The Yellow Legal Pad

In this episode, the Art of Refiring

July 1st is staring me in the face, less than two weeks away. For years, retirement seemed like something that happened to other people. Suddenly, it's on my calendar.

I've been thinking a lot about the dreaded "R-word" lately. Not because I'm worried about having enough to do. Quite the opposite. What fascinates me is this strange paradox: Why does retirement make so many of us nervous, while having a job—even one that regularly drives us crazy—somehow feels comforting?

Let's be honest. Most of us spend years complaining about meetings that should have been emails, reply-all disasters, impossible deadlines, and that one coworker who insists on microwaving leftover fish in the breakroom. Yet when the idea of walking away finally arrives, we hesitate.

I think I've figured out why.

A career isn't just a job. It's a highly structured coping mechanism.

For forty-plus years, somebody else has basically decided what I'm doing on Monday at 8:00 a.m. There's comfort in that. Annoying comfort, perhaps, but comfort nonetheless. You get up, make the coffee, gather your gear, and head off into the day. The routine becomes part of who you are.

For me, one of the most important parts of that routine has always been my yellow legal pad—or, these days, my “notebook.” There is something incredibly satisfying about sitting quietly in the morning and writing down a list of things to get done. It creates an anchor.

A plan. A written contract with myself that says, "I've got this.”

Never mind that by 10:00 a.m., the day has usually descended into interruptions, surprises, and minor emergencies. At least it started with a plan.

So what happens when the backpack gets retired, the inbox stops filling up, and nobody is asking for a status update?

Henry David Thoreau famously said, "Live life deliberately."

Easy for him to say. He disappeared into the woods with his notebook. If I disappear into the woods, Lori will call Search and Rescue by dinnertime.

Leadership author Ken Blanchard offers a different approach. He encourages people to "Refire, Don't Retire.”

The more I think about it, the more I like that idea.

To refire isn't about staying busy for the sake of being busy. It's about redirecting the energy, curiosity, and discipline you've spent decades giving to your career and investing it in things that actually interest you.

The secret isn't throwing away the routine. It's upgrading it.

The yellow legal pad stays. The assignments just change.

Instead of spreadsheets and staff meetings, my morning list might include learning how to cook.

Now, before anyone gets too excited, let's be clear: I'm approaching this less as culinary art and more as a science experiment. Variables must be tested. Procedures documented. Results analyzed. If I treat the kitchen like a laboratory, perhaps I can avoid burning down the house.

We'll see how Lori feels when dinner requires safety goggles.

On the bright side, if the meal is terrible, I'll have data.

Then there's chess.

Recently, I've discovered that playing against a computer (bot) is surprisingly fun. At my current skill level, my strategy falls somewhere between "confident toddler" and "confused pigeon." The bot, however, never rolls its eyes or audibly sighs when I blunder my queen six moves into the game.

It's patient. Unlike most humans.

The goal is to improve enough to eventually (maybe) join a local chess club or at least invite friends over for a game without being publicly humiliated in my living room.

Then there's golf.

With my shoulder finally healing from the accident, I'm eager to get back on the course. My "70 Before 70" goal—shooting my age at the Rancho Carlsbad par-3 before my birthday this August—is now front and center on the active list.

Every retired person needs a completely unreasonable goal. Apparently, this is mine.

The fact that I'm tracking every round in an Excel spreadsheet proves that, while I may be retiring, I'm clearly not fully retired.

Maybe that's what refiring really means. Not abandoning the habits that kept us moving all these years, but redirecting them toward things that make us curious, challenged, and occasionally happy.

The yellow legal pad isn't going away.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish today's list:

• Learn how not to burn dinner.
• Stop hanging my queen in chess.
• Figure out how to shoot 70 before I turn 70.

Retirement already sounds exhausting. Then again, there are always naps.

This is On the Fly. I’m Patrick Ball. Stay curious and ask better questions. See you on the golf course.