Reinventing Life: A Creative Journey After Retirement

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  • The Worldview Wake-Up: Why Nobody Sees Things Quite Like You Do (and That’s Okay) 

    Here’s a simple truth that took me years to fully grasp: everyone on this planet has a different worldview. Yes—every single person. That includes your neighbor, your coworkers, your sister-in-law with the loud opinions, and even that guy in line who’s furious about the price of avocados. 

    Your worldview is basically your lens on life. It’s shaped by everything you’ve experienced: your family, your education, your job, your religion (or lack of it), your culture, your personality, the books you’ve read, the news you consume, and even your country’s politics. It’s the filter through which you interpret… well, everything. 

    And here’s the kicker: no one else has your exact filter. Not even your twin, if you have one. We each bring a totally unique blend of history, emotion, and bias to the table—so it’s no surprise we sometimes struggle to agree on what we’re even looking at. 

    I once went to a seminar that illustrated this beautifully. It was a room full of smart, accomplished people—people I knew, respected, and occasionally exchanged heated opinions with about work projects. The facilitator ran a simple experiment: 

    A tray was brought out, covered by a cloth. We were told that when the cloth was lifted, we’d have 30 seconds to observe the tray’s contents—around 30 items, all different shapes, sizes, colors, and materials. Afterward, we’d answer ten questions about what we saw. 

    Easy, right? Wrong. 

    Questions like “How many items were made of glass?” or “How many were round?” led to wild answers. Some folks guessed five, others said twelve. Nobody nailed a single question. We were stunned. (And mildly defensive.) 

    But the point was clear: we all saw something different. Even with the same visual input, our minds focused on different things. Some of us zeroed in on color, others on materials, others on what reminded them of home or childhood. 

    It was a powerful reminder that memory, perception, and value are incredibly subjective—even among a group of thoughtful, educated adults. If we can’t agree on how many wooden things were on a tray, no wonder we disagree on how to run a meeting or load the dishwasher. 

    So what’s the takeaway? 

    If you start with the assumption that other people see the world differently than you do—not wrongly, just differently—you’re more likely to stay curious than combative. You might find yourself asking, “What makes you see it that way?” or “Tell me more about that.”

    This doesn’t mean you have to agree with everyone. It just means you give them room to be human. Maybe even give yourself permission to be wrong once in a while. (I know, deep breaths.) 

    My dad was great at this. With a big, opinionated family and a wide social circle, he heard all kinds of ideas—many of which he strongly disagreed with. But instead of jumping into debate mode, he’d pause, smile, and say, “Huh. I never thought of it like that.” Simple. Disarming. Brilliant. 

    That one line—“I never thought of it like that”—can change the temperature of a conversation, build bridges, and maybe even help you understand the world just a little better. 

    Try it sometime. Especially with your sister-in-law.

  • When Love Means Letting Go of the Script 

    I can’t remember every detail, but a few years ago, I got a phone call from one of my daughters. 

    We talked often—she lives about 2,500 miles away—and she’s one of those people I just get. You know how sometimes there’s a click between souls? That’s her. Sweet. Smart. A big part of my life. 

    This call started like a lot of our chats—casual, familiar—but took an unexpected turn. 

    “Dad,” she said, “I’m not sure exactly how to say this…but after a lot of self-discovery, I’ve realized I’m non-binary. My pronouns are they and them now. And…I have a new name.” 

    That’s not the exact script, but it’s the condensed version burned into my memory. It caught me completely off guard. 

    And I don’t shock easily. I came out as gay in my early 60s, so I figured I’d seen—and felt—it all. But this? This was new terrain. 

    When Logic Meets Love 

    At first, I went into my old familiar mode: logic. 

    I tried to make sense of it, to analyze it, to be sure everything had been thought through. But after many conversations—and a lot of inner work—I realized none of that mattered. What mattered most was simple: 

    Was my child safe? 

    Were they happy? 

    That’s the deal when you have adult kids. 

