I retired when I was thirty-eight years old.
Well, not really. To my mind, “retired” means I stopped working, and I certainly didn’t do that. My work means a tremendous amount to me. Being idle isn’t in my blood. I am reminded of a quote I cited from a blog post I did back in the days when I used to do really amazing posts…..
Finally and above all else, he was marvelously alive; and mankind, dreading boredom even more than anxieties, is grateful to those who make life throb with a swifter, stronger beat
What I mean by my “retirement” was that I was financially independent. I had, single-handedly, gone from being pushed out into the world at the age of 17 without any financial support to having the choice to never need to work work again.
As I say, though, not working isn’t really my thing. On the contrary, I think my desire to work and create exists in such abundance as to make me miserable, because if I’m not actively creating, I am very unhappy. I find myself in that state quite a bit.