What would happen if everything we envision turns out exactly as we see it in our minds?
“For the vision is yet for the appointed time, and it keeps panting on to the end, and it will not tell a lie. Even if it should delay, keep in expectation of it; for it will without fail come true. It will not be late.”
— Habbukuk 2:3
Retirement was supposed to feel different. I imagined rest, peace, freedom, sleeping late, slowing down, and finally releasing years of accumulated pressure. In many ways, that is exactly what I asked for. Looking back now, I realise how careful we should be with the things we long for so intensely, because sometimes life grants them to us in ways we never fully imagined.
When someone asked me shortly before retirement what my plans were, I answered without hesitation: “For the first few months, I plan to sleep, rest, and let go of what’s behind me.” At the time, I did not fully understand how exhausted I truly was. I officially retired at the end of January 2026, but in truth, my spirit had already left my previous employment years earlier. I had remained physically present, continuing to work, continuing to function, but internally I was drained. Deeply drained.
I had never before experienced that level of emotional, mental, and spiritual exhaustion. Then, unexpectedly, during the second week of January, I fell ill with shingles. The pain was intense. Family members close to me witnessed what I was going through. During that period, I kept saying something strange: “I think my body is purging.” At the time, I truly believed it. Looking back now, perhaps my body was finally responding to years of prolonged stress, pressure, disappointment, overthinking, rushing, and simply trying to hold everything together for too long.
Retirement has forced me into a silence I was not prepared for. There is a strange silence after a busy life. No constant rushing. No clock dictating every movement. No toxic environment draining my energy each day. No endless pressure to perform.
At first, the silence felt uncomfortable. Almost frightening. I discovered that much of my peace had quietly become attached to predictability — a salary, structure, routine, certainty, and knowing exactly what tomorrow would look like.
Now, much of my future feels uncertain. And uncertainty has a way of exposing us to ourselves. There are nights I wake up at 2am speaking to God because my future feels unclear. I have realised how attached I had become to comfort, stability, and knowing that money would always arrive at month-end. When that certainty disappears, even partially, it forces deeper reflection.
Yet strangely, something else has also happened. I no longer feel constantly rushed. I walk more. I rest without guilt. I listen to worship music quietly during the day. I read Scripture more slowly. I sit in silence more often. For the first time in many years, I am beginning to understand that peace is not always found in having complete certainty.
Sometimes peace comes from learning to stop fighting time itself. Faith also feels different to me now. Less loud. Less performative. More honest. Faith now feels like speaking to God quietly in the early hours of the morning while admitting: “I do not know exactly where my life is going.”
And perhaps that honesty is where real faith begins. Recently, I also challenged myself to start learning Forex trading. Not because I believe in “get rich quick” fantasies, but because I wanted to prove to myself that life is not over simply because one chapter has ended. Learning something new again has reminded me that growth does not stop with age. It has also exposed my impatience, emotions around money, and my need to develop discipline and consistency. Perhaps retirement is not only about stopping work. Perhaps it is also about confronting yourself honestly: your fears, your identity, your habits, your faith, your need for control, and your relationship with uncertainty.
I still do not have all the answers. But I am learning. Learning to slow down. Learning to wait. Learning to trust differently. Learning to live without rushing.
If you’d like to share your thoughts, you’re welcome to reach me directly at books@eugenemarillier.com
My contact page is temporarily down, but I’m still very much available on email.
With love always,
Eugene Marillier 🕊️🌿
