Why I’m Not Retiring Just Because My Friends Are (Even If They’ve All Bought Matching Lawn Chairs)

By William Smith

Retirement is in the air. I will be 62 years old this November. My friends are vanishing like socks in a dryer—one day they’re complaining about spreadsheets and meetings, and the next they’re sending me selfies from a hammock in Costa Rica with captions like “Living my best life.” I should be inspired. Motivated, even. But instead, I’m just wondering who really would want to do that.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled for them. They’ve earned their lounge pants and early bird specials. But me? I’m still out here dragging myself to work like a raccoon rummaging through the leftovers of capitalism—and weirdly enough, loving it.

Why haven’t I joined them in Retirementland™? Because I’m not done yet. I still get a weird rush from color-coding my calendar. I still high-five myself when I solve a problem that’s stumped everyone else for days. (Yes, I high-five myself. Don’t judge me.) Retirement feels like closing the book, and I’m still mid-chapter. Possibly mid-paragraph. Possibly yelling at the plot twist.

As weird as it sounds, I thought about going back to college and gain knowledge on subjects that I avoided when I was in college the first time around.

Plus, I’ve seen what happens to some people when they retire. They start naming their houseplants and getting emotionally attached to jigsaw puzzles. One friend told me he reorganized his garage “for fun.” For fun. That’s when I knew: I’m not emotionally ready for that kind of freedom.

Also, let’s talk timing. Just because my friends are retiring doesn’t mean I have to swan dive into the golden years alongside them. This isn’t synchronized swimming. This is life. And my rhythm is more interpretive dance than precision routine. I’ll retire when I feel like I’ve wrung every last drop of joy and chaos from this wild ride called work—or at least when I start confusing my inbox with my air fryer.

And what would I even do with all that free time? I’d probably end up starting a podcast for my pets. Or alphabetizing my spice rack every Tuesday just to feel something. No, thank you. I like my schedule slightly chaotic and my brain moderately scrambled by a good challenge.

So yes, my friends are off living their flip-flop dreams, sipping mojitos and playing bocce ball with wild abandon. Meanwhile, I’m still here, riding the caffeine wave and pretending I didn’t hit “reply all” again. And honestly? That’s exactly where I want to be.

Retirement will come. But until then, I’m still clocked in, slightly frazzled, possibly over-caffeinated, and completely unready to trade my workday weirdness for golf carts and gardening gloves. Long live the hustle (and the snack vending machine).