After Retirement: A New Kind of Knowing

The drive home from Rockford to Saint Michael is a favorite of mine. I often just enjoy the sound of the tires on the road as I follow the winding path along the Crow River. In the winter, the bare trees make the river visible for most of the drive. During the rest of the year, I catch glimpses of it through the leafy green.

Other days, I’ll put on some John Denver music. And when my grandchildren are in the car, I mostly listen to the sound of their voices as they chatter away to each other. My hearing isn't what it used to be, so I rarely catch the actual words—but that’s okay. Their voices are music to me.

Yesterday, as I drove home from Rockford, I skipped the music and found myself entertained by a thought that came to me—seemingly out of the blue. The thought was this: “I used to know what to do in most situations. I’m not sure I do anymore.”

That idea stuck with me. I realized that during most of my time BR (Before Retirement), I lived in reaction mode. Life was a series of moments requiring me to listen, assess, and respond—especially in situations involving other people. I tried to be thoughtful in my responses, but much of it came down to reacting to what others needed or expected.

AR (After Retirement), the opportunities to make decisions are different. Most days now, I spend time with one or more family members—and they’re not particularly interested in having me make decisions for them! Even the grandkids, at nine and eleven, usually want to call their own shots. Like on our movie Fridays: they pick the film, and I provide transportation and snack money. And honestly? That arrangement suits me just fine.

The baby grandson is another story. At almost seven months, he’s not quite ready to make decisions, but he’s remarkably clear in communicating what he wants. He lets us know when tummy time is over, when he’s ready to eat, or if the book I picked isn’t to his liking. He also seems to know when he’d rather play with Grandpa Joe than me. My role is simply to keep him safe, read his body language, and tune into the kinds of noises he makes when he’s uncomfortable or wants something different.

Perhaps it’s those interactions with the baby that brought on the thought: “I used to know what to do in most situations. I’m not sure I do anymore.” After all, trying to interpret the wants and needs of someone who can’t use words yet is its own kind of challenge.

Still, as I wound along the Crow River yesterday, I realized something else: maybe it’s okay not to always know what to do. Life isn’t asking me to solve every problem or jump into action like it once did. These days, I get to observe more, listen more, and sometimes just be present—whether it's beside a chattering grandchild, a fussy baby, or a quiet river. Maybe that's the new kind of knowing: not having the answers, but showing up anyway, with love and snack money in hand.