What will your life be like in three years?
Peter: So, Time, they say the next three years could bring the biggest changes of my life.
Time: They often do, if you’re paying attention.
Peter: My current role finishes in two years. After that, retirement. A new rhythm. Maybe even a quieter purpose.
Time: Retirement is a funny word. It sounds like a stopping, but really, it’s just a turning.
Peter: A turning toward what? That’s the question. I’ve spent decades being needed. What happens when I’m not?
Time: You’ll still be needed. Just differently. People need stories, gardens, and kindness as much as leadership.
Peter: I’ve got plans—writing, helping others tell their life stories, maybe becoming a “Phantom Planter.”
Time: (smiling) You’ve always planted things—ideas, people, possibilities. Now it’ll just take a different form.
Peter: Speaking of which… we’ll be moving. From a large house to a two-bedroom unit near the sea. Downsizing.
Time: You call it downsizing. I call it distilling. You’ll keep what’s essential, let go of the rest.
Peter: My parents won’t be here by then, most likely. That’s hard to say aloud.
Time: It is. But you’ll carry them forward—in words, in photos, in the way you live.
Peter: And the family will scatter, as families do.
Time: That’s how roots find new ground.
Peter: I suppose I’ll walk the beach more. Breathe salt air. Let the young dog pull me into the present.
Time: That’s where I always am—the present. I’ve been waiting for you there.
Peter: You make it sound easy.
Time: It isn’t. But it’s beautiful. The years ahead are not a loss of usefulness. They’re a return to being.
Peter: I hope it will be a good change.
Time: Hope is where it starts. The rest grows from there.
The Afterword 
Leave a comment