    You love them for who they are, not for the boxes they check, the labels they claim, or the pronouns they use. 

    Old Habits, New Language 

    I’ll be honest—it didn’t come naturally at first. 

    My mouth kept tripping over the new pronouns. Not because I didn’t accept them, but because my brain kept reaching for the old language I’d used for decades.

    Three years later, I still have to catch myself sometimes. 

    It’s not about resistance—it’s about rewiring. 

    But honestly? That’s small potatoes. 

    What matters is we have each other, just as we are. 

    Love Without Fine Print 

    Sometimes, life invites you to let go of the script you thought you were following. You can’t control everything—or everyone. 

    And even if you don’t understand, it doesn’t change the fact that love has no conditions. Three years have passed. 

    They are now a successful tattoo artist with a circle of friends and a life that’s meaningful, creative, and—most importantly—happy. 

    Our relationship is solid, full of love, respect, and humor. 

    I still wish I had a switch in my brain that made the pronouns automatic. 

    But what I’ve learned is: Love doesn’t need a perfect script. It needs an open heart.

    The Call You Might Get 

    Here’s the thing: You can’t cross someone’s free will. 

    Loving someone doesn’t mean only if they stay inside your comfort zone—or your politics. Love that has conditions isn’t really love. It’s a transaction. 

    So, maybe someday you’ll get a call. 

    Maybe it’ll be, “Mom, I’m gay,” or “Dad, I’m a Libertarian,” or “I’m moving to an ashram in Nepal.” 

    If you truly love them, you’ll let them live their lives—and find the spaces where you can still connect, still laugh, still love. 

    Life’s too short for anything less.

  • The Sock Drawer Manifesto: Why Your Bucket List Matters More Than You Think

    Do You Have a Bucket List?

    I’ve never actually met someone who has a physical list, but maybe you do! The term is more of a metaphor than a to-do list. It’s really about setting life goals and aspirations—a reminder to pursue what matters most to you before, well…you know.

    Life Goals vs. Bucket Lists: What’s the Difference?

    There’s a subtle but important difference between life goals and bucket lists.

    Life goals tend to be long-term aspirations—things like building a family, earning a degree, or living by certain core values. They often reflect societal expectations and personal milestones.

    Bucket lists, on the other hand, are more about experiences that bring joy, curiosity, and fulfillment—whether that’s skydiving, learning a language, or reading 100 books. They’re flexible, evolving, and driven more by personal passion than obligation.

    Both are essential to a meaningful life—but they serve different purposes.

    The Calendar Gets Smaller

    The phrase “bucket list” became popular after the 2007 film The Bucket List, where two terminally ill men set off to tick off adventures before they died. It was a great movie. But today, I want to talk about you. And your list.

    When you get into your 70s or 80s, you start noticing the calendar feels a little smaller. My parents both lived into their 90s, but not everyone gets that long runway. So, yes, I think it’s healthy to acknowledge your mortality while you still have the spark to do something about it. Of course, ignoring it is always an option—but it does tend to sneak up on you eventually!

    A Glimpse at My Bucket List

    Here’s a partial glimpse at my own bucket list:

    • Learn to play jazz ✔️
    • Take up drawing ✔️
    • Do yoga every day ✔️
    • Read the entire Bible (in progress)
    • Write a book (in progress)

    Your list might look completely different. Maybe yours includes traveling to Patagonia or learning to juggle. It’s your list.

    When the List Gets Personal

    For me, some items led to even deeper questions. Like number four—reading the entire Bible—forced me to ask if I believed in God and what I thought about life after death. That wasn’t a small thing to untangle.

    I grew up in a devout Catholic family. Church every Sunday. Every Holy Day. We fasted during Lent. My aunt was a nun. We went to parochial school, which, all things considered, was mostly a positive experience. I never heard my father curse—he made it to 95 and still not a single cuss word!

