Doorways

She never thought turning 60 would feel like this, like she was standing in a doorway with her whole past folded neatly behind her, boxed up in files and farewells, while the future stretched out in front of her like a page she wasn’t sure she was ready to write on.
People celebrated with her. And she rode the goodbyes like a wave... she had seen too many of them lately.

But she was off kilter, flailing about in the flow, not at one with it. Instead, she felt that she was going under, casting off the version of herself in her prime. She secretly hoped that she would resurface at one with the flow, instead of it spitting her out on shores foreign to herself.

Yes, she smiled in gratitude. Yes, she cut the cake. Yes, she posed for photos she would later scroll through wondering why her eyes looked both relieved and slightly feral. But inside? Inside she felt the wobble of a life suddenly unstructured. After years of deadlines, expectations, and showing up even when she was running on fumes, the silence felt loud and the calm, uncomfortable.

She was expecting to tackle this chapter in much the same way as she had every other one. But it seemed aging required something entirely different from her, something she was not quite ready for. The short haircut and the extra menopausal padding had her saying wtf on more than one occasion throughout each day. Retirement did not land with some grand epiphany, rather with the anxiety that she was ill equipped to step into the role of a wise elder. She blinked and she had turned ancient. She looked up at the ceiling and thought, So this is it? I am just me now? No title? No role? No inbox ambushing me at 6 a.m.?

Just Nariman.

The quiet terrified her.
The freedom thrilled her.
Both truths alive inside her like mismatched roommates.

She made coffee, strong enough to restart a heart, and stood by the window watching the world move by as if nothing in it had shifted, unaware that her entire identity was currently doing somersaults. For the first time in decades, her day belonged to her. A wild, untrained, almost scandalous thought.

What does one do when the era that shaped them ends?
When the uniform comes off, the persona is dismantled, and you are left with the raw, unpolished version of yourself?

She did not have an answer. Not yet. But she felt something loosening inside her, a knot she had carried for years without noticing. She felt the smallest, sassiest spark igniting. Maybe I get to redefine everything now. Maybe I get to choose.

Retirement, she realized, was scary, and she had no idea what it would look like for her.
Maybe it was a new key unlocking the old.
Maybe a doorway creaking open to let a new life in.
Or maybe, just maybe, it would remove all the shackles that bound her to a version of herself that was now outdated.

She did love that kick-ass version of herself though and letting her go would prove difficult.

She took a sip of her coffee and smiled, a slow, knowing, slightly wicked smile.
"Well," she said to the empty room, "if I am starting a new chapter, it is going to be on my terms and there are a few non-negotiables":

There will be caftans, pjs and comfy footwear.
There will be loud get-togethers and late-night ‘marathons’.
There will be food and dance and hugs and smooches.
And writing and reading and sassiness.
And joy & love.
And prayers & healthy pursuits.
And pleasure...lots and lots of pleasure.,..

And just like that, the next era began, quietly, tenderly, but with that unmistakable glint in her eye, the kind that promised the best was not behind her, but waiting, tapping its foot, ready to be lived.