Chapter 1: The Unsettling Transition

The nightmares began following my retirement. During my sleep, I often found myself back at a company I had left nearly four decades ago, my first position after graduating from journalism school at Boston University. In these dreams, I felt completely lost, much like the common anxiety dream of facing an unexpected exam without any preparation. I struggled to communicate with my former colleagues, my voice reduced to a mere whisper. Frequently, I would dream of trying — and failing — to gain the approval of the charismatic founder who ultimately lost the company, resulting in the layoffs of a thousand employees in the 1990s. I would wake up feeling profoundly frustrated and unsettled.

While I understood that many retirees experience difficulties transitioning into their new lives, my circumstances were different; there was a deeper reason for my nightly unrest.

I had to heal.

Section 1.1: A Sudden Downfall

In 2006, I co-founded a thriving communications firm with a friend, specializing in marketing programs for state departments of career and technical education (CTE, formerly known as vocational education). We produced numerous state-specific magazines aimed at CTE students, addressing the 16 federal career clusters, including health and technology. It was an exhilarating yet daunting experience as an entrepreneur striving to provide for my family.

However, everything came crashing down in early 2012 when, at the age of 53, I had to sell my stake in the business to my partner for a mere $1 and retire due to a rare illness.

Since childhood, I had been diagnosed with multiple epiphyseal dysplasia (M-E-D), also referred to as Fairbanks Disease. This rare condition affects approximately one in every 10,000 births, a distinction I share with actor Danny DeVito. The genetic disorder is intricate, but it fundamentally results in deformed bones at the joints, akin to broken gears that are constantly grinding against one another.

By 2012, my ankles had deteriorated to the point where my feet turned inward at a 45-degree angle, forcing me to walk on the outer edges. Eventually, I became reliant on a wheelchair. I had already undergone four hip replacements throughout my adult life (twice on each side), and now my knees and shoulders were beginning to fail. My joints were inflamed and deteriorating due to osteoarthritis.

Subsection 1.1.1: Identity Crisis

I had no choice but to retire earlier than I had anticipated. Thankfully, I had maintained a private disability insurance policy from that job I often dream about, which allowed me to receive benefits amounting to 60 percent of my salary. The insurance company assisted me in applying for Social Security benefits, which were also approved after a government physician confirmed my permanent disability.

I joined the ranks of eight million other Americans receiving federal disability assistance. By mid-2012, I was contributing to the family finances again, although my wife was the primary earner through her freelance writing. Fortunately, my three daughters had completed college and embarked on their careers, so my wife and I needed to support just ourselves.

The challenge was that my work had given my life purpose beyond caring for my family. A significant part of my identity was intertwined with being a writer, editor, and entrepreneur.

This sense of duty was ingrained in me: as a husband, I felt obligated to provide for my family. It is simply what a man is expected to do — provide and protect — and being too weak to fulfill that role was a traumatic blow to my sense of self. I felt as though I had relinquished that responsibility, placing it unfairly on my wife.

Chronic illness had robbed me of my most productive years. More importantly, it had stripped me of my sense of usefulness, a sentiment many retirees can relate to. Deep within, it had taken away my hope.

Chapter 2: Rediscovering Purpose through Writing

A couple of years ago, I began jotting down ideas for a book aimed at writers — both young and old — seeking to discover their voices in print and digital formats. I slowly crafted it on an iPad, taking one- or two-hour writing sessions in my La-Z-Boy, the only place where I could sit comfortably due to a bruised tailbone from the wheelchair. I self-published the book and established a website with writing tips for aspiring creators.

One evening, after completing the first draft, I dreamt that I was a college counselor (a role I have never held) and a graphic novel author (likely influenced by my childhood fascination with comic books). Unlike my previous dreams, this one was devoid of whispers and attempts to appease a boss. I awoke feeling a surprising sense of fulfillment, tranquility, and the title of this essay.

I've discovered that writing serves as a form of healing. It enables retirees — whether their departure from work was voluntary or not — to articulate their feelings, reflect on their new lives, and contemplate the legacies they wish to leave behind.

While I may not earn much from self-publishing, financial gain is not my primary motivation. The act of working on my book has given me hope that I can once again be of value. I am currently developing a second book that delves into the emotions surrounding chronic pain, as well as authoring essays for platforms like Medium.

This creative endeavor instills in me a renewed optimism about writing a new chapter in my life, one that has been overshadowed by illness for over a decade. It serves as a welcome distraction from the pain.

The greatest gift of writing, however? It has restored a sense of agency that I lost when my body compelled me to step away from my career, my identity, and my sense of purpose.

Only now, over ten years later, have I begun to contemplate the future, allowing myself to hope and dare to dream again.

Randall H. Duckett is the author of Seven Cs: The Elements of Effective Writing. He is currently working on a book addressing the emotional aspects of chronic pain and invites others experiencing similar challenges to share their stories. He can be contacted through randallhduckett.com.