    In my twenties, I drifted from church. During my time in the Navy, I had what I’d call a “God experience,” which brought me back. I joined a church, played piano for the services, and found a community.

    Then life did what life does. Two failed marriages. Heartache in the church. My faith in God never wavered, but my trust in Christian leadership certainly did. That ship had sailed. Everything that once felt black-and-white now felt—well—complicated.

    Then, at 62, I came out as gay. Suddenly, I had to reconcile how to trust a church that told me loving who I am meant eternal damnation.

    I’m sharing this not to convert you—or to invite a theological debate—but simply to show how personal and messy our lists and questions can get. And that’s okay. Everyone has to answer their own hard questions.

    Make Your List. Hide It in Your Sock Drawer.

    So why not make a list? Ten items. Maybe more. Jot it down on paper. Hide it in your sock drawer if that feels right. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It’s not for anyone but you.

    And when you cross something off, take a moment to smile. You did that. Revise the list as you go.

    A bucket list isn’t really about death—it’s about the third act of your story. Like in a play, the third act is when all the pieces finally start making sense.

    And don’t we all deserve that kind of clarity before the curtain falls?

  • How Sourdough and Aged Cheese Changed My Gut — and My Life

    About 15 years ago, I always felt bloated. At the time, I was jogging three to four times a week and average weight for my height and build, so I knew it wasn’t from overeating. Many friends and relatives were saying it’s probably gluten or dairy. So, I did an experiment and stopped eating both for 6 weeks. The bloating disappeared rather quickly, and I started to feel better; but being dairy free and gluten free can be a major inconvenience. Sure, there are alternatives. There’s frozen gluten-free bread that often tastes like cardboard, although there were a few that were tolerable. Being dairy free wasn’t too bad because there are so many alternatives, like almond creamer for coffee, and dairy free cream cheese, etc.

    I kept up with these new eating choices for years. Within the past three years, I learned some things that surprised me regarding my situation. I had a sensitivity, but no allergy, like celiacs disease. There are two important finds that I’d like to share with you:

    Sourdough Bread Revelation

    I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law in South Carolina and learned that my brother, also retired, had taken up the practice of making his own sourdough bread. He also had a book called The Plant Paradox, by Stephen R. Gundry, MD, which I began reading. I learned that sourdough bread has far less gluten in comparison to Whole Wheat or White Wheat bread. So I did a litttle research:

    Type of Bread            | Average Gluten Content (per 100g)
    -------------------------|----------------------------------
    White Wheat Bread        | 10–12 grams
    Whole Wheat Bread        | 11–14 grams
    Traditional Sourdough*   | 2–4 grams or less

    *Long-fermented sourdough

    I introduced sourdough bread to my diet and no bloating. It was a miracle for a person who loves bread and has been eating cardboard-type substances for more than a decade. It isn’t difficult making sourdough bread. Some folks prefer using a scale. I found that method to be laborious. Once you get the hang of it, it seems fairly straightforward. There are a ton of books on sourdough or just check out the web.

    This change opened up so many possibilities. Soon I was making sourdough pizza and a few sourdough desserts. This was a game changer. But wait it gets better:

    What no Lactose?

    I was taking a hike with a good friend who happens to be a general practitioner and he also has issues with dairy. He casually mentioned to me that the only type of dairy that he can eat safely was aged cheeses. He explained that aged cheeses are typically lactose free. Lactose is often the culprit when one has dairy sensitivities. I had a hard time digesting that information, pardon the pun, but having family members and friends and doctor visits, no one ever told me that I could eat aged cheeses without the deleterious effects that dairy typically had. I had tried taking lactose tablets, but found them unpredictable.

    I was blown away because being able to safely eat aged cheeses opened up a whole new world for me. I could now have REAL cheese on my pizza and make glorious omelets, cheese and all. I stay away from sour cream, ricotta, ice cream, milk, whey. And I found perfectly satisfying alternatives for each.

