Beyond Recognition: Discovering Peace in One's Own Existence

Reflections - 2

Retirement is often portrayed as a period of rest—a well-deserved pause after a lifetime of dedicated work. But for those whose professions were more than just jobs—for those whose identity was deeply interwoven with being a doctor, teacher, or caregiver—retirement is not simply about stepping back. It is about stepping inward.

However, retirement is not a mourning. It is not the slow fading of relevance, nor a quiet grief over being no longer needed. Rather, it is a conscious act: the setting of limits, especially financial ones, followed by a deliberate transition toward self-discovery. It is the moment when we decide we have saved enough, done enough, and now it is time to be enough.

In this stillness, reflection deepens. And it is often during this phase that many choose to write their will. This act, though legal in form, is deeply emotional and existential in impact. It is not merely a record of assets—it is a mirror. It forces us to ask: What have I truly accumulated? Who do I trust? What values am I passing on? In writing a will, we don’t just distribute wealth—we distill wisdom.

There is another moment when life’s impermanence becomes starkly visible—attending a funeral. Whether it is a colleague, an old friend, or even a patient, standing in the quiet presence of death strips us of pretense. There is no title, no accomplishment, no role left—only memory. And in that moment of finality, we encounter a strange but profound clarity: that all recognition is temporary, but self-awareness can be eternal.

These experiences—writing a will, attending a funeral, retiring after a lifetime of work—each bring us face to face with the ultimate question: Who am I without all this? And slowly, gently, the answer begins to take shape. We are not merely what we did. We are not the applause, the nameplates, or the schedules. We are something far subtler—a presence, a witness, a being.

Retirement, then, becomes not a rehearsal for death, but a release from the fear of death. It is the moment when we stop chasing and start observing, when we step off the stage and discover we were always the silent observer behind the role.

In discovering peace within, we prepare for the inevitable not with dread, but with grace. We understand that death is not the end of importance, but the end of needing to be important. What remains is essence, not identity.

Thus, the quiet after recognition is not emptiness—it is space. Space to reflect, to love more purely, to exist more honestly. In embracing this space, we begin to live not for the world’s applause, but in harmony with our own breath.

Dr Archana Tandon