Illustration by Alex Deadman-Wylie
The idea of a retirement gap year came to me initially as a way to deflect questions about what I planned to do postwork. Instead of waiting to be asked, I pre-emptively stated that I was taking a gap year, something I had not done when younger. A year in which to find out who I am now, and what I want to be doing at this point in my life. A year in which to do some travelling and have some fun.
The prevailing wisdom is that it takes a decade or more to plan for retirement. For me, it took six weeks from the moment I made the decision to the day I turned in a bag of assorted IT equipment. It was enough time to give notice, draft up my monthly expenses for a chat at the bank, and wrap up my files.
I’m now at the end of my gap year and looking back, I realize that my readiness to retire had been brewing for a while before the actual decision arrived, fully realized, one sunny May morning as I walked along the Ottawa River. I had come out of one of those “life’s-too-short-for-this” meetings and although two years shy of my expected retirement date, I needed to choose my health and sanity over any benefit that position and money could offer.
When I told friends I was going to take a gap year, they cheered and wanted to be a part of it. When I told colleagues, they wanted me to write a book so they could follow.
Opportunities started to open immediately. A writing workshop suddenly seemed vital. Attending a baseball game, something I hadn’t done in more than a decade, became a priority. A friend invited me to spend two weeks in Cape Breton and I didn’t hesitate to say “yes.”
I kept a journal throughout my gap year. On Day 1, I wrote: “I woke with thickness in my throat and a slight headache, heavy eyes, fatigue. Not the glamorous start to freedom I was hoping for. I’m chalking it up to late nights, stress, lack of sleep, and the wildfire smoke hanging in the air.”
I needed to prioritize my health. My sleep cycle was out of whack, exercise had become inconsistent, and I had to tame the hypervigilant state of mind that had dogged me through my last year of work. I knew that recovering peace of mind would be a matter of time and conscious intention. Giving myself permission to enjoy slow mornings, long walks and time with friends was important, as was sleeping, eating well and ditching the guilt.
In the first few months, I sought out the wisdom of my already retired friends. One was living her dream of travelling Europe and painting. Another showed me how she balanced self-care with care of others as part of living out her values. A third coined the term “Mind the gap year.” This intrigued me and I started to wonder if one could get stuck in a gap year.
At the three-month point, I decided to write down some criteria by which to assess how my gap year was going. Examples included: Can I experiment to explore what feeds me? Can I address my fear of not being relevant and connected in the world? I identified actions I could undertake and slowly started to implement changes.
At six months, I wrote in my journal: “I have more energy and focus. This week, for the first time in my life, I started working out at a gym. Also had my first piano lesson in 40 years. What a joy.”
At nine months, I wrote a list of all the things I had on the go. When I got to 20, I stopped. It seemed a bit much, and yet, somehow not quite enough. The most challenging part of the gap year for me was to sit in the unknowing. Because it was uncomfortable, I got antsy.
At the end of nine months, when approached to volunteer on a project, I read the proposal, felt it was a worthwhile cause, and a good fit with my skills. I thought I could pace myself and continue my positive gap-year trajectory. I said “yes.”
As the time and effort increased week after week, my health ran downhill rapidly. I stubbornly refused to acknowledge this at first. But my body was speaking loudly. Then, as the nicer weather began arriving, I felt resentment building. I wanted to be outdoors.
I listened to the alarm bells in my head, made my exit plan and left the project in the 12th month of my gap year. As soon as I closed that door, my life filled with people and activities. As I start what I am now referring to as my second gap year, I am more focused than ever on finding clarity about what feeds me and what brings me joy.
I asked a friend recently if they had noticed any changes in me related to having taken a gap year. “Noticeably more relaxed, with an added spark and added positivity,” they said.
This is my gap year guidance: move forward, be mindful, keep learning, keep connecting. Navigate the labour pains of a new beginning. It will pay off.
Mind the gap year. It might just turn into two!
Ruth Kennedy lives in Ottawa