    Breakfast

    Breakfast is my favorite meal. And for the past few years, I’ve been enjoying incorporating aged cheeses and sourdough bread into wonderful breakfasts. Eggs, considered a perfect protein, containing all 22 amino acids, are my number one favorite food. I make something different every morning. There are so many ways to cook eggs. Plus, I add an extra egg to my meal and give it to my dog. It’s great for dogs as well.

    I wanted to share these findings with you just in case you “didn’t get the memo!” Sourdough bread has many health benefits aside from less than 20% of the gluten. Cooking with aged cheeses, and there are many, can open up many new recipes that you may never had thought of trying. 

    These two revelations changed my life, and my diet. Give it a try. 

  • Teaching Your Dog to Hike Off-leash

    The “Jackpot” Method That Changed Everything

    Every single day—rain, snow, or wind—my six-year-old pup, Poppy, and I hit the trail. We even squeezed in a short hike when I had COVID (yes, I know… probably not my best idea). But for us, hiking isn’t just a habit—it’s a way of life.

    One of the most rewarding things I ever did for both of us was train Poppy to hike off leash. It’s made our outings more peaceful, more enjoyable, and surprisingly, has turned into a conversation starter with fellow hikers. People are often amazed: “She just sticks with you?” “She always comes when called?” Yes. Always. Here’s exactly how we got there—and how you can, too.

    It All Started With a Class

    When Poppy was six months old, I enrolled her in a basic obedience class for new dog owners. She graduated with flying colors—complete with a little certificate! She learned the basics: sit, stay, come. I was thrilled.

    After the class, I asked the trainer how I could take it a step further: How do I train my dog to hike off leash? It had always been a dream of mine to have a dog that would reliably stay with me and return the moment I called.

    Of course, I had my doubts. I’d seen panicked hikers frantically calling for their dogs—dogs who had chased something, wandered too far, or simply stopped listening. I didn’t want to be one of them.

    The trainer introduced me to a technique called “Jackpotting.” Once I started using it, everything changed.

    What is Jackpotting?

    Jackpotting is a high-reward training technique that uses multiple treats and enthusiastic praise to reinforce a specific behavior. In this case, we’re reinforcing your dog’s response to the recall command (“come”).

    Step-by-Step: Teaching Off-Leash Recall with Jackpotting

    1. Pack High-Value Treats — Bring something amazing—cheese cubes, bits of hot dog, real chicken—whatever your dog goes nuts for.

    2. Start With a Mini Celebration — Before taking the leash off, give your dog 8–10 treats in rapid succession while praising them like crazy. “Good girl, good girl!” Make it a party!

    3. Short Leash-Free Test Run — Unclip the leash and walk just a few feet. Then call your dog—even if they’re right next to you. When they respond, boom: 8–10 more treats and lots of praise.

    4. Repeat and Reinforce — Keep hiking, and repeat this process multiple times. You’re teaching a clear pattern: Come = jackpot. Gradually reduce the number of treats.

    5. Practice, Practice, Practice — Hike frequently—3–5 times a week, if you can. The more consistent you are, the faster it becomes second nature.

    6. Train Safely — Nervous? Start in a fenced area like a dog park. Build trust before heading out to open trails.

    The Long-Term Payoff

    With consistent practice, Poppy made the connection fast. Now, six years later, she still stays close on the trail and comes immediately when I call—no treats needed. These days, I carry a few nutritious snacks more for fun than function. (I’m a fan of brands like Full Moon, Newman’s Own, and Trader Joe’s treats—always check for quality ingredients.)

    One important note: don’t overthink your commands. Dogs don’t understand long sentences. Keep it simple and consistent. Use the same word or phrase every time.

    Final Thoughts

    Jackpotting changed my life. Hiking with Poppy off-leash is peaceful, empowering, and bonding. She’s predictable, safe, and responsive—and if we pass another hiker or animal, I simply clip the leash back on. No drama.

    And the best part? Sometimes when I call her, I don’t give her a treat at all—just a hug and a kiss. She still comes running.

