Category: pre-retirement

September is my real new year…blog 148

A Probe & Ponder Newsletter…September 2026

Exploring books, learning, travel, life experiences & adventure with author, Roberta E. Sawatzky

If you’re someone who’s curious, courageous, and eager to grow through fresh ideas, practical writing tips, thoughtful prompts, and real-life reflections, you’re in the right place. Here, I share my ponderings and discoveries with a community of readers and writers who’ve connected with me through my books—and who love exploring how writing shapes the way we learn, create, and experience life. Let’s dive in together.

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Every January 1st, I consider a few resolutions. They are usually vague—write more, be more disciplined—and by February they’ve dissolved into the general noise of winter. But every September, without planning to, I do something different. I clear my desk. I buy a notebook I don’t need. I start acting like a slightly more disciplined version of myself. I’ve been doing this since I was six years old, and decades on the other side of the classroom haven’t changed it.

I think September is the real new year. January just has better PR.

I’ve had a lot of Septembers. Once my kids were in school full-time, I went to work in the business world for a several years, then moved into teaching business full-time for thirteen years. So September has meant a few different things to me over the decades—the start of my children’s school year, then the start of my own second career, then, later, the start of a new academic year, over and over, for thirteen years straight.

Then I stepped away from all of it. My husband’s health was declining, and I retired to be with him. For eighteen months, September came and went and meant nothing in particular—there was no classroom to return to, no syllabus to write. Time moved differently, on his terms, not the calendar’s.

Eighteen months in, I went back to teaching. I don’t know if I could tell you exactly why, except that I needed something that was mine, some structure to stand inside. Six months later, he passed away.

I tell you this because I don’t want to pretend that September’s pull, for me, is only nostalgic. It’s not simply about pencils and blank notebooks and the particular quality of early fall light—though it is a little bit about that too. It’s that I have watched this rhythm hold me up more than once. It was there when my kids grew old enough to let me go back to work. It was there every year I stood in front of a classroom. And it was there, unexpectedly, at the hardest point of my life, offering me a place to put my mind when I didn’t know what else to do with it.

So this September, I’m using it again, on purpose.

My teaching schedule is fixed, for now—Tuesday evenings, Thursday mornings, through the end of exams in December. Being part-time, or term, means I’m never guaranteed a course load; each semester gets built fresh, and I won’t know what January looks like until it’s closer. For a long time I let that kind of uncertainty be the reason I hadn’t built a real writing practice—”once I know what my schedule looks like, once things settle down, I’ll commit properly.” But I’ve learned, more than once now, that “once things settle down” isn’t a date on any calendar. It isn’t a date at all. So I looked at what this semester actually gives me: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, open. Two hours each, at the desk. That’s the whole plan–for now.

It isn’t dramatic. There’s no “finish the book by December” energy to it. And I know January may hand me a different set of days, a different shape to fit around. That’s fine. The commitment was never really to Monday-Wednesday-Friday. It was to two hours, three times a week, wherever those days land. The schedule is just this semester’s version of a promise I intend to keep regardless.

So here’s my actual resolution, the kind I intend to keep: two hours, three days a week, at the desk — Monday, Wednesday, Friday for now, whatever it becomes in January. The same notebook I didn’t need to buy, open on the days that are mine.

Discipline on paper is one thing. Staying inspired enough to actually sit down for those two hours, week after week, is another. So alongside the schedule, I’m building a few habits meant to feed the writing itself, not just protect the time for it.

1. I’ll be reading books on writing craft. Right now the one that has my attention is Good Writing: 36 Ways to Improve Your Sentences, by Neal Allen and Anne Lamott — Allen built the list over years in journalism and the corporate world, and Lamott, known for Bird by Bird, brings her own take alongside his. What I appreciate most is that it’s aimed at the sentence level—not big-picture inspiration, but the practical work of making a sentence better. That feels like the right kind of company for a Monday morning at the desk.

2. I will continue to learn from podcasts. Three favourites that always seem to provide insight and challenge are: The Oprah Podcast, The Creative Penn Podcast, and Beyond Better. I’ve linked to a suggested episode for each that I think you’ll enjoy. There’s a particular kind of relief in hearing another writer describe, in detail, a problem you’ve been quietly circling for weeks—the feeling that someone else struggles with, and has found guidance to similar issues is reassuring.

3. Lately I have been enjoying audio books. The trouble is, I don’t slow down and really listen. Rather, I clean, or drive, or…do any other mundane activity while I’m listening. I want to stop, sit with a coffee or a dram of scotch, and get lost in the book. I’m making time to read for escape and pleasure again—not research, not craft study, just books that are well written, reminding me what good sentences feel like from the inside. It’s easy to forget that reading well is its own kind of practice. (I’ve joined a book club…first one ever, and this is the first book. It was a great read.)

