buddy suggested a quick bite to eat in the clubhouse. Why not? I thought, I’ve stretched my morning to lunch time. I might as well stretch lunchtime until dinner time. I’m pushing the envelope of this wonky passage of the hours and it doesn’t bother me. I still have structure. It might be looser but it comfortably drapes itself over my days.

Upon reflection, and with a sting from my scabby knee, I’ve come to a happy conclusion. For decades, I willingly and gladly endured the unrelenting straitjacket of a busy workday life. Now, I find contentment in a slightly time-stretched retirement. The only thing I haven’t quite mastered is time itself—and that treacherous parcel on my doorstep. I know which life I prefer, and my only regret is not that I didn’t work longer to feather my retirement nest egg, but that I didn’t discover this beautiful, messy world of chaos and contentment sooner.