    If you’re dreaming of an off-leash trail companion, give Jackpotting a try. With a little time and consistency, you’ll build trust, confidence, and freedom—for both of you.

  • Drawing Life

    What a Nude Studio Art Class Taught Me About Confidence, Connection, and Creativity

    When I was in elementary school, Fridays meant one thing I truly loved: art class. At our parochial school in Massachusetts, we even had a yearly art competition across the diocese. Out of about 60 students per grade, they awarded one First Place, one Second Place, and four Honorable Mentions.

    Over eight years, I received Honorable Mention five times. Not bad, right? But by the time I got to high school, I stopped drawing. Why?

    Well… I had a problem.

    A very talented one.

    My older sister—two grades ahead—was a drawing prodigy. She won First Place seven out of her eight years. The only year she didn’t win was due to a rumor she’d taken lessons (which she hadn’t). But that’s how it was in the 1950s. You rolled with it.

    And I did. Right out of art.

    She could draw larger-than-life portraits of the Beatles, The Monkees, and The Dave Clark Five. Her talent was staggering. I adored her—but I put my pencils away. Why try when she was the “artist” in the family?

    Fast forward several decades. I’m now in my early 70s, happily retired, and carrying a new bucket list with me—things I never had the time or courage to explore before.

    One of those things?

    Studio drawing with nude models.

    Facing the Easel (and My Fears)

    A good friend of mine, a retired art professor from Maine, invited me to a life drawing group that met every other week. “You don’t have to be good,” he said. “You just have to show up.”

    So I did.

    I was nervous—terrified, really. What if my drawings were awful? What if others noticed how bad they were? Would I embarrass myself?

    Then the model stepped up. Completely nude.

    A beautiful, confident man with defined muscles and, let’s say, a very noticeable jewel package.

    I panicked. Where do I look without looking like I’m looking?

    At the break, I walked up to him and said, honestly, “You have a very beautiful body, and I feel so awkward staring at it. But thank you for posing—it’s amazing.”

    He smiled and said, “Don’t worry about staring. You’re supposed to. Just keep coming.”

    That moment of honesty cracked something open in me. I kept coming back.

    The Practice of Observation

    Two years later, I’ve drawn at least five different models:

    • A confident young woman with perky breasts and a dancer’s grace

    • An older, plus-sized man whose presence filled the space

    • A tall, thin gentleman who wore hats and scarves—quirky and elegant

    • A handsome Black model with a sculptural body and intuitive posing style

    Each session is 2.5 hours of quiet focus. There’s jazz or classical music playing softly in the background, the scratch of charcoal on paper, the occasional “ahh” of satisfaction when someone nails a pose. During breaks, there’s wine, seltzer, and snacks. It’s like creative therapy.

    And the best part?

    My drawings are getting better.

    I’ve shown my sketchbooks to my sister—yes, that sister. She’s now my biggest fan. She still teaches adult art classes once a week, and she’s given me wonderful tips: focus on shading, draw the spine, pay attention to foreshortening.

    Speaking of which—foreshortening is when, say, someone is lying down with their feet pointed at you. The feet will appear huge, while the rest of the body seems shortened. Your mind knows what you’re seeing, but getting it onto the page is a challenge. And yet, somehow, the more you do it, the easier it gets.

    A New Kind of Confidence

    To draw a person is to translate something three-dimensional into two dimensions using nothing but your eyes, your hands, and your courage.

    For me, it’s more than drawing.

    It keeps my mind sharp.

    It brings peace.

    And it reminds me that it’s never too late to rediscover something you once loved—or to start something brand new.

    So if there’s something on your bucket list you’ve been putting off—whether it’s drawing, dancing, hiking, or playing music—think of this story.

    Even if you feel like a beginner, you will improve. You will grow. And you might just find a new passion waiting to welcome you home.

