John B. Marek is a storyteller with dirt under his nails who weaves tales inspired by a lifetime immersed in nature. His insightful essays and award-winning fiction delve into the complexities of sustainable living, the heart of rural communities and the thrill of outdoor adventure. You can find more of his writing at johnbmarek.com.
Thanksgiving in 1980 was celebrated late, on Nov. 27, to be exact. I had just returned home to my family’s house the day before after completing my first quarter at college. We enjoyed a festive feast on the holiday, and the following day I drove into town to look for work over the long winter break. At that time, Ohio University followed an unusual academic calendar, with the break lasting from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. This arrangement was intended to give students an opportunity to earn some money during the holidays. However, in my hometown, whose economy relied heavily on summer tourism, there were few job opportunities in the dead of winter. Many restaurants and shops reduced their hours or closed altogether during the colder months.
Despite this, I stopped by the local diner where I worked during the summers and expressed my interest in picking up any hours they had available. Predictably, the owner informed me that he currently had all the help he needed but promised to keep me in mind in case anyone called in sick or if there were any large holiday catering jobs. As it turned out, I picked up a couple of dishwashing shifts and worked a few Christmas parties, totaling about 20 hours and earning around $50. Every cent helps, right? At least, that’s what I believed back then – when earning and purpose were inextricably linked in my mind. I have been thinking about that strange six weeks 40 years ago as I navigate my first year of retirement, where that same question of purpose has resurfaced in unexpected ways.
When I decided to leave the world of economic and community development last year, I was determined to give myself the gift of time – a whole year to decompress, to rediscover rhythms not dictated by meetings and deadlines, to simply be. This wasn’t about rest; it was about creating space for new possibilities to emerge organically rather than rushing to fill the hole left by my former career.
That year of intentional pause has served its purpose. I’ve settled into new routines, discovered new interests and, most importantly, gained clarity about what truly matters to me at this stage of my life. But even though I’d calculated everything a hundred times and knew, without a doubt, that I never needed to earn another penny, a lifetime of conditioning makes it hard to let go of the illusion of a steady income, of a job, of professional “purpose.”
Last year, around the time I retired, a new fly fishing lifestyle store opened within walking distance of my home – albeit a long walk. I’ve visited the store a few times, purchased a couple of items and had pleasant conversations with the staff, whom they refer to as “retail guides.” When I noticed the “SEASONAL HELP WANTED” banner a few weeks ago, something stirred in me – that familiar pull of structure and purpose. The store itself represented everything I loved: high-quality fishing rods, colorful flies, maps of hidden streams and gear for adventures I still dreamed of taking. I pictured myself sharing stories with fellow outdoor enthusiasts, offering sage advice about fly fishing spots I’d discovered over the years. The fantasy was seductive.
But as I hovered over the “APPLY NOW” button, reality set in. The position would mainly involve folding sweaters and managing holiday crowds. My expertise in reading river currents wouldn’t matter much while processing returns. Was I seeking a meaningful connection with the outdoors, or just trying to fill time with a simulacrum of my passions? The $200 price tags on those sweaters reminded me that this wasn’t about guiding people to discover nature – it was conspicuous consumption dressed up in outdoorsy clothing.
The more I sat with the decision, the clearer it became that I was grasping for a daydream rather than focusing on personal development. Perhaps what I really wanted wasn’t a job at all but rather a way to share my love of tradition and the outdoors that aligned with my values. So instead of the retail gig, I doubled down on my volunteer work at the community garden and helped establish a Moravian Christmas Village where we would sell Christmas trees, cookies, stars and candles while sharing Moravian Christmas traditions. While it still feels strange having set hours again, and despite choosing the coldest three weeks in recent memory for our outdoor market, I’ve found deeper satisfaction in preserving this piece of our community’s heritage than I would have folding sweaters for minimum wage.
The journey has taught me that retirement isn’t about stopping work entirely; it’s about redefining work on your own terms. It’s about having the wisdom to step back when opportunities don’t align with your goals or values and the patience to wait for those that do. Whether it’s sharing my love of nature with others as a guide, nurturing growth in a garden or crafting words on a page, any job I take on will be an expression of passion rather than obligation. It’s about recognizing that the most meaningful work often comes not from continuing down familiar paths but from having the courage to blaze new ones.