No Rules

When you retire there are no more rules. You get up when you want, go to bed whenever, yawn and burp and pass gas, spill food on yourself. Do not answer the phone, door or email. You don't have to remember names or titles.
You can spend the entire day being wistful, watching old b&w movies, a Walter Pidgeon festival, and not feel guilty. Cooking and cleaning are optional. So is shaving and showering. No structure exists in anything.
Then one day you look at yourself in the mirror and notice bits of you are disappearing. A toe, fingernail, an earlobe, a kneecap. As days full of freedom follow, more and more of you vanishes. You walk down the street and no one notices. Enter a coffee shop and the waitress hurries past like you're invisible.
Conversely, as your physical presence vanishes, your thoughts multiply in all this free time. You spend long periods contemplating Velcro or dental floss or why your eyebrows are uneven. You literally enter a fugue state for hours at a time.
At some point you begin hungering for rules.
Out of desperation, you join The Elks Club. Plenty of rules there, but not enough to get you back on track.
So you start a blog, hoping for the one thing you left behind when you said goodbye to the workplace--structure. If you see an older person wandering around, suggest they begin blogging. Unlimited freedom is so 1960's.