How can I retire from a life-consuming career?

First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.

What does it mean to retire from a career so life-consuming that it defines your identity? What does it mean to start again when you’re no longer at the beginning of your adult life? Instead, you’re in the middle or passed the middle? These are the questions I am exploring.

I have been a high school English teacher for over 30 years. I loved working with teenagers and talking about reading and writing and anything that drove their passion. Often when I stood in front of a class, I was blown away by all the potential simmering under the surface of these young people. They were just starting to feel out the strength of their muscles and of their minds. It was so energizing to be around them.

I was always on the hunt for ways to help young people make connections with the material, to find ways to help them express their ideas and to be open to hearing and seeing different perspectives. The way to move forward was always to learn. And learning takes risk. Learning takes effort. Learning takes mistakes. Learning takes reflection. And that is what makes learning so exciting.

This applies to both the students and to me, as the teacher. And this is how teaching took over my life.

Two years ago, I retired from teaching. Not because I was tired. Not because I was done learning. Not because I found something else to do. No, I was starting to get hints from my body that if I keep going the way I was going, something ominous was coming around the corner. Something had to change. So I made the dramatic decision to retire.

Did I have a transition plan? No.

Did I know what I was doing next? No.

Did I have an all-consuming hobby that would replace my all-consuming career? No.

For 30 years, my identity had been tied up with me being a teacher. My calendar was defined by the school year. My personal life was scheduled around the needs of the school. All weekends and holidays were spent marking papers, essays and projects, and planning new lessons tailored for the students I had in front of me that semester. It was a never-ending cycle. And I loved it.

Then suddenly I jumped off that ride. And for the last two years, I have been trying to find out who I am without that school calendar driving my life.

In Vietnam, 32 years after my family fled, I didn’t find the sense of home I was expecting

What does it mean to retire?

It means to decide to change the way I will live. That my work will change. That my day will change. That the patterns of learning and producing and evaluating and reflecting are no longer driven by an external force. Like the school or the school board or even the bright young faces of the teens in classrooms. Instead, I must find, for me, the reason to move forward, the reason to get out of bed, the reason to learn.

What does it mean to end a career so life-consuming that it defines your identity? It means to actively look for and try out new activities, look for new people to meet and learn new skills. This could mean enrolling in a course at a college or university. Or starting a garden and learning as you go. Or learning a new language or to play an instrument. This could also mean selling your house to travel around the world.

What does it mean to start again when you’re no longer at the beginning of your adult life?

It means to take the time you need to reflect on your life. Explore what makes you happy. Assess your health. Think about what energizes you and how to make that a regular feature of your life. Revisit old wishes and dreams and create a vision of how you want to live.

This involves balancing your reality with your dreams and finding the path that connects them. It means talking to your friends and family and finding what support you have and taking stock of who you are and who you want to be.

I was bruised and bleeding but surrounded by kindness in my Toronto neighbourhood

This also involves having the mindset to make things happen.

For so long, I was defined by one thing. And that one thing so consumed my life, it was hard to see the other parts of me.

Now, with its removal, I have a chance to explore those other parts. The parts that involve planting a garden and learning to care for it; slowing down to eat breakfast for longer than five minutes; picking up the guitar to learn to strum and pick the strings; scheduling walks and chats with friends from all across Toronto and on Zoom from all across the world. A freedom of movement, of space, of thought, of interactions.

It’s a chance to try other rides, in different places, under another sky. A chance to grow in imagination and expand reality.

So, after two years, have I figured out who I am?

No, but I’m working on it.

And maybe that’s what it means to be living your best life.

Finding and riding the current that takes you from wave to wave.

Judy An lives in Thornhill, Ont.