Nobody warned me about the empty Tuesdays. I had dreamed about retirement for years — freedom from alarm clocks, meetings, deadlines, and that one guy in accounting who microwaved fish in the break room. I pictured myself traveling, gardening, maybe taking up watercolor painting or finally reading all the books on my shelf that had been sitting there for decades. But after the retirement party, the hugs, and the heartfelt congratulations faded, something unexpected crept in.
Boredom.
Now, don’t get me wrong. The first few months were wonderful. I slept in, had leisurely breakfasts, and stayed in my pajamas until noon. I finally caught up on my favorite shows, organized the garage, and cleaned out a drawer that hadn’t seen daylight since 1994. But once the novelty wore off, I started to feel a bit adrift, like I was floating around without a purpose.
Nobody talks about how unsettling that can be. After all, we spend most of our adult lives being needed by our jobs, our families, even our commutes. Then suddenly, it all stops. At first, it’s a relief. But after a while, that quiet space can start to echo. What do I do all day now that I don’t have to do anything?
I thought I was alone in this. But once I started opening up about it, I realized that nearly every retiree I know has gone through this stage. Some admit it out loud, others hide it behind a wall of golf games and home improvement projects. But boredom, real, unsettling boredom — is a common part of the retirement experience. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all have days when we just don’t feel the desire to do much.
The problem isn’t just about having too much time. It’s about losing the structure that used to shape our days. Work gave me a rhythm, a reason to get up, get dressed, and get moving. It gave me social interaction, daily challenges, and the sense that I was contributing something. Take that away, and the days can start to blur together faster than a Netflix binge.
At first, I tried to fill the gap with busywork, over-scheduling myself with errands, household tasks, and volunteer gigs. But busyness isn’t the same as purpose. I was still feeling aimless underneath it all. That’s when I realized boredom in retirement isn’t a scheduling issue. It’s a meaning issue.
So I started asking myself some uncomfortable questions: What makes me feel useful? What brings me joy? What do I miss about working and what don’t I miss at all? It wasn’t an overnight fix, but gradually, I began to shift how I approached my days.
I stopped trying to replicate my working life and instead began experimenting. I gave myself permission to try new things without needing to be good at them. I signed up for a pottery class and made a lopsided bowl that looked like it had survived a small earthquake. I joined a local walking group, even though I’m not a “group” person. I dusted off my old guitar, discovered I could still play three chords, and found joy in making noise again.
The trick, I found, was embracing the beginner mindset. I’d forgotten how fun it can be to learn something just because it interests me, not because it helps me climb a ladder or impress a boss. There’s something liberating about being terrible at something new and not caring.
Another thing that helped? Routine. I don’t mean strict, military-style routines — I’ve had enough of those. But having a loose rhythm to my day gave me back a sense of forward motion. I created a morning ritual that involved stretching, reading the news, and making a really good cup of coffee. I gave myself little goals, like write for 30 minutes, call a friend, work on the garden, walk to the park. Nothing revolutionary. Just enough to keep the mental engine running.
And let’s not forget about social connection. Loneliness and boredom often go hand in hand, especially in retirement. I made a point to reach out even when I didn’t feel like it. I joined a book club that turned out to be 30% reading and 70% gossip, which suited me just fine. I met a neighbor at a community class who turned into a weekly lunch buddy. And yes, I even figured out how to use Zoom after a few mishaps involving muting myself mid-sentence and once accidentally turning myself into a cat.
The thing is, boredom isn’t a flaw. It’s a signal. It’s your brain’s way of saying, “Hey, I need something more.” Not more chores or appointments, but more fulfillment. More challenges. More connection. Retirement doesn’t come with a user manual, so it’s up to us to write one that fits our new life.
I’ve also learned that it’s okay to have slow days. Not every moment needs to be packed with productivity. There’s value in rest, reflection, and stillness. But I try to keep a balance — enough stimulation to keep my mind engaged, enough purpose to feel like I’m still growing, and enough flexibility to enjoy the freedom I’ve earned.
Now, I won’t pretend I’ve got it all figured out. I still have days where I stare out the window and wonder what the heck I’m doing. But I’ve come to see boredom not as the enemy, but as a nudge. A reminder to lean into curiosity, to reconnect with what lights me up, and to stay open to what this chapter of life has to offer.
So if you’re retired and feeling bored, you’re not alone. It’s normal, it’s human, and it’s totally fixable. You don’t need to climb Mount Everest (unless that’s your thing), but you do need something to wake up for, something that gets your wheels turning and your heart moving. It might be a hobby, a cause, a community, or even just the challenge of figuring out what comes next.
Retirement isn’t just about leaving something behind. It’s about creating something new — something meaningful, messy, imperfect, and uniquely yours. And yes, it might involve a few boring Tuesdays. But it can also involve belly laughs, brilliant ideas, and moments that make you feel more alive than you have in years.
The boredom isn’t a dead end. It’s a doorway. Open it.
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Happy retirement planning!