What would be different on Monday morning?  No alarm clock ringing?  Waking up, going back to sleep, again and again until I was ready for the day?  Getting up early and reading the paper, drinking a second and third cup, hanging around in jammies as long as I liked? What about next Monday?  And the next?  What would they look like a year from now?

When I retired, I was curious and a little nervous about questions like these.  I am a creature of habit, and had spent nearly 40 years going somewhere on Mondays.  I had a purpose and a destination and a schedule.  I knew what I was going to do, whether I loved it or not.  How would I feel when that ritual fell away and I was left alone to face the void?

Five years later, I have come to love white space on the calendar, but only after a lot of trial and error.   Happy free time is, for me, enhanced by structure.  Though I occasionally tried to replicate workday discipline by obeying a clock, those efforts never lasted.  On the other hand, I find that a flexible framework works better for me than unbridled chaos. 

I get up early, usually before six and long before my night-loving bedmate.  I read something inspiring, write in my journal, listen to quiet music or a guided reflection, do some yoga.  I don't do everything every day, but some combination of centering rituals makes for a good start.  Then I eat breakfast, check e-mail, skim the news, and engage the day. 

Mornings are for focus.  I hunker down at home studying, writing, planning, and organizing.  Noon is for changing gears with lunch and a nap.  In the afternoon, I venture forth to work out, meet friends for coffee, and run errands.  When I get home, Lyle and I connect for happy hour.  I spend most evenings reading, working around the house, or going out on the town.

Not everything fits into this framework, and many days look nothing like the one I describe here.  However, in retirement I have found that a certain amount of structure shapes the flow of time, allowing smooth transitions and a sense, at day's end, of having spent the time well. 

I like to think of time as a blank canvas and the design of each day as a work of art.  Retirement offers more free-flowing design and less painting-by-numbers than I experienced before.  It also offers more opportunity for meaningless doodles, spilled paint, smudged chalk, crossouts and paintovers.  There are so many options, and so little need to color within the lines!

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When you wake up retired that Monday morning, what will be different?  Your schedule will have changed, but you will still be there.  What will you paint on the blank canvas of a brand new life?