— For those of us who were only taught the corporate life.
What should I do with my life? At 67, after 40 years on a factory floor, I still do not have a clear answer. I never found one. What I did learn is that the question only gets quiet enough to hear after the script ends. This is what I am trying instead.
The answer I could not find in 40 years
I never figured it out. I just kept working.
Was it that I did not have time to think? Or was I avoiding the question on purpose? Probably both. Probably a lot of both.
Before I knew it, 40 years had passed. I clocked in, I clocked out. I bent metal, I watched machines, I came home. I raised two kids. I paid the mortgage. I never sat down and asked, what am I doing this for, actually? Because asking would have meant I might have to change something. And changing anything when you have a wife, two kids, and a 30-year housing loan — that is a luxury most factory men do not have.
What we were actually taught
I was born in the late 1950s in Japan. My generation got one script, and most of us followed it without reading the fine print.
- Graduate from high school. Better if you go to college.
- Get into a stable company.
- Stay there until you are 60.
- Get married. Buy a house. Have kids.
- Retire. Live quietly. Do not make trouble.
That was it. That was the whole map. Nobody told me what to do after step 6. Nobody told me what living quietly was supposed to feel like. Nobody mentioned that the body slows down and the mind speeds up, all at the same time, the moment the alarm clock stops being necessary.
The day after I stopped working
I remember the morning after my last day at the factory. I woke up at 5:30 a.m., same as always, and there was nothing to do. No bag to pack. No coffee to drink in a hurry. No lunchbox waiting on the counter. Just the kitchen, the silence, and me.
I thought I would feel free. I had been imagining that morning for years. One day I will not have to go in. One day my time will be mine.
What I actually felt was something I did not have a word for. Not sad. Not happy. Maybe weightless. Like a balloon that just got cut from its string. You would think a balloon would be glad to be free. But a balloon with no string just floats. It does not go anywhere on purpose.
Why nobody asks the question
When I was 20, nobody asked me. When I was 30, nobody asked me. At 50, definitely not. By then, the question would have been almost cruel.
Here is what I have come to think. The question only gets asked when you have room to answer it. For most of my working life, I had no room. The job filled the room. The kids filled the room. The bills filled the room.
Now, at 67, the room is empty. And the question is sitting in the middle of it, staring at me.
How should I decide what to do with my life?
I spent 40 years not deciding. I just kept working, because the next morning always came and there was always a shift to clock in for. So I am probably not the right person to give a method.
What I do now, at 67, is the opposite of deciding. I try a small thing for a week or two. If it stays, I keep doing it. If it falls away, I let it go. Walks. Writing this blog. Helping a neighbor. Reading what I never had time to read.
That is not really deciding. It is more like waiting and watching. The decision, if there ever was one, made itself out of what I kept showing up for.
What I am trying instead of finding the answer
I gave up on finding the answer. I do not think it exists, not for me, not at 67. Instead, I am trying small things and seeing what makes me feel less weightless.
- Writing. Even badly. Even in English I did not grow up with.
- Walking, slowly, no destination.
- Talking to my adult kids like adults instead of like my kids.
- Cooking one new thing a week.
- Letting go of grudges I have held since I was 35.
None of these are what I should do with my life. They are more like anchors. Small ropes I throw out so the balloon does not drift too far.
If you are reading this and you are like me
If you spent decades doing the script and now the script ended, and you do not know what is next, I do not have an answer for you either. I just want to tell you. The not-knowing is not your fault.
Nobody taught us how to retire. Nobody taught us what to do with quiet. We were taught how to be useful. So now, when we are not officially useful anymore, we feel lost. That is not a personal failing. That is a curriculum that ended halfway through.
What I have decided to do is finish the curriculum myself. Slowly. Badly. With no teacher. And to write it down here, in case it helps someone else who is also in the empty room, looking at the same question.
FAQ
Did you actually figure out what to do with your life at 67?
No. I never did. I just kept working, and now I am trying to live without a script.
What helped you most after retirement?
Small anchors — walks, writing, slow tasks. Not big new identities.
Is it too late to find purpose at 60 or 70?
It is not about finding it. It is about making space for the question to exist.
What would you tell someone who just retired and feels lost?
Stay slow. Do not chase a new identity. The empty room is not a problem to fix.
Related
— Me-me
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