The Shift from Doing to Being: What Retirement Is Really Teaching Me

The first Tuesday without a bell

The first Tuesday after I retired, I still woke before the sun. Old rhythms don’t disappear overnight. The coffee steamed, the street was quiet, and somewhere a school bus sighed at the corner the way buses do—a soft exhale that used to set my day in motion. 

My calendar was empty, but my mind wasn’t. I could feel the tug to fill the hour: Answer a few emails. Plan something. Make yourself useful.

 

Instead, I just…sat. I let the mug warm my hands. I watched light move across the table. That little pocket of stillness surprised me. It wasn’t laziness; it was attention. And as I sat there, I thought about all the years I’d hurried past moments like this—right there in the classroom—because I mistook motion for meaning. Truth be told, this still occurs occasionally, even twelve years into retirement.

If you’re early in your career, consider this a note from a colleague a few miles ahead: you don’t have to wait for retirement to learn the art of being.

Engine and anchor

Classrooms need engines—pacing guides, materials ready, the bell schedule that doesn’t ask permission. For a long time, I tried to be a better engine. I color-coded, prepped, graded late. The room ran, yes—but it also ran hot.

What my later years taught me is that rooms also need an anchor. Presence does for a class what ballast does for a boat: it steadies the ride. The anchor isn’t the absence of work; it’s how we hold the work. It’s the way you look up from the plan to really see the student who just walked in. It’s the two quiet breaths you take before you begin.

What the research keeps whispering

Psychology has language for what our hearts already know –

• Laura Carstensen’s work on socioemotional selectivity shows that as we age, our priorities tilt from achievement to meaning. You can borrow that wisdom now: design for small moments of meaning, not just metrics. A two-minute celebration of a student’s good question often nourishes more learning than an extra slide.
• Ellen Langer calls mindfulness noticing. It isn’t exotic; it’s ordinary curiosity. When I paused to notice three new things about a familiar lesson—who sat near the window, a fresh example from the news, a different way to ask the first question—my own attention woke up, and so did the room.
• Stephen and Rachel Kaplan’s attention restoration suggests our focused attention tires quickly and is restored by brief, gentle focus—what they call “soft fascination.” In practice, that’s about a minute with eyes off screens—letting the eyes rest on a window or a plant and letting the breath even out. I used to worry it would waste time. It gave time back.
• There’s a simple truth here from Zeigarnik: open loops drain energy. When I closed two tiny loops before students arrived—board ready, first prompt on the screen—my attention came back to the people in front of me.
• And Deci and Ryan keep explaining my best days: people thrive when they feel autonomy, competence, and relatedness. Being-first practices feed all three—small choices (“Pick the example we’ll analyze”), reachable wins (“You explained your thinking clearly there”), and real connection (“I’m glad you’re here today”).

 

A quiet weave of scripture

The story of Mary and Martha (Luke 10:38–42) has accompanied me for years. I’ve been Martha with a clipboard, trying to feed the whole world—and I’m grateful for her work. But Jesus blesses Mary’s attention, her unhurried nearness. The lesson isn’t to stop preparing; it’s to resist losing the Person in the preparation.

When my spirit feels crowded, I return to Isaiah 30:15:
“In quietness and trust is your strength.”
Between classes, I’ll pair that line with four slow counts—quiet in, strength out—and let it reset my face, my shoulders, the room.

Bringing being into the day

These aren’t a checklist so much as small adjustments of the heart.

• Begin at the door. Arrive a couple of minutes early and stand where the threshold meets the hallway. One student at a time, offer a steady greeting. Names, eye contact, a “Glad you’re here.” Those two minutes soften the edges on everything that follows.
• Open the room gently. Instead of launching straight into directions, begin with one low-stakes question on the board—the kind without a right answer: What felt interesting (not easy) yesterday? Where did curiosity show up? Students lean in because you start with them, not the task.
• Protect the margins. The first three and last three minutes become sacred. At the end, a brief reflect-out—What’s worth remembering? What’s your next small step?—turns closure into continuity. On days I skip this, I feel it.
• Right-size the tech when you can. If a device is necessary, let it serve a single purpose and say the why. One screen, one job. Less cognitive noise, more attention left over for each other.
• Give thinking some air. I used to fear silence; now I trust it. Let a minute of quiet thinking precede partner talk. The room doesn’t slow down—it deepens.
• Let “enough” be enough. My to-do list once proved I was working hard. My Enough List helps me work well: three things that, if done, make the day complete. I walk out lighter and walk in clearer.

None of these moves are flashy. Together, they change the weather.

Reflection—an invitation, not an assignment

Take these as gentle starting points:

• Where does your day feel most “engine-only”? What might an anchor look like there?
• Which transition could you slow by just a minute without losing momentum?
• Who, this week, needs a little more of your unhurried attention—and how will you offer it?
• What belongs on today’s Enough List?

I don’t think retirement made me wiser; it just quieted things enough for me to hear what had been faithful all along. Presence is a practice. You can start small, start today, and let your room feel the difference.

If you’d like a simple reminder at your desk, I put the core practices into a one-page Being-First Classroom Companion—print it, tuck it under your keyboard, and let it nudge you back to what matters when the day gets loud.

Sources & Further Reading

• Laura Carstensen — Socioemotional Selectivity Theory: why priorities shift toward meaning and connection.
• Ellen Langer — Mindfulness as noticing: everyday novelty that wakes up attention.
• Stephen & Rachel Kaplan — Attention Restoration Theory: brief “soft fascination” restores focus.
• Bluma Zeigarnik — Open loops drain energy; closing small tasks frees attention.
• Richard Ryan & Edward Deci — Self-Determination Theory: autonomy, competence, relatedness.
• Luke 10:38–42; Isaiah 30:15 — A scriptural frame for quiet attention and trust.

For further resources, go to the Resources Page