Today is the day you hand in your resignation letter, or leave your office for the last time, or stop checking your work email because there's no work to answer to anymore. Today you become someone who used to work in that field, and from this day forward, you're someone new. The identity you've carried for decades—as a doctor, a teacher, a engineer, a manager, whatever it was—is being released back into the world. And now you get to figure out who you are without it. This letter is a mirror for that moment, written by someone who knows you and wants to help you see this transition clearly.
What you accomplished was real
Over all these years, you built something. Maybe you helped people. Maybe you created things. Maybe you changed systems or influenced ideas or mentored people who will change the world because of what you taught them. Maybe you provided for your family, gave them stability and opportunity. Maybe you mastered something difficult and became excellent at it. Maybe you failed sometimes and learned and tried again. Maybe you made money and maybe you didn't, but you showed up. You did the work. You were professional. You took responsibility.
That matters. It all mattered. Your career was not a waste of time, even on the days when it felt empty or thankless. The skills you learned, the relationships you built, the problems you solved—those are part of you now. They shaped you. And now you get to decide what happens next.
You don't have to be what you were anymore
For the last several decades, people have known you as that thing you did. They introduced you by your job title. You identified yourself by your profession. But that's not who you actually are. That was what you did. And now you get to discover or rediscover who you are without it.
This might feel like freedom. Or it might feel terrifying. Probably both. There's an identity crisis in retirement for most people—suddenly the structure that has organized your days for forty years is gone. And you have to figure out what you actually want to do with your time, and who you actually want to be when no one is expecting you to be anything.
I'm writing this on your retirement day, and I'm thinking about all the versions of you I've seen. The ambitious young professional. The experienced mentor. The person who complained about meetings and deadlines but also seemed to need them. And now you get to be something different. I hope you take this time to remember what you loved before it all became a career. I hope you sleep late sometimes. I hope you read books without feeling guilty that you're not being productive. I hope you spend time with the people you love. I hope you find something that makes you feel alive and challenged and engaged—whether it's a hobby or volunteer work or just being present for the people around you. I'm proud of everything you've done. And I'm excited to see who you become now that you're free. Go be happy. You've earned it.
Freedom is terrifying and glorious
You have more free time than you've had since you were a teenager. Depending on your situation, you might have more money than you expected. You can travel. You can take classes in things that interest you with no professional goal attached. You can volunteer. You can spend weeks doing nothing if that's what you want. You can reinvent yourself.
But that freedom can feel overwhelming. Without the structure of work, some days might feel empty. Without the identity of your profession, you might not know who you are anymore. This is the grief underneath retirement that not many people talk about. It's not that you miss work—it's that you miss the shape that work gave to your life.
So here's what matters: you get to decide what gives your life shape now. It doesn't have to be productive. It doesn't have to be impressive. It doesn't have to look like work. It just has to be what you actually want. Travel if you want to travel. Stay home if you want to stay home. Spend time with grandkids or with friends or with your partner or alone. Learn something new just for the joy of learning. Move to somewhere you've always wanted to live. These are the questions you have permission to answer now.
What actually matters to you?
Without the demands of a career, you get to ask yourself what actually matters. Is it relationships? Nature? Creativity? Service to others? Pleasure? Learning? Adventure? Legacy? For most people, it's a combination of things. But a career can crowd out the other things. Now you get to decide what the ratio actually is.
Spend time with people you love. If you haven't been as present as you wanted to be, now is the time to change that. Travel somewhere that calls to you. Read the books you've been meaning to read. Garden. Cook. Spend entire afternoons doing nothing but thinking and listening to music. Take up photography or writing or painting just for yourself. Sit with your partner and talk the way you used to before life got so busy. Play with grandchildren if you have them. These things are not frivolous. They're what make life actually worth living.
You might not miss it as much as you thought
A lot of people retire thinking they'll miss their job terribly, and then they realize they don't. They realize they were more ready to let go than they thought. They realize they were tired in a way they couldn't admit when they were still working. They discover that the things they thought would feel empty without work—their relationships, their home, their days—actually feel rich and full when they have time to be present.
Give yourself permission to not miss it. Give yourself permission to be relieved that this phase is over. That doesn't mean your career didn't matter. It means you're ready for something different now.
You're starting a new chapter, not ending the story
Retirement is not the end. It's a transition to a phase where you get to decide what the rules are. You've already lived one long, full life. Now you get to live another one, different and equally meaningful. Some of the most fulfilled people in the world are retirees who gave themselves permission to be curious and engaged and alive in this new phase.
Rest. Sleep in. Travel. Take time to remember who you were before work. And then build something new. Not something you have to do. Something you want to do. Something that makes you feel alive and engaged and like yourself.
Congratulations on this new beginning. You've earned it through decades of hard work and responsibility. Now relax. Breathe. Discover what comes next. And if you want to capture this moment—to write a letter to your future self, or to someone you love, or to mark this transition in some way—Dear Forward is here to help you do that. Your story isn't over. It's just beginning a new chapter. And that chapter is yours to write.