  • Unplugging From Politics

    I remember it clearly—November 6, 2024, 2 a.m. I got up to pee and, like I often did, checked the news on my phone. It wasn’t looking good for Kamala Harris. A sinking feeling washed over me. It hadn’t been officially called yet, but I knew in my gut: she was going to lose. Trump would be back in the White House.

    By morning, the devastating news was confirmed. He had won.

    To say I was a news junkie would be an understatement. I had MSNBC on multiple times a day. I knew the lineup by heart. I could identify most of the regular guests by voice alone—even from the kitchen. But that morning, I refused to turn it on. I couldn’t bear it. Instead, I drank my coffee, ate breakfast, played the piano, and then—almost instinctively—I took my dog for a walk.

    That walk changed everything.

    I went to the ocean and walked along the beach with my dog, trying to make sense of it all. The raw beauty of the ocean was grounding, but my heart was heavy. And then, somewhere between the crashing waves and wet sand, I made a decision: I would stop watching the news. Cold turkey.

    It felt drastic. But it also felt like the healthiest thing I could do. I realized that my constant exposure to the political noise wasn’t helping—it was hurting. It was feeding my anger, my sadness, my sense of hopelessness. I needed to take back control of my mind, body, and spirit.

    While walking, I met a young mother on the beach. She was carrying her baby in a front harness and looked equally distraught. When I asked if she was okay, she confided in me that she, too, was devastated by the election results. Her husband had left for work early, before the final call, and she had no adult to talk to—just her baby and a silent, grief-filled home.

    She spoke through tears about how deeply she feared the impact of Trump’s presidency on her children. Her five-year-old son would be nine by the time this term ended. She couldn’t bear the idea of him growing up under a president who represented everything she stood against: lies, hatred, white supremacy, fraud, and division.

    That brief, honest conversation with a stranger confirmed what I already felt: we weren’t alone in our heartbreak—but we also didn’t have to stay there.

    When I got home, I canceled my cable subscription. It was a bold move, but I didn’t look back. I also stepped away from social media, engaging just once—to defend my sister when a Trump supporter posted an ugly comment. Otherwise, I disconnected.

    And something unexpected happened.

    And in the quiet that followed, something surprising began to stir.

    I created a new routine. I read every morning. I kept writing my book. I began doing yoga. I hiked more, listened to more music, went to concerts, visited friends, and even tackled a few long-neglected home projects. I felt lighter, clearer, more at peace.

    It turns out, unplugging from the chaos gave me space to reconnect with myself.

    I’ve attended one political march since then, and occasionally I’ll read a few news articles or watch a short clip online—but I don’t let it consume me. Like many of my friends, I’m learning to find a balance: staying informed without being overwhelmed.

    Someone once said to me, “Getting older is so hard.” A woman nearby responded, “Not everyone gets the chance.” That truth hit me hard. It reminded me to be grateful—to keep evolving, keep creating, and keep showing up for life, no matter what’s happening in Washington.

    Reinvention wasn’t just a choice. It was a survival skill. And I’m better for it.

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  • Reinvention as a Survival Skill

    After the 2024 election, I stepped away from the news. Not out of apathy, but self-preservation. The endless cycle of outrage had become a weight I could no longer carry. I needed to clear space in my head, and more importantly, in my heart.

    I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was starting over—again. Reinvention wasn’t a choice. It was a survival skill.

    As a retiree, I thought I had already made the big leap: from career to whatever comes next. But here’s the truth no one tells you—reinvention doesn’t happen once. It happens over and over, especially if you choose curiosity over comfort.

    In the quiet, I began to write again. I started hiking more with my dog. I returned to a life drawing group I’d once loved. I found joy not by reaching for something new, but by reclaiming things I’d set down.

    This blog is part of that process. It’s a place to tell the stories that come from letting go, from paying attention, and from learning who you are when no one is watching.

    For some of us, reinvention is a grand adventure. For others, it’s what we do when the map we were following suddenly disappears.

    Either way, I’m here for it.

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