Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

I’ve been asked this question a few times over the years, and I’ll be honest—it used to come with grand plans.

You know the sort…
Big goals. Bigger dreams. A vague idea that somewhere along the line everything neatly falls into place.

But life, as I’ve learned (often the hard way), doesn’t really do “neat.”

It does messy.
It does unexpected.
It does “well, that wasn’t in the brochure.”

And yet… here we are.

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So, ten years from now?

If I’m lucky—retired.

Not in the flashy, lottery-win, sipping-something-expensive-on-a-yacht sense.
More in the “I’ve earned a bit of peace and quiet” sense.

The kind of retirement where the alarm clock becomes optional.
Where time slows down just enough to notice things again.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve come to understand, it’s this:

Life isn’t about filling every minute…
It’s about feeling the minutes you’ve got.

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I imagine something simple

A shed.
(There’s always a shed, isn’t there?)

A chair that’s seen better days.
A notebook that’s half full of scribbles that may or may not make sense.
A cup of something warm within arm’s reach.

Maybe I’ll still be writing—because let’s face it, once you start using words to make sense of your head, it’s hard to stop. It’s been part of me for over 20 years now, a way to process the noise and turn it into something resembling meaning. 

Maybe I’ll still be taking photos of birds that refuse to sit still long enough for a decent shot.

Maybe I’ll just sit there… and do absolutely nothing.

And for once, not feel guilty about it.

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There’s a deeper part to it though

Retirement, for me, isn’t just about stopping work.

It’s about arriving at a place where:

• The chaos has quietened
• The edges have softened
• And I’ve made peace with the things I can’t change

Because life has a funny way of reminding you it’s fragile. You don’t get to negotiate with it when your time’s up—you just have to make the most of what’s in front of you while it’s there. 

So if I make it ten years down the line…

I don’t just want to be retired.

I want to be content.

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And if I’m honest…

If people ask me that question in ten years’ time—

“Where do you see yourself now?”

I hope the answer is something like:

“Right here.
Still writing.
Still breathing.
Still finding small bits of magic in ordinary days.”

Because at the end of it all, that’s probably enough.

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Stay safe,