I Grew Up Wild and Feral – I Think I’ll Retire That Way Too!
Ordinary Tuesdays
Observations from everyday life. The small moments, familiar places, chance conversations, and ordinary experiences that quietly reveal something larger.
I just ordered an old-school brass bell from Amazon. What does that have to do with growing up feral? Bear with me.
Not one of those little desk bells.
The real thing.
A solid brass bell with the dangly thing hanging inside on a cord that you pull back and forth until the whole neighbourhood knows you’re ringing it.
It’s going on the gate in Costa Rica.
There’s no doorbell down there, so I thought it would be a charming way for visitors to announce themselves.
Simple enough.
Then something funny happened. Random thoughts intruded and interrupted my shopping spree like – probably a subconscious intervention for a mild shopaholic.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just a bell anymore.
It instantly reminded me of being seven or eight years old.
Back when kids simply… disappeared to play in the neighbourhood.
Not permanently.
Just for the day.
Christine and I basically ran wild around the neighbourhood, block after block on our bikes.
Some kids had to be home when the streetlights came on. Summers in Ontario meant somewhere around eight o’clock.
My best friend Christine had to go home when her dad whistled.
And I mean whistled.
You could hear Uncle Bill three blocks away.
My dad had his own system.
He’d walk out onto the back porch and ring the brass bell that had once hung on the back of my great-grandfather’s horse-drawn milk wagon.
That was my cue.
Come home.
People often joke about Gen X kids growing up feral.
Christine and I pretty much did.
And honestly…
I turned out okay.
The funny thing is, buying that bell made another thought pop into my head.
Can you retire feral?
I already spend most of my time in Costa Rica braless and frequently commando.
Time has become wonderfully irrelevant.
My hair rarely gets cut.
I still drink from the garden hose.
Sometimes I eat cereal for dinner.
Nobody tells me I can’t.
As kids, “growing up feral” didn’t really mean neglected.
It meant freedom within invisible boundaries.
Someone was paying attention.
Christine’s dad whistled.
My dad rang the bell.
The streetlights came on.
Until then…
Go.
Explore.
Build forts.
Ride your bike.
Drink from the hose.
See you later.
Then adulthood arrived.
Schedules.
Uniforms.
Alarm clocks.
White shirts.
Meetings.
Calendars.
Sunday afternoon ironing.
Forty years of systematic, organized adulthood.
While working, it was all about “work-life balance”; that felt like the desire for freedom from structures. Or perhaps it was more like freedom within the structure – no one was going to give up a paycheque.
Now retirement quietly asks a different question.
Would you like some of that freedom back?
Not irresponsibility.
Not adolescence.
Freedom.
But not the “work-life balance” kind. This is more freedom without boundaries, unstructured freedom.
The bell feels symbolic somehow.
As a child, it meant:
Come home.
Now I’m hanging one on my own gate in Costa Rica.
This time…
I’m still the one who’ll hear it, but I just might not answer it. I might be reading, or painting (but probably floating topless in my pool).
Maybe retirement isn’t about finding yourself.
Maybe it’s about recovering parts of yourself that got buried beneath four+ decades of responsibility.
Or perhaps it simply permits you to become a slightly older version of the kid you used to be.
I also wonder if this connects to another observation.
Retirement doesn’t just change what we do.
It changes what we notice.
A brass bell becomes a memory.
An ironing board becomes a history lesson.
A handwritten letter becomes an act of rebellion.
So perhaps the question isn’t about Gen X growing up feral.
Maybe the better question is…
Can Gen X retire feral?
I’d love to believe that the answer might be yes.
Although I should probably draw the line somewhere.
Drinking from the garden hose?
Absolutely.
Cereal for dinner?
Frequently.
Braless?
Almost always.
Climbing trees?
…let’s not get carried away.
For many retirees, going commando might not be their thing, but permission to shed a few of those old boundaries? Go ahead. The ability to stay still long enough and notice how memories and life can come full circle? Absolutely!
Read More
- The Last Analog Generation
- Is a Longer Retirement the New Second Adulthood?
- Retirement Timing, Longevity, and the Modern Midlife Crisis
- Are You Reinventing Your Life After Retirement — Or For Retirement?
- The Senior’s Discount
- Travel Safety Tips for Seniors: How to Travel Smarter and Safer After 55
Research Note
The observations in this article are informed by ongoing reading and research in psychology, sociology, adult development, aging, friendship, purpose, identity, and life transitions. While these essays are observational rather than academic, many of the underlying ideas are grounded in established research.
Cynthia Ross Tustin is the founder of I'm Thinking of Retiring, an online publication exploring the psychology, purpose, and everyday realities of life after work. A retired Fire Chief, former ICU and Emergency Room nurse, instructor, and policy writer, she combines lived experience, research, and a lifelong curiosity about human behaviour to write thoughtful essays on retirement, identity, purpose, friendship, and the ordinary moments that quietly reveal something larger. Through her Retirement Field Notes and Ordinary Tuesday series, she encourages readers to approach this next chapter with curiosity rather than certainty.