4. Finally, I’m going to cut back, hard, on television and social media. Not out of any grand principle — just arithmetic. Every hour spent scrolling is an hour I’m not reading, not writing, not thinking about the thing I said I wanted to build.

September gave me the schedule. This is what I’m doing with the time it protects. I’ll report back next month on how it going.

How about you? How are you making time to work on that book, or poem, or painting? Is it possible you may need to use September as a ‘get back on track’ month?

“Write regularly, whether you feel like writing or not, and whether you think what you’re writing is any good or not.” Anne Lamott

I drafted and shaped this piece with the help of Claude, an AI assistant — the ideas and the story are mine, but I used it as a thinking and editing partner along the way.

Welcome to a new year with Probe and Ponder…Blog 141

January 2025…how has the year started for you? Slow and steady? Like a whirlwind? Full of expectancy? Waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop? Are you excited about new beginnings? None of these outlooks are right or wrong…they just are. And that’s ok.

Mine started rather quietly – we slipped into 2025 without much fanfare. Like many people at certain stages of life, we were already in dreamland by the time the clock struck midnight!

That was until January 3rd. 

I love to smile, but recently I have been conscious of people’s reactions when they see a gap where until that day, a tooth lived. It happened like this:

I was meeting with a close friend, enjoying a great cup of coffee and a soft veggie wrap. We were laughing together, catching up on each other’s lives, and about to begin talking about a second walk together on the Camino de Santiago, when I felt the strangest thing…there was a hole where a front tooth used to be! My tongue explored it, my finger found the hole, and a selfie confirmed what I feared…I had lost a tooth. It split up the middle and was gone! I truly did lose it—it wasn’t in my mouth, nor was it stuck in the wrap…it was gone. Well, not completely lost, I had swallowed it!

As you can read in my memoir, life is not exactly stress-free when one’s husband has some major medical issues. So when this happened, I looked at my friend, recognizing my shock reflected in her face, and we both laughed! What else could we do? I immediately reached out to our dental office and shared my story of woe, and the receptionist laughed as well! Realizing her reaction may not have been overly empathetic, she quickly apologized. 

Within an hour I was sitting in the dental chair having x-rays taken, then setting up an appointment with my dentist for the following week (of course it happened on a day when the dentist wasn’t working!). Thus began the long process of having a tooth implanted by a dental surgeon…but first the remainder of my broken tooth needs to be removed. (There are many things I would rather do than visit the dentist…for any reason!)

So here was the dilemma I now faced. I was booked to be interviewed on a podcast (video, not audio), and present an Author Meet at our local library. I am also in the process of recording an audiobook. Do you know how difficult it is to pronounce ‘th’ and ‘f’ sounds when you are missing a front tooth? The recording mic is so sensitive the production guy could hear a plane passing overhead, a sound I couldn’t even hear! 

What to do? We were able to adjust the mic far enough from my mouth so as not to have the offending sounds pop the mic…one problem solved. But what about the podcast? If you have spent any time on virtual calls, you know how distracting it is to see your face on a screen just inches away. It can be disconcerting to say the least. Add to that the insult of seeing a very visible gap anytime you smile, multiplying the distraction. So the podcast appearance was cancelled. 

But what about the Author Meet? I seriously considered cancelling it as well, until I was hit with one of those epiphany experiences. That quiet inner voice reminded me that I had committed to be open and transparent both in my writing and in life in general. Having a tooth fall out is just part of life (at least my life). 

So here I am, missing tooth and all, ready to take on 2025. I look forward to openly and transparently sharing my probings and ponderings with you. Please stay tuned as I continue sharing my learnings from life and travel with you. Who knows what’s next? 

By the way, if you ever want to reach out for coaching, speaking events, or simply to say ‘hi’, here are my contacts:

roberta@samisremote.com | resawatzky.com | robertasawatzky.com | https://calendly.com/roberta20/complimentary-chat

As 2024 comes to an end…Blog 140

I’m sitting in my home office, gazing out at a very gray day. We had snow last evening, but mild temperatures and light rain have turned the fresh blanket of snow into a dull, mushy mess.

Winter isn’t my favorite season—my soul seems to hibernate, awaiting the awakening signaled by the first buds of spring appearing on the trees outside my window. These buds signal new life.

In summer, we slow down to soak up the sun’s warmth, shedding cumbersome jackets, socks, and ‘whole shoes’ (as our daughter used to call them) to make way for sandals, sundresses, t-shirts, and the ever-present sunnies. At times, the sun’s heat becomes oppressive, prompting us to seek the perfect shade under which to sip a cool beverage, dreaming of storing this glorious heat to be slowly released during the cold, frigid winter months.

