Retirement is not a reward. It is a reckoning, and the reckoning is brutal. Somewhere between sixty-five and eighty, life stops pretending. The mirror no longer negotiates. The phone stops ringing out of politeness. Friends stop showing up with excuses. And suddenly you are faced with a truth that would have saved you years of stress if you had known it earlier: being lonely alone is far better than being miserable together. Most human suffering is self-inflicted, not because of poverty or illness, but because we tolerate nonsense from people we cannot stand.
This is not a philosophical statement. It is the lived reality of Francis Boggie, a retiree who left the workforce ten years ago. “Retirement did not set me free,” he told me. “It set me straight.” He speaks with the authority of experience, not theory, and what he has learned is not comforting. It is necessary. Retirement is not a season of relaxation; it is a season of truth.
When you retire, life quietly edits your priorities. It deletes ambition, reduces noise, and highlights the things you once ignored. The things you thought would matter do not. The things that matter now are so simple they almost look insignificant. Almost. The reason is that youth is built on illusion. Old age is built on reality. And reality is not impressed by titles, promotions, or applause.
Let’s begin with the first truth most people refuse to face: a home is not a luxury in old age. It is survival. Not a mansion. Not an investment. Just a place with your name on the papers. If you are between sixty-five and eighty and you own where you sleep, you have already won a battle many people lose. At this age, a house is not about pride. It is about peace. Landlords suddenly develop allergies to grey hair. They worry about health emergencies, paperwork, and that uncomfortable possibility that you may die peacefully on their tiles.
ALSO READ:
MoE directs chiefs to trace over 400,000 Grade 10 learners yet to report to senior schools
It is cruel. But it is true.
A home with your name on it is not wealth. It is security. It is the quiet certainty that you will not be forced into the street by a landlord who has no patience for a body that cannot move fast anymore. It is the difference between being treated like a human being and being treated like a problem.
And then there are the legs.
The most unappreciated miracle of old age.
If you can still walk to the shop, climb a staircase, or cross the road without assistance, you are doing exceptionally well. Many people your age are one slippery bathroom away from a hospital bed and a motivational physiotherapist. Muscle disappears fast if you stop using it. Independence follows shortly after. Your legs are not decoration. They are freedom.
Walk daily. Even if it is just to look important at the corner and return. The day you stop walking is often the day life starts shrinking around you. Your world becomes smaller, not because the world is changing, but because you have stopped moving through it. And once you stop moving, the world moves on without you.
In the first year after retirement, many people discover that the hardest part is not losing money, but losing identity. Work gave them a place in society, a role, a reason to wake up. Once the work ends, they are forced to ask a question they never prepared for: Who am I when I am no longer working? Some answer it with hobbies. Some answer it with travel. Some answer it with prayer. Others answer it with silence. And the silence is not always peaceful. Sometimes it is empty. And emptiness is dangerous.
Francis Boggie knows this well. He told me about his first year of retirement, how he spent his days waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for someone to call, waiting for the world to recognise that he was still there. But the world did not call. It was busy. It had moved on. He realised, with a painful clarity, that the world had never been obligated to keep him in its schedule. He had to create his own schedule. He had to build his own meaning.
This is the part society ignores: we glorify youth and productivity, but we do not build systems that support the emotional lives of older people. We talk about pension plans, but we do not talk about loneliness. We discuss medical care, but we do not discuss companionship. We talk about retirement as if it is a reward, when in reality it is a transition, one that requires planning, not only financially, but emotionally.
Friendships also change. Not dramatically. Quietly. Friends disappear without drama. Some move. Some get sick. Some die. Some simply stop calling, and you never know why. That is why one real friend matters more than a full contacts list. One person who listens. One person who knows your history and still wants updates. Studies say loneliness at this age is dangerous. But the cure is not crowds. It is a connection. If you have one genuine friend who remembers your birthday without Facebook reminders, you are already ahead.
Because the truth is that the human heart cannot be replaced by numbers. A full contact list is not a life. It is only a list.
And then there are the children. Not the ones who show up when money is involved. Not the ones who only remember you during holidays. The real measure is this: do they call you just to greet you? If they do, you did something right. Many parents reach seventy and discover their phones are permanently silent. Sometimes it is unresolved issues. Sometimes distance. Sometimes life simply moved on without explanation.
But when adult children still want to hear your voice, it means you treated them with respect when they grew up. That is success. Not the kind measured in awards or titles, but the kind measured in the simple act of being remembered. In the fact that someone still wants to hear you speak.
Money also changes meaning. At this age, wealth is not luxury. It is dignity. Enough to pay bills. Enough for food. Enough for medicine. Enough not to beg your children who are struggling themselves. Many seniors worked hard only to retire into anxiety. They thought retirement would bring rest, but instead it brought fear. If you planned even imperfectly and can meet your basic needs, you are not rich, but you are free.
ALSO READ:
Paul Rotich re-elected Nandi KUPPET Executive Secretary in commanding fourth-term win
In his first years of retirement, Francis Boggie realised that the money he had saved was not the problem. The problem was the fear that the money would run out. He began to understand that financial planning is not only about saving, but also about learning to live within your means. He learned to budget, not as a restriction, but as a form of dignity. He learned that being able to buy food without asking anyone for help is not a luxury; it is a right. And he learned that dignity is one of the most precious currencies of old age.
There is another lesson age teaches brutally: resentment becomes too heavy. What you could carry in your forties now sits on your chest at night and interferes with your blood pressure. Anger steals sleep. It steals health. Letting go is not about apologies or reconciliation. It is about refusing to poison your remaining years. Choosing peace over being right is wisdom, not weakness. Many people spend their entire lives waiting for an apology that will never come, and then they carry that waiting into their old age like a stone in their chest. That stone does not belong there. It is not a badge of honour. It is a slow poison.
The older you become, the more you realise that forgiveness is not for the person who wronged you. It is for you. It is the only way to stop suffering for someone else’s mistake.
And then there is purpose. Retirement does not kill purpose. Emptiness does. When work ends, and children leave, many people wake up with nowhere to go and no reason to hurry. Those who retire without purpose fade faster than expected. The ones who thrive find new reasons to wake up. A walk. A garden. A hobby. A grandchild. Something that reminds them they are still useful. The most dangerous thing about retirement is not boredom. It is the slow disappearance of meaning.
Many people think that because they are no longer working, they are free. But freedom without purpose is not freedom. It is emptiness. And emptiness is a hunger that eats the soul.
This is the real truth about life after sixty-five. It is not glamorous. It is honest. It is quiet. And it is unforgiving. If you have a home, working legs, one real friend, children who call without obligation, enough money to live with dignity and a heart free of resentment, you are not just surviving. You are quietly winning. You are among the few who understand the true meaning of wealth—not in assets or titles, but in the ability to live the final years with peace.
So, if you are still young, listen carefully: the things you chase now may not matter later. You may think you need a bigger car, a bigger house, more recognition. But when you reach the age where life stops lying to you, you will realise that the most valuable things are the simplest. A roof with your name on it. Legs that still carry you. A friend who still calls. Children who remember you without being forced. Enough money to live with dignity. A heart that is not heavy with bitterness.
That is not a small life. It is a victorious life. And it is the kind of victory that no one can take away from you.
By Hillary Muhalya
You can also follow our social media pages on Twitter: Education News KE and Facebook: Education News Newspaper for timely updates.
>>> Click here to stay up-to-date with trending regional stories
>>> Click here to read more informed opinions on the country’s education landscape
