In Ten Years’ Time

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Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

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In ten years’ time I will be long retired. People will no longer be coming to my office each day looking for feedback, advice, or a decision. I will have joined the long line of those who have gone before me: remembered by some, unknown to those new to the scene. I’m at peace with that. I know what I have done, and I know something of the legacy I will leave behind.

What I see instead is a quieter kind of life. Early in the morning I’ll be walking our dog to get a coffee at a headland about thirty minutes’ walk from our new home, looking out to sea. We will go there in summer and winter, in stillness and in wind, on hot mornings when the air already feels used, and on stormy days when the sea seems to be arguing with itself.

My wife, who is a fair bit younger than me, will also be retired by then, and I will probably be driving her crazy without even trying. We will work that out together. There is something comic in imagining it: two people who have spent years moving around the demands of work suddenly having to move around each other instead.

I hope to stay as active as I can. No car for me, if I can help it. I’d rather go by foot or public transport, or use a rideshare or car share when the trip is complicated. I want to keep moving through the world under my own steam for as long as possible.

I expect I will still be writing each day. Perhaps I may even publish a book. Who knows. Writing has become too much a part of how I make sense of life to imagine setting it aside. The deeper hope is that I will still be noticing, still trying to find words for what matters.

I would also love to give some of my time, in an honorary capacity, to an organisation I truly believe in. I don’t yet know what that will be. I’m content to leave room for what may emerge.

Beyond that, I imagine pursuing my hobbies, becoming involved in a local church, and giving my time to some worthy cause. None of it sounds grand. That is part of the appeal.

That, perhaps, is what I see most clearly in ten years’ time: not a dramatic reinvention, not some late burst of enthusiasm, but a quieter life with a steadier centre. Less urgency. Less performance. More walking. More writing. More sea and sky. More acts of attention.