They tell you that when you stop working full-time, the world suddenly slows down to the speed of a grazing sheep in a Manawatu paddock. Well, I’ve been "retired" for a hot minute now, and I’ve realized there’s a massive difference between finishing work and actually being retired. One is an event; the other is a complete recalibration of your internal GPS.
1. The Death of the Alarm Clock
When you’re working full-time—or in semi retirement and chasing those Uber surges at 6:00 AM—the alarm clock is your master. Finishing work means you finally get to smash the clock.
True Retirement: Realising that even without the alarm, your body still wakes up at 6:30 AM. Only now, instead of checking the app for rides, you’re staring at the ceiling wondering if the resident squirrel has finished witnessing my bike’s will and started on my vegetable garden.
2. The "Busy" Paradox
When I was working, "busy" meant I had things to do that people paid me for. Now that I’m a man of leisure, I’m somehow still busy, but nobody is cutting me a check.
Finishing Work: "I have so much free time now!"
True Retirement: Spending three hours at Bunnings comparing the structural integrity of two different types of birdhouse brackets, then coming home and needing a nap because "the decision-making process was gruelling."
3. The Wardrobe Shift
Finishing work means retiring the "professional" gear.
True Retirement: It’s all about the footwear. I’ve traded the motorbike boots for something with significantly more arch support and velcro. If it doesn't feel like I'm walking on two clouds made of New Zealand wool I’m not wearing it. And yes, I am wearing Allbirds merino shoes. Hillbilly Logic dictates that if you aren't comfortable, you aren't doing it right.
4. The Social Side of the Manawatū
When you work, your social life is "water cooler talk" or "how’s your day" with a passenger in the backseat.
True Retirement: Finding out that the local cafe has a whole sub-culture of retirees who have mastered the art of making one flat white last for ninety minutes. You don’t just drink coffee anymore; you analyze the state of the world from a plastic chair.
The Verdict?
Finishing work is just stopping the engine. Retirement is learning how to coast down the hill, enjoying the view, and not worrying about how much fuel is left in the tank.
I might not be leaning into the corners on the Triumph anymore, but I’m finding that the pace of a slow stroll through the Square has its own kind of roar. It’s quieter, sure—but you hear a lot more of the birds.
Stay tuned for my next update: Why tea tastes better when you have nowhere to be.