Then autumn arrives. How I love this season! The summer heat fades, leaving warm days and nights that call for the cozy embrace of light sweaters to fend off the evening chill. The greens of summer transform into vibrant reds, ambers, and crimson leaves, drawing me in like the crackling flames of the fires my mum used to set in the evenings back in Ireland.

However, without the winter months that prompt us to hunker down and reflect on the gifts of new life, warmth, and harvest, we might miss the lessons nature offers.

I believe the four seasons—winter, spring, summer, and autumn—are a rich metaphor for life, especially when we consider the changes each one brings. Over the past year, I’ve been working on a book about change and transition. Initially, its focus was on transitioning from full-time employment to part-time, contract work. This transition would bridge the years between the workforce and possibly leaving paid employment altogether. As I wrote, I realized that life is, and will continue to be, filled with various transitions, each with its own intensity. This process has made me reflect on the many changes and transitions I’ve experienced and consider how successfully or unsuccessfully I’ve navigated each. Transitions stem from change; some are self-initiated, while others result from decisions made by others that impact us. Some transitions bring wonderful opportunities filled with adventure and excitment, while others may lead to loss, grief, and anxiety.

During this winter solstice season, as I reflect on the past year, I remember moments of joy and laughter, delight and pleasure, beauty and wonder, awe and curiosity, peace and stillness. I also remember moments of deep sadness and tears, anger and fear, loss and grief. This is life; these are the seasons of life that shape us into unique and wonderful human beings living amidst its messiness.

One of my favorite Broadway experiences was Rent. From the opening number, I was captivated by the stories of a group of young bohemians endeavoring to live fully. It chronicles a year in their lives. The opening song, “Seasons of Life,” asks, “How do you measure the value of a year in a person’s life?” A big question! But is it really? Looking back over 2024, how would you describe its value in terms of your accomplishments, contributions, and what you’ve received? What gauge or criterion might you use to evaluate its worth? I believe this question, posed by songwriter Jonathan Larson, provides a simple yet profound foundation for closing off a year and setting intentions for 2025, marking it as a year of great value.

What do you think? How might you measure the value of 2024?

Gap ‘year’ for Generation Jones?…Blog 129

I’ve developed quite an affinity for the concept of a gap year, so much so that I believe its scope should extend beyond the younger demographic. Why should such a remarkable opportunity be confined to those transitioning from adolescence to adulthood? Consider this: what about us, navigating the transitions of our mid-fifties and sixties? What if we, too, could benefit from a hiatus, even if just for a month? Imagine this: before the decision to retire settles in (a term I’m not a fan of), what if we embraced a gap, a designated period to contemplate what we truly want for the next chapters of our lives?

I love the notion of a gap year. This is a period when the younger generation takes a step back, often after surviving the whirlwind of high school and just before embarking on the college or university journey. It strikes me as perfectly sensible, providing them with the chance to discover themselves, catch their breath, refocus, and then set the course for the chapters ahead.

Alternatively, what if we opted for a departure from full-time employment, tapping into the financial contributions accumulated over the years, without fully retiring? Imagine taking a ‘gap,’ a span of time after bidding farewell to the 9-5 grind, before embarking on a new and exhilarating chapter—a journey in our passion, earning a living on our terms, and crafting a schedule that allows us to savour the next stage of life to the fullest. The possibilities are intriguing, don’t you think?

Of course my break will take place by the ocean.

Well, in fact, that’s precisely what I’m gearing up for in just shy of four weeks. I’ll be embarking on a break—a pause, if you will—between bidding farewell to my role as a tenured professor in a business school and diving headfirst back into the incredible world of coaching and leadership development, all anchored in a strengths-based approach. It’s hard to fathom anything more fulfilling than investing in others as they hone their skills and wholeheartedly embrace the responsibility of guiding their teams. The prospect of nurturing and guiding others in their professional journeys brings a unique sense of joy and purpose that I find truly invigorating.

My adventure started with publishing my first book!

Another aspect of this new venture that truly warms my heart is the prospect of having more dedicated moments with my family, especially those eight incredible grandchildren my husband and I are fortunate to have. It’s like laying the groundwork for the next generation of leaders right within our own family!

Call it balance, integration, or harmony—whatever term you prefer—I’m at a point where I’m ready to take charge of how I spend my time, with whom, and for how long. Now, you might suggest, “So, you’re going to be semi-retired?” Well, no, that’s not quite it. I prefer to see it as a process of rewiring, refocusing, rethinking, and renegotiating the terms of the next chapter in my life. It’s about embracing a new perspective and shaping the future on my terms…and I am really looking forward to it!