Sunday was an emancipation day of for me — the close of a long chapter in my life and the opening of a new one when the sun dawned today. I am officially retired.

I’m filled with gleeful anticipation of what’s to come, but also with satisfaction as I look back over nearly 43 years as a journalist.

In all those years, every day was new and interesting. New stories about new issues. New projects. New challenges. I relished that rush of adrenalin when a story broke on deadline and you raced to get the reporting done, story written, edited and on the page before the press had to start up. A real, not fake, journalist. That’s another blog for another time. In all of those years, there are very few days I woke and didn’t want to go to work.

So why does retirement feel like freedom?

A lot of people don’t believe me when I explain that as a journalist, I couldn’t donate to or participate in any group, march or cause connected to political campaigns or that lobbied for controversial causes. It’s a conflict of interest with a journalist’s oath to make their best effort to give a fair and balanced report.

It’s not just a personal decision, it’s a routine requirement for legitimate journalists and a document we sign along with our W-2 documents upon employment. I’ve personally had to reassign reporters to different areas or even fire ones who have become personally involved (slept with or dated) with their sources and didn’t notify their editors so they could be reassigned. In other words, you can’t date the campaign manager for a certain candidate and cover that candidate’s campaign. You can’t join a women’s rights march and cover abortion issues. We could never allow a source to pay for our lunch or a drink, accept complimentary entertainment tickets or swag…you get the idea. The rules stopped short of intruding into our personal lives. Which church we chose to attend or not, and under which party we were registered as a voter were our personal choices as long as we didn’t plant signs in our front lawns or put stickers on our cars.

So, retirement means I am free to march, to donate, to post whatever I want on social media if I so desire. But don’t look for me to start posting a lot of political stuff. I hate politics. Weird for a career journalist, right?

Retirement also means freedom from the forty to sixty hours the job took from me every week.

I intend to spend some of that extra time expanding my part-time job writing books! Since 2008, writing lesbian romance novels has been my stress reliever from the tragic disasters, injustices, disgusting crimes and sleazy politics my day job covered. I fall in love with the characters in each book and see them off to their happily-ever-after with each ending. Writing romances is essential to my mental health and my mad money to fund my retirement bucket list.

Retirement means spending time with family.

When we were kicked out of the office to work from home last spring, I immediately began plans to move back to my hometown in Georgia where my three siblings, most of my nieces and nephews and their children live. After 30 years in North Carolina, and with both our parents now deceased, the coronavirus pandemic was flashing “go home” to me in big neon lights. So, I did.

And now I’ve got more time to do very important stuff like catching up with my nieces while we watch their kids swim in my sister’s pool…or playing in the pool with the kids until my arms are so tired I can’t lift them. And, jumping in the car with that same sister when she texts “Headed to Costco. Want to go with me?” And, having my baby sister drop in, her lunch in hand, for an impromptu visit because she’s a home hospice nurse and has a patient nearby.

I’ve also learned a lot, too.

My 8-year-old nephew showed me how to use the drawing app on my laptop. I never took the time to read the instructions. He just figured it out in about two seconds. He can also describe in detail how to perform a colonoscopy because he watched it on YouTube.

And, my 5-year-old niece and I have learned why you should never let a unicorn wear a tutu, or scribble, or get spots. That’s good information to have.

Back to my bucket list.

Visit Uncle Doug. As a writer, I find people are a constant treasure trove of stories. I have one surviving uncle and need to make a trip to Florida very soon to collect the stories I neglected to write down before my grandparents and my parents passed away. He’s the last of their generation in my family, and a career Navy man who traveled the world.Visit a list of friends I haven’t seen in nearly two years because of the pandemic. Then visit them again.Do some volunteer work at an animal rescue or an equine rescue. And, I’m interested in a program that helps kids that age out of foster care get established with a job or school and a place to live. I want to see the Grand Canyon and tour Kentucky’s Thoroughbred racing stables, go to the Kentucky Derby and, of course, sample that state’s Bourbon Trail. Travel to Greece. I, of course, want to return to the UK because I loved it there and want to see friends. But Greece has always been a goal for me. Maybe get certified to scuba dive. Hey, Justine Saracen did it at age 70. And, I have a friend in Florida who is a dive instructor, ready to teach me. Visit Australia. I might have an inside track on that soon. Just saying.Take a vacation at one of those working dude ranches. It would be fun and I totally could get a book out of it.Don’t get me started on my very long list of do-it-yourself projects around the house.

Or, maybe I’ll just sit on my patio some days and do nothing.

Because I’m retired now. I don’t have to arrange vacation days. I don’t have to report to work ever again. I can do whatever I please.

As long as I make my book deadlines.