Bras d’Or Epiphany

Thoughts on retirement from the guy who was never going to retire.

Lake Bras d’Or is the glistening jewel in the heart of Cape Breton, in summer a shimmering expanse of water among the mountains, in winter a sheet of good Nova Scotia ice. It was from the frozen surface of the lake in 1909 that Alexander Graham Bell’s Silver Dart lifted off, the first heavier-than-air flight in the British Commonwealth and the second in the world.

In the summer of 2015 Karen and I treated ourselves to a two week vacation, together. Mostly before that we had only taken a week at a time, and mostly not together, given that one of us needed to stay behind to look after the office. Having joined a larger firm, we now had the freedom to go together, and for a whole two weeks.

Coming down from the Cabot Trail through the Cape Breton Highlands, it entered my mind that our holidays were nearly over. More accurately, it entered my heart that our joyous vacation was quickly winding down, and I felt sad.

Somehow, while driving along the shores of Lake Bras d’Or, something novel entered my mind and my heart. Although it was still mid-week, the sparkling waters of Bras d’Or were covered with sailboats, the white sails of the carefree tacking this way and that as if the hours were of no consequence. The seagulls danced, careless of time. The sun dappled through the trees along the shore, as it had for eons. And out on the lake were hundreds of normal people doing something other than work. The novel notion hit me like a shock wave: normal people can do something other than work!

I deeply loved my calling as a lawyer, always felt valued by my clients, and often forgot to take holidays because I enjoyed my work that much, so this may have been the first time I’d had such a feeling. I refused to give it permission to linger, and shook it off as best I could, having long bragged that I would someday die at my desk, in a happy symbiosis with clients until the last of them.

But now somehow this tiny sliver of a new vision took hold in my consciousness. Perhaps more in my subconsciousness. Establishing a beachhead, it refused to go away.

Now, professionals and entrepreneurs by and large do not have the defined benefit pensions and the health benefit packages that public servants and corporate types enjoy in retirement. We don’t hit some magic age where the employer sends us home with what is in essence a comfortable weekly paycheque.

If professionals want to retire in reasonable comfort and security, we need to ensure we have a full piggy bank. And almost all of us go into the later stages of our professions terrified that the piggy bank is never full enough, and that we will burn through all of our savings and end up on welfare. I’m not kidding, this is the sinister little voice in the head of nearly every professional.

In my case, fortunately, my financial adviser just laughed at me and did the numbers, as he had before. This time I listened. I could have done the numbers just as well, but when you’re terrified of spending your last years in the alms house, you need the comfort of an expert. “Norm,” he said, “you’re OK. Unless you spend like a fool, you’ll not run out of money.” Besides, I had some ideas about post-law income.

As a succession and estates lawyer, I had seen far too many of my clients retire to go home and sit in the corner to smoke and drink and watch television and do the 10am Tim Horton’s thing, only to die of boredom in about five years. This had little appeal to me.

Although I had not really spent much time thinking about life after retirement, it didn’t take long to collect my thoughts on the subject. My happiest times, outside the simple enjoyment of friends and family, were always when I was engaged in writing, speaking, teaching, and problem solving. My friend Michael Hughes introduced me to the world of public speaking, and somewhere along the line suggested that I write a weekly briefing. And if you’re going to be writing twice a week, you might as well write a book. As well, calls for strategic advice still came in. So, boredom wouldn’t be a problem.

The final piece in the puzzle was moving from the city to a little piece of paradise along the Tay River in Lanark County, a few acres of woods and trails, enough to keep anyone fully busy even if it weren’t for writing and coaching and all the rest.

So there it is. I can safely say that there is life after law, and life after any retirement. A good life and a full life, with the time and freedom to do the things you truly love and which satisfy you deeply, and which keep you young.

In my coaching and teaching, one of the things I most enjoy is working with other professionals who are afraid to think about “life after”, either because they don’t know what they’ll do with themselves, or they’re afraid they’ll end up in the County Poor House, or some other myth. The first thing I like to help them find is their own Bras d’Or Epiphany.

Does this resonate with you? I’m happy to chat.