Last month I celebrated five years of retirement from corporate editing. It seems like a lifetime ago – I don’t live where I used to, or think like I used to, or do what I used to. And the world has shifted radically in five years. Everything looks different now.

Work was a refuge for me. It signified that I was valued, worthwhile, accomplished. When I began working in the early 1970s it was still unusual for women to have careers outside of nursing or teaching, or to remain in the workforce for an entire lifetime.

I began my career as a journalist. Later, I worked in corporate communications largely because the pay was better and the jobs more secure. Outside of a few months off when my daughters were born, I worked steadily for 44 years.

In August of 2015, after much angst and second guessing, I left my secure position as a corporate editor. Of the many things that kept me up at night before I retired, the loss of my professional identity was the most worrisome.

I was leaving behind the accomplishments of four decades – awards, professional contacts, raises and promotions. A biweekly paycheck is very motivational! Who would I be without those tangible markers of success?

Luckily, I had a second career. I’d never stopped writing while I was working. I went back to graduate school and got an MFA in creative writing from Mills College in my mid-40s (concurrently working full time) and began writing Swimming with Maya: A Mother’s Story.

When the book was initially published in 2004, I only fantasized about leaving corporate work. Swimming with Maya was republished in 2013 and was quite successful as an e-book and paperback so that caused me to focus on building a nest egg that would give me the freedom to write full time.

In retrospect, my corporate identity was a prop. Had I been more confident in my abilities as a writer, perhaps I would not have had the career as an editor I had. On the other hand, having that professional anchor gave me a lot – the ability to raise kids as a single mom, something to fall back on after two divorces, and a sense of empowerment and self-esteem.

Before I retired from my day job, I became a member of the San Francisco Writer’s Grotto, a co-working space and writing community where I found support and inspiration for my work. That allowed me to find others who dedicated their days to spinning out stories, whose passions and dreams matched mine.

I stopped working for pay and began working for love, feeling very fortunate to have the physical energy and the drive to make my passion for writing the center of my life. Since then, I’ve completed and revised a novel, written dozens of essays and blog posts, met and married my husband, and moved from the Grand Lake neighborhood in Oakland to a retirement community in Walnut Creek.

But another, more profound change has occurred. I’ve learned how to live in the moment, how to appreciate the beauty of trees and hills, how to treasure and protect my silence and peace. I no longer seek the kind of stimulation and reinforcement I once did.

Walking the Rossmoor Labyrinth Photo by Lynn Watson

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still ambitious. But my ambitions have morphed in a different direction. I want to leave behind a better world, one where our grandchildren find a more just, humane, and sustainable planet, a place where all people can fulfill their dreams.

These days, I balance writing with walking along Tice Creek or in the hills above Rossmoor. I devote my energies to working with like-minded folks  to help build a world that works for everyone. I hang out in socially distanced circles with neighbors and friends under the trees, grateful for this protected space where we live. I focus on living as mindfully and joyfully as I can in these very challenging times, understanding that living well in retirement is a calling not a job.

A slightly different version of this post appeared originally in the Rossmoor News.