#3 - Another Mountain, Same Boots

Mirror, mirror on the wall. I am my father after all.

My father never really retired. He set one set of tools down, then picked up another. When I once asked him why he kept working after “retirement,” he smiled and mentioned a colleague, a family friend. “Who looks older, me or him?” my father asked with a sly grin. I guessed his friend. He laughed. “I’m five years older.” His secret was simple: keep the mind alive, and the rest follows.

I think about that now as I too edge into this next chapter of life. Work, as I once knew it, sits mostly behind me now. But the habits, the drive, the skills. They still echo. Waking early. Wanting something to push against. Still wanting to feel useful. The truth is, stepping away from the office doesn’t just take away the desk. Without something to lean into, the shift can feel like losing a sense of place. But with care, it can also open space for new ground.

Plenty of men understand this. You spend years with your life filled by meetings, deadlines, people leaning on you, people counting on you. Then one day, the phone grows quiet. The calendar lies mostly blank. You don’t really miss the stress, or the politics. What lingers is the pull to matter in the room, the need to feel that your presence still carries weight.

The silence after retirement is not always restful. For some, it feels too wide. Yet even in that wide silence, the beginnings of something different can stir. A morning can stretch on forever when there’s nothing to hang it on. And in those long stretches, some of us begin to wonder whether the best part of the story has already been told. But maybe that wondering is the very invitation to write a new chapter.

Maybe retirement isn’t about descending from the top of the mountain at all. Maybe it is a different kind of growth. A chance to carry the same energy, the same hunger to build, into a new climb, one with its own shape and rewards. We spent years climbing a mountain called career. Now there’s another one ahead. It doesn’t look the same, but it still asks something of us.

That is what Quiet Man is about. Giving language to the quiet fears, so they don’t sit alone in the dark. Saying what too many men keep to themselves. That we still want purpose. That we still want to count.

I don’t have a tidy answer. I don’t have a map for this new climb. I’m figuring it out too. But maybe naming it out loud is the first step. And maybe the next step is this: lacing up again, knowing the climb continues.

If this piece brought up anything for you or someone you care about, please consider reaching out for support. In Australia, you can contact Lifeline 24/7 on 13 11 14.