It's good.

Week One is behind me. I’ve officially moved out of the liminal space; the transition between finishing full-time work and starting this new chapter of my life.

Trying to find a name for what I’m doing is a pleasant diversion. As I say in the introduction to this blog, calling it “retirement” or “taking a gap year” doesn’t feel quite right. Whatever it is, it offers many little luxuries to be enjoyed. Taking my morning coffee back to bed to enjoy over a book or magazine. Showering in the afternoon. And on Monday evening, at the same time I would previously have caught the train home, I was under a blanket on the couch, Kahlua in hand and watching The Crown.

It would be easy to let the days drift by without doing much at all. So I’ve made myself a commitment that by 9am, Monday to Friday, I’ll be at my writing desk and will stay there for several hours. I call it commitment, but my writing tutor in Melbourne called it something else. Arse glue.

My desk is the new centre of my universe, from where I will turn out bestseller after bestseller. *laughs hysterically* For now, I’m content to work on a personal essay, 20 Places to Learn About Being Pākehā, that grew out of an assignment for my course in creative non-fiction at Massey University last semester. It’s part autobiography, part history and part social commentary. It keeps changing shape, but a version of it will be finished by the end of July, in time for entry into Landfall magazine’s annual essay competition. I say ‘a version’ because I suspect this piece will continue to have legs after it has (hopefully!) been published. Just like life, it will always be a work in progress.

The afternoons are a bit more fluid. I often read or watch TV. (I’ve always been a late adopter, so I’ve just started watching Breaking Bad.) If this sounds very indulgent, it is, but I’m enjoying it while it lasts. I’ll soon begin a few hours of weekly online coaching (a paid job!) and my next creative writing course, Eco-Fictions and Non-Fictions, starts on 12 July. I’ve also been elected to the Standing Committee for the Acaedemic and Research Libraries Section of IFLA and our first meeting is coming up soon.

Sometimes I find myself drifting back to the desk to add or subtract bits from my essay. Writers are often advised to carry a notebook with them wherever they go. I’m starting to do this as the random ideas, the perfect phrases, and the word that simply must be changed often occur to me at inconvenient times. For the same reason, I keep a notebook on the bedside table.

So far, I haven’t uncovered any major downsides to this new life, just minor irritations. It’s cold. The cats like to wander over my desk while I’m trying to work. On Wednesday I opened the door to a cheerful man carrying a blue 2 Degrees umbrella. Did I know that fibre was now available in Featherston?, he asked. Yes, I did. Who was our current internet provider? I honestly couldn’t say; my partner takes care of that. Was my partner home? No. Did I know when he would be home? No. Could I tell him what Barnard’s car looked like so he would know when he was home? No. Are you kidding me?

I mentioned the cold. We live in a big old villa that, while beautiful, is not easy to keep warm. On Friday afternoon I took a drive to Masterton where I bought new thermals, merino socks and some wool to make a jersey. Every time I go to Masterton I feel slightly depressed. The town reminds me of an old joke by Raybon Kan, who grew up there. “Masterton: A fate worse than death. Death. Masterton. Death. Masterton. Tell me about Death again.” The shopfronts are tired and shabby, but the staff were friendly and helpful, perhaps because they didn’t have many customers. I hope it got busier over the weekend; otherwise I don’t know how they survive.

So it’s not retirement and it’s not taking a gap year. In a recent email, I described it as “developing a portfolio career”. But that suggests I have a plan, when in reality I’m letting it unfold as it goes. Meh. Who cares what I call it? What matters is, it's good.