Yesterday was an unexpected practice retirement day. It was one of those gloriously wide-open days. It felt exactly like a snow day when I was a kid.

Remember waking up to find a ton of snow had fallen? (Or, if you’re like my kids, a nasty sheet of freezing rain.) All of a sudden, the expectations for the day—the rigid school schedule—were simply gone. No plans. No demands. The day was a gift, free for you to do what you wanted, or better yet, to choose to do nothing. It was an amazing feeling, precisely because it was so unexpected.

A true snow day was always better than a weekend. You knew the weekend was coming. It had a schedule laid out: basketball at 11, home chores in the afternoon, homework looming, and likely mandatory visits with friends or relatives at night. It was an off-day from school, but the time was still not truly your own.

The Unexpected Gift

Yesterday was my adult equivalent of a snow day, only with sunny skies. The network was down at work. No meetings, no email, no Teams. The office was deserted, and most importantly, there were absolutely no expectations from anyone, especially not from work.

It felt fantastic—a genuine, unexpected gift of freedom.

I was surprised by how profoundly different the day felt. My kids were at school. My wife was away on a trip. There was literally no one to ask me to do anything. The day was entirely mine.

The day started on a high note, too, with a visit to the dog park. The dog park, by the way, is one of the happiest places on earth. It’s impossible to be grumpy watching your furry kid run and play so freely with others. I started in a great mood, then found out I couldn’t work. I felt like a kid again.

Defining My Freedom

So, what did I do with this newfound gift of time?

First, I reached out to a friend who works from home, and we spent an hour catching up over coffee at his place. It was a spontaneous catch-up that he could easily fit in, keeping the “no expectations” vibe going strong. Some work talk naturally came up, but it wasn’t the focus.

Then, I got home and did something I never do on a workday: I took the dog for his second decent walk of the day, specifically through the woods by our house. Both of us love it, and it lowers his expectations for the rest of his afternoon!

After that, it was simply time to kick back and relax before the kids got home. I finally got to read a book, I wrote this blog post, and even had a bath. I also spent some time rabbit-holing on the internet—but noticeably less than normal (I’m actively trying to reduce this stressor). Crucially, I did nothing else productive. No chores. No honey-do list.

After the kids got home, we had a simple supper of leftovers, continuing the theme of my lazy day. And the poor dog? He got another decent walk. Good thing he’s young, or he might start hiding from me. The day concluded with my one scheduled event: a couple of beers with a group of friends. We had great light banter and debate, a perfect end to a perfect day.

The Retirement Blueprint

In the end, it truly would have been a perfect retirement day: great conversations with three different groups of friends, time spent in nature, and a visit to the dog’s happy place, which always makes me smile. It was a fantastic way to practice for retirement.

As I sat there with my friends at the end of the day, I realized that a good life—and a good retirement—isn’t about being productive. It’s about being social, being okay with the ‘different,’ and most importantly, being the one who decides what happens next.

My key takeaways from this day were simple: Have no or low expectations, be social with other humans, do something different than your normal routine, and be okay with not being productive.

But the most crucial point is this: You must own your day.

My day was great because I defined it. I could have filled it with chores, vegged in front of the TV, or passively let it be just another day. But it was better than those things. Because I chose to make it better.

A while back I jotted down this concept from the Escaping Avalon blog that captures my day best and how I hope to continue my days in retirement.

I am responsible for how my day is going to be. No one else will be.