There is a quiet migration that takes place every year.<\/p>\n
No headlines. No farewell tours. No brass band.<\/p>\n
Just a man packing his life into a few boxes and declaring, with the certainty of a returning king: \u201cI am going home.\u201d<\/p>\n
Home.<\/p>\n
A place he has not lived in for thirty years.<\/p>\n
A place where his last official duty was fetching water as a boy.<\/p>\n
Now he arrives with a suitcase, a pension, and urban habits that bewilder even the livestock.<\/p>\n
The reality is plain: Visiting the village once a year for Christmas is not the same as living there.<\/p>\n
Christmas is a festival.<\/p>\n
Retirement is a full-time commitment.<\/p>\n
They are fundamentally different environments.<\/p>\n
During Christmas, one arrives as an honored guest. Livestock is prepared. Relatives emerge from all directions. One eats, laughs, and offers expert commentary on national affairs. Then one departs.<\/p>\n
It is a powerful, but temporary, experience.<\/p>\n
Remove the celebrations. Remove the audience. Remove the sense of occasion.<\/p>\n
What remains is Tuesday.<\/p>\n
And this is where the narrative changes.<\/p>\n
The village has not been waiting.<\/p>\n
It has continued to evolve, quietly and without external supervision.<\/p>\n
The people you knew have aged. Some are gone. Others now hold positions of authority and may not regard you as significant. Even childhood nicknames have been reassigned.<\/p>\n
You are not returning.<\/p>\n
You are arriving.<\/p>\n
For many, that arrival is complex.<\/p>\n
Particularly for those who never went back. Not for holidays. Not for funerals. Not for any reason.<\/p>\n
They built their entire existence in the city. Their networks, habits, and lifestyles are urban.<\/p>\n
Then, one day, they relocate.<\/p>\n
That is not retirement.<\/p>\n
That is migration.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, everything is unfamiliar.<\/p>\n
The silence is profound. The nights are long. The community is close-knit. Everyone knows you, yet you know no one. Even the food requires adjustment.<\/p>\n
In the city, you managed systems. Water flowed. Electricity functioned. Food was procured on schedule.<\/p>\n
In the village, water has its own timing. Electricity is unpredictable. Food requires direct engagement with the land or market.<\/p>\n
Then there is the matter of time.<\/p>\n
In the city, you were occupied. Meetings. Traffic. Deadlines. Constant activity.<\/p>\n
In the village, time expands. Morning becomes afternoon without notice. You sit. You stand. You sit again. You begin recalling matters long forgotten.<\/p>\n
This is where many begin to decline. Not abruptly. Gradually.<\/p>\n
Because retirement without structure is not rest. It is disorientation.<\/p>\n
The body slows. The mind drifts. Purpose diminishes. And a man without purpose becomes vulnerable to ill health.<\/p>\n
Minor ailments become significant. Significant ailments become permanent. Some do not endure long, not because the village is harsh, but because the transition was unprepared.<\/p>\n
There is another category. They survive, but they are not content.<\/p>\n
They live in constant comparison: \u201cIn the city, we used to\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Indeed. In the city, there was also pressure, noise, and financial obligation. But memory is a selective narrator.<\/p>\n
So they sit. Complaining. Regretting. Observing life as if they arrived late to their own story.<\/p>\n
Some even struggle. Because pension is not infinite. Farming is not a hobby to commence at seventy without experience. The soil does not recognize former titles. Hunger does not respect past achievements. Illness does not negotiate with memories of success.<\/p>\n
Therefore, the lesson is straightforward.<\/p>\n
If you intend to return home one day, begin the process now.<\/p>\n
Not for festivities. For ordinary days.<\/p>\n
Go when nothing is happening. Sit. Listen to the silence. Allow it to unsettle you early.<\/p>\n
Learn the rhythm before it becomes your only rhythm.<\/p>\n
Cultivate relationships not dependent on your arrival with gifts. Understand how the community functions when you are not being celebrated.<\/p>\n
Retirement is not the time to learn how to live. It is the time to continue a life you have already practiced.<\/p>\n
Visit often. Stay longer. Become comfortable with stillness.<\/p>\n
Let the village cease to be a destination and become familiar territory.<\/p>\n
So that when the day comes to say, \u201cI am going home,\u201d you are not speculating.<\/p>\n
You are returning to a place that knows you.<\/p>\n
And, more importantly, to a place you understand.<\/p>\n
The village is a good place. Peaceful. Grounded. Honest.<\/p>\n
But only for the man who arrives prepared.<\/p>\n
The unprepared spend their final years attempting to adjust to a life that never adjusted to them.<\/p>\n
Col. (rtd) I.K.Guleid is aConsultant specialising in National Defence, Security, and Disaster Management.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n The post Retiring in the village\u00a0<\/a> appeared first on KBC Digital<\/a>.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" There is a quiet migration that takes place every year. No headlines. No farewell tours. No brass band. Just a man packing his life into a few boxes and declaring, with the certainty of a returning king: \u201cI am going home.\u201d Home. A place he has not lived in for thirty years. A place where […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-145690","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","entry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/chezaspin.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/145690","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/chezaspin.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/chezaspin.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chezaspin.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=145690"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/chezaspin.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/145690\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/chezaspin.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=145690"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chezaspin.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=145690"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/chezaspin.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=145690"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}