I am a retired United Methodist minister, seventy-two years old.

Some would say that seventy-two isn’t that old, and most days I agree. Still, I watch the seasons change, and wonder how many more leaf cycles I have in me. There is no getting around it, retirement can feel like the second to last thing on your life’s to-do list.

While that feeling is there, and it is a fact that no one is getting younger; I just don’t believe the retirement chapter is supposed to be the one with a bunch of blank pages. That said, I don’t think a retired pastor’s, or any other retired person’s, immediate question should be, how do I fill those pages? That feels a little desperate. Distant travels, books to be read and written, and beach trips with grands will be there. If you are healthy, there will be stuff on those retirement pages. My deeper question is, who am I now that my name isn’t on the church sign? How do I fill my remaining days with meaning?

Not counting a nine month interim appointment and a couple of forays into church politics, I am a decade into the retirement chapter. Turns out Reverend is a tough label to shake. It feels like I should be a little further down the self awareness road, but ten years after culling my wardrobe to a pretty sparse supply of so-called “church clothes,” I’m still asking, who am I?

I have learned that there is an identifiable second half of life. It’s bad math but some call it the third half. It’s different in a lot of ways from the first half or two. A bunch of things besides clothes don’t fit anymore. If you haven’t tested the water earlier, retirement throws you in the deep end this pool, and it’s time to swim.

This season in our journey has its unique gifts, lessons, and tasks. I am no longer a student. I am not building a career. I am not identified by what I do because I no longer do it. I am an elder. (elder and elderly are two different things) Again, it’s a new and different place in life’s journey. There are new maps, and sometimes they are hard to read. I am growing more comfortable with the edges though, and sometimes a compass will do.

I got pretty comfortable with my role in the church and community. I dedicated my life to the local church, and represented it wherever I went. But, turns out my first name actually isn’t “Pastor.” I am not tethered to the denominational nest anymore. The world is a whole lot bigger than I thought.

It baffles some of my friends and family, but I no longer worry too much about what is orthodox, or Wesleyan, or biblical for that matter. I believe that the essence of those things is written on my heart, and I don’t need to keep checking in with them to make sure I am okay. I now ask, is it real? I worry more about being authentic than I do about being right. Like Pinocchio and the Velveteen Rabbit, I just want to be real.

Put another way, I want to be a real, genuine, spiritual human being. Plainly said, like the Spirit, I want to be one who doesn’t do but is love. Okay, maybe that wasn’t plainly said, but that’s what made Pinocchio and the rabbit real.

A friend challenged me to describe myself without referring to what I do or by the roles I fulfill in my life. In other words, who AM I?

I told him, “I’m me. I’m the me I have been all along.”

Retirement Is a new chapter, but it doesn’t define you any more than that job title did. You are more than a retired whatever. It’s just that now you are freer than you ever have been to lay down your label and be your truest you.