This has been a big week.
I’ve just returned from Japan, where I had the most extraordinary time. Then, I was hit with a wake-up call at the eye clinic—a stark reminder of the progression of my condition. Even now, I’m finding it hard to focus on the screen as I type.
From then we jumped to Retirement when I also formally signed and announced my resignation from the place I’ve worked for half my life, effevtive at the end of June in 39 days. That alone is monumental. But then, something magical happened—my football team, Tottenham, won a European trophy for the first time in 41 years. I was there 41 years ago, in the stadium, watching that match. Full circle.
Then came the messages. I was deluged with the most beautiful, heartfelt notes from people I’ve worked with over the past 25 years. It was overwhelming—in the best way.
Oh, and ny the eay I have had to suspend use of the Produodopa/Vyalev pump for a few days 🙁
WOW. It’s a lot to take in.
Reframing Retirement
A friend said something to me this evening that stuck: “You need to reframe the word ‘retirement.’” She added, “This may be entirely unhelpful.” But it wasn’t. It was exactly what I needed to hear.
I’m not retiring—I’m shifting. From one kind of active life to another. I still believe I have value to give. It may not be in a formal, paid role, but I have purpose. I just need time to figure out what that looks like, especially given my limitations—eyesight, balance, movement, the need for rest, and avoiding stress.
I hope it will involve mentoring and coaching—helping others be their best and do truly great things.
“Why Me?”—A Different Lens
I often ask myself the question: “Why me?” Why this illness? Why this situation? It is a negative question.
But I’m learning to flip that question. Maybe it’s not “Why me?” in despair—but “Why me?” in purpose. I truly believe I’ve been placed in a unique situation for a reason. And now, it’s my job to do something meaningful with it.
A Small Favor
Over the past few days, I’ve encountered a surprising number of unsolicited experts. A taxi driver gave me a point-by-point life plan on what I should do each day, lots of people have given me their suggestions and creative ideas. A man on the plane told me I should “see a physio” as he passed me limping with a cane.
This, I now don’t need.
What I do need is time. Calm. Space to reflect. To create version 2.0 of my life.
What Comes Next
The core of this next chapter is simple:
- Less stress, more rest—to support my health.
- Meaningful (mentally and spiritually) activities—tailored to my evolving condition.
- Time with my wife and family—which is more precious than anything.
And I must do all of this while being incredibly careful. A fall or choking incident could turn everything upside down.
As the saying goes: “Man plans, and God laughs.” I’ll make my plans, and life will no doubt change them. But I’ve lived long enough to know—that’s how it works.
A Final Twist
As if all of that was not enough, one of the supplies for the pump ran out, and it will take time to replace it. So, after discussing a temporary adjusted dose, I’m switching back to a tablet option for a few days. We’ll see how that plays out. I suspect it might actually be okay, as the PSP-type issues have taken the foreground. If I manage it well, it could be fine—but it’s the kind of small tweak that could throw everything off. So I pray it goes smoothly. No one can ever say life is not interesting.
Thank You
To everyone who has reached out: thank you. Your kindness has meant the world to me—even if it came with a twinge of embarrassment.
On we go.
