I recently read an article about people who struggled after retiring because their work had become such a massive part of their lives.
I understood where they were coming from.
When you have worked for decades, you don't only leave a job behind. You can lose your routine, your workmates, your position and your responsibilities. You also lose that feeling that people are relying on you.
I lost all those things when I retired.
But I didn't lose myself, because I had always known that my job was something I did—it wasn't who I was.
Losing a job would have been different
If I had lost my job ten years before retirement, I would have been gutted. Even six years earlier, it would have been a serious problem.
I still needed the wages. I still had bills to pay, preparations to make and financial responsibilities to meet. Losing my job then would have meant losing security and control over my future.
Retirement was completely different.
My State Pension—or OAP, as I still call it—gave me a secure income without depending upon an employer. It doesn't make me wealthy, but it gives me something more valuable: control over my time.
I can sit here at midnight without worrying about getting up for work in the morning. If I want to stay in bed until dinnertime, I can.
I probably won't, but knowing that I can is what freedom feels like.
A busy day—but my busy day
Retirement doesn't mean that I spend every day doing nothing.
The other morning, Norma and I went out to do some errands as soon as the shops opened. We came home and had another brew, and then I went to the allotment for four hours.
After that, I came home for dinner and another brew. Later, I went back into town on the Batmobile.
The Batmobile is what I call the mobility scooter—and I think it's ace, by the way. It saves my knees and allows me to get out without turning every trip into a major walking expedition.
That evening, I made a TikTok post. Then I came online and started discussing ideas for my website.
It was a full and productive day, but it was my busy day. Nobody else owned a single hour of it.
Tomorrow can wait until tomorrow
At the end of that day, I realised that Tuesday was coming and I didn't have a clue what I was going to do.
I had thoughts, but no definite plans. That didn't worry me.
We have a schedule, of course, but even that is flexible. There are appointments, rugby matches, holidays and important things that need remembering. A calendar is useful because it helps stop things from slipping.
But the calendar is there to help me—it isn't there to control me.
I have plenty to do at the allotment. The polytunnels and greenhouse need sorting, and there is weeding and digging to be done. I still have potatoes to lift, while my spring cabbages and cauliflowers are nearly ready to go into the ground.
Seed ordering is another job waiting for me.
However, most of that work doesn't have to be completed tomorrow. I have weeks to order the seeds and around six months to prepare everything properly for spring. It is all under control in my mind.
Outside the allotment, I have YouTube, TikTok and A Dose of Dave. I want to get out more with my camera, and Norma and I have four days in Whitby coming up in October.
I don't lack plans. I simply don't need to decide on Monday night exactly what Tuesday must contain.
I know what needs doing. I retain the freedom to choose the particular job according to the weather, my knees, my mood and what else is happening.
When the phone stopped ringing
I spent many years working in logistics, where time was always the priority.
There were schedules to meet, deliveries to organise, staffing problems to solve and people who needed immediate answers. The phone seemed permanently glued to my ear.
Whenever it rang, somebody else's problem became my problem.
These days, I hardly receive a phone call.
Some people might find that unsettling. They might feel that they were no longer important or needed. I don't see it that way.
The silence doesn't mean I have lost my value. It means the interruptions have stopped.
I haven't lost my importance because the phone no longer rings. I have simply stopped allowing other people's emergencies to control my day.
I do it because I like it
People sometimes make retirement far more complicated than it needs to be. They talk about finding a grand new purpose or filling every day with organised activities.
My explanation is much simpler.
I do what I do because I like doing it.
I don't tend the allotment because I have targets to meet. I don't take photographs because I need recognition. I don't make TikToks or work on my website because somebody is paying me or measuring my output.
I do these things because I enjoy them. If I don't fancy doing one tomorrow, I can do something else.
Retirement productivity doesn't need to be measured in wages, targets or somebody else's approval. The allotment produces food. TikTok connects me with people. My photographs preserve memories, and the website gives my stories somewhere to live.
They all have value, but none of them needs to become another job.
Knowing the difference between needs and wants
At this stage of my life, my basic needs are largely met.
I made the major purchases while I was still working. I have no debt, I have a car, wardrobes full of clothes, cameras and enough camping equipment to start my own campsite.
My wants are a different matter.
I want a new video camera, another digital camera and more camping equipment. You name it and I probably want it.
The difference is that I know they are wants.
We are constantly encouraged to believe that the phone we own is outdated, our camera needs upgrading or our trainers need replacing with a £200 pair.
Companies don't merely sell us products. They sell us the suggestion that owning the latest version will say something better about who we are.
There is nothing wrong with enjoying good equipment. I certainly do. But my Canon camera doesn't suddenly become useless because a newer model appears.
A camera is something I use. It isn't who I am. My job wasn't who I was, and neither are my possessions.
Wanting enough rather than more
There is nearly always a way to make a little more money if I genuinely need it.
When EDF attempted to increase my monthly payment considerably, I contacted them immediately. I explained that I couldn't afford the proposed amount, and they agreed to keep my payment as it was while I provide regular meter readings.
I wasn't prepared to give up my rugby season ticket, camping, days out or occasional meals simply to meet a payment that I believed was unreasonable.
If circumstances ever became genuinely tight, I would consider taking a part-time job. I would happily sweep up or wash pots for ten hours a week.
There would be no shame in that. I have already held responsible positions and proved everything I needed to prove during my working life. I wouldn't need a title or another management role.
I would be selling ten hours of my week to protect the rest of it—not handing my life back to an employer.
But the reality is that I don't currently need to do that.
A second job is not the answer for everyone
My situation is very different from somebody already working full-time.
People casually tell struggling workers to get a second job, as though time and energy are unlimited. Full-time employment already takes more than the contracted hours. There is travelling, preparing for work, recovering afterwards and thinking about the following day.
Adding another ten or fifteen hours might improve the bank balance, but it can slowly damage a person's health, family life and ability to enjoy anything.
People should not need to work themselves into the ground simply to heat their homes and buy groceries.
Nor am I suggesting that everyone struggling can easily earn more money. Health problems, caring responsibilities and the shortage of suitable work can remove that choice completely.
I am only describing my own position and what I would be prepared to do if it became necessary.
What wealth means to me
I don't want more than I need.
That doesn't mean money is unimportant. I worked extremely long hours, cleared my debts, paid off the mortgage and prepared for retirement precisely because I understood the importance of financial security.
But once I had enough for my home, my bills and a modest life containing the things I enjoy, I didn't need accumulating more money to become the purpose of my life.
Real wealth, to me, means having the bills paid, enough left for a little enjoyment and ownership of my own time.
I haven't retired from life, and I haven't stopped being active or productive.
I have retired from allowing work to arrange my life.
I lost my job, my position, my responsibilities and most of my workmates—but I didn't lose myself.
These days, I maintain the allotment, take photographs, go camping, watch rugby, make videos, write for my website and spend time with Norma and the family.
I do what I do because I like doing it.
It really is that simple.