Unexpected Lessons Life Teaches You The Moment You Finally Slow Down
Sometimes life doesn't go according to plan.
Odua Images | Canva I dreamed of retiring early from teaching for several years, but it was only in 2024 that it became a reality, and I was excited. My plan was to spend all the time doing what I loved: writing, gardening, putting around the house, lunching with friends, attending daytime yoga classes, and traveling to visit friends and family.
I’d start each morning by looking out my kitchen window at the fuchsia echinacea, Thai basil, and crimson roses in the front yard. Their colors would beckon me to step out to peruse their beauty up close and inspect for new leaves and blooms while cupping my morning coffee.
If the grass needed cutting, I’d casually set my intention to mow at my leisure in the afternoon or the next day or whenever I felt like it. Then, I’d float out my back door, inspecting my aeroponic vertical gardens as the morning sun rose brighter.
When it got too warm, I’d retire to write at my desk by the window, taking in the fresh air and stretching as needed. Somehow, in my mind, I’d also start my morning with a lovely yoga flow, meditation, and journaling.
Unexpected lessons life teaches you the moment you finally slow down
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It would all be rather luxurious. Never mind that I didn’t yet have the sequence down of how I’d fit it all in. I would figure that out later.
I’d dive deep into who I’d become and design the rebirth of who I wanted to be in the second half of my life. I’d cull the wisdom from my years and write about it. I would finally learn how to take things slower and to actually relax, relinquishing the need to constantly be on the go or to fix things or people. I would cherish living in the moment.
The days would lazily unfold, and there would be long breaks between my travels when I got to come home and nuzzle, laugh, and take walks with my husband.
It hasn’t been anything like this at all. We’ve all heard some variation on the old joke about how to make God laugh. Make plans.
The car accident
The day I retired, my oldest son was in a car accident. That set off a flurry of details that needed tending to since his car was rear-ended and totaled: collecting his personal items from the tow location, communicating with the insurance company and lawyer, and searching for a secondhand replacement auto.
Miraculously, he walked away with barely a scratch. What a gift! A guardian angel was surely looking out for my baby boy! I let that gratitude seep in to saturate the frustration of an incompetent police report and the other driver not having insurance.
Within days, we had a retirement/birthday party with our closest friends. It was a blur of fun since I barely had a chance to sit down between my last day of teaching, the accident, and planning it.
Several days later, I left for a 12-day road trip to visit my brother, his kids, and his very ill wife, my precious sister-in-law. On the return from this emotional yet beautiful trip north, I squeezed in a short visit with my BFF of 34 years.
Retirement was proving busier than expected. It couldn’t last like this forever, so I told myself to hang on and go with the flow. There would be time later to loll about.
The pseudo-surgery
Within days of returning from our trip, my husband went in for a planned surgery. Even though it was aborted due to issues with intubation, the damage from the attempt and the harsh anesthesia left him in pain, low energy, and living room-bound for a week. The follow-up was so intense that he may as well have been recovering from an actual surgery.
The living room is right next to my open-air office, which wasn’t entirely bad since I had to be near enough to listen to attend to his needs. However, the inundation of his constant and simultaneous consumption of talk radio, TV news, and TikTok infiltrated my brain every moment of the day, wearing this silence-loving woman down.
My second trip
Only a week after the pseudo-surgery recovery, I headed out for a real vacation with my three kids to have some fun while celebrating my mom’s 80th birthday.
Immediately, the visit flipped into me mediating between my mom and her husband to help them navigate a likely divorce when they casually announced they were separating. The environment was odd and tense, and while there was laughter and adventure with hiking and white water rafting with the kids, I felt anything but relaxed.
I was worried sick about my mom. Where would she end up? How would she begin anew, and with what financial resources?
And what about her memory? How bad is it getting? Was she fully aware of what becoming single again meant? Would she end up living with me? Her story is still playing out.
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The second surgery attempt
The second surgery attempt was planned for two days after I got home from vacation. I was not thrilled about this, but my husband wanted to get it over with. While I totally sympathized with him, we know how it is to go on vacation. We often need a vacation from our vacation, and this time was no exception.
I needed more than a vacation after returning home. I was processing heavy events from a trip that was supposed to be fun and invigorating. I needed a mental retreat, a full shutdown, but that wasn’t going to happen. Worrying sick about my mom funneled me into an actual illness. I came home with a scratchy throat and fatigue.
However, the show had to go on. I reluctantly left my unpacked bags in a corner while I scurried about tending to last-minute details, preparing to become the caretaker of my love for the next 10–14 days. With Zicam and tissues in hand, I rallied just enough to get him to surgery.
Thankfully, it was successful despite having to repair more than anticipated. I spent the first five nights barely sleeping on the couch next to his recliner.
It proved to be a wise decision, even if it delayed my recovery from the random virus I was fighting. What we thought would be a quick two-week recovery turned into six weeks of me looking after his every need.
Thank God I was retired. There would have been no way to properly care for him and myself had I still been working full-time.
Loss and renewal
Somewhere sandwiched into the last quarter of my year of retirement, I visited my mom again, helped my older brother and his wife work on their house, sent my youngest off to college, traveled again to see my longest-running bestie in Georgia, and watched my sister-in-law rapidly decline from a distance.
We lost her on December 19th. I ended my first six months of retirement with more travel as I trekked to snowy New Jersey to say the saddest goodbye.
The year included unwanted travel and far more grief than I could have anticipated. Much of it was a layered mess of phone calls, Zooms, travel, and worry, as well as reminding myself to breathe and be in the moment, whatever the moment was. I continued to write until my grief took over.
Then, my job became getting through my day without non-stop melting down and remembering to eat and occasionally shower. My emotional and social bandwidth was razor-thin. Relaxation and rebirth were not on my list.
We are resilient beings designed to evolve and grow from challenges and pain. When given the time to tend to our most basic needs in the darkest of moments, we set the foundation for inevitable renewal. I fully leaned in and allowed what was to be, not what I wished could be.
As normalcy slowly returned, I also got reacquainted with my dear friend, Writing; she patiently waited and held space for me, ready when I was ready. The words never left me, but the ability and desire to sit in anything besides mourning escaped me.
My mid-life rebirth has started out vastly different from what I’d envisioned, but I’m grateful I get to have a rebirth in the first place, no matter what’s revealed. Tomorrow will look and feel different, regardless of my plans and whether or not I’m retired.
I’ve always had gratitude for my pleasant constants, like hot morning coffee, the view from my kitchen, and the soft blanket I travel with. However, within the last six months, I’ve also found gratitude simply for my breath and for the pain that has forced me to grow.
My outward pace may not have let up. But inside, a switch turned off. I stopped long enough to allow a deep sense of calm and sureness to replace my anxiety and the need to do, fix, or be elsewhere. I stopped asking why or wishing for another outcome.
I may not have gotten what I wanted, but I surely got what I needed. Life’s been full of lessons on surrendering to being fully present in each moment. Gone is the urgency to control and plan my future, including a relaxing retirement. I didn’t need to go searching for this wisdom. It came to me.
There will be opportunities to have days lazily unfold, I’m sure of that, but I now understand that I can’t force them on my schedule. Life doesn’t always happen according to our calendars or dreams as much as we try to control things.
Instead of fixating on my relaxation checklist or a particular rebirth experience, I pause more, breathe deeper, and smile as I hear the echo of God’s roaring laughter.
Heidi Sexton is a writer, retired English and special education teacher, certified health coach, gardener, retreat leader and actor. She publishes on Medium and has contributed as a wellness expert for Gulf Coast Woman Magazine.
