Lesslee Dort

I’ve decided to keep writing this column.

A few weeks ago, I convinced myself that it was time to quit; walk away from the world of writing and publishing. Not because writing stopped bringing me joy. No, writing helps keep me steady, my mind exercised. It was the publishing part that was starting to make my insides squirm. I wondered if what I had to say was still relevant. Or, more accurately, relevant enough to continue writing a column.

When I find myself wondering why I’m doing something, I start asking questions. Is it worth my time? Does it still bring me joy? Is it serving a purpose? Our time is finite, and how we spend it matters.

I call these moments “hiccup crises.”

Not to be confused with a full-blown, existential crisis, a hiccup crisis is a momentary blip that’s meant to have us rethink a situation. It’s just enough of a wobble to make us question assumptions. I’m certain you’ve felt it, too. It’s a lot like life tapping you on the shoulder and saying, “Ahem, you sure about this?”

The trick is to learn not to panic when one of these hiccup crises shows up. Usually, it’s less about ending something and more about understanding why we started it in the first place. When we slow down enough to listen, the hiccups often tell us something we need to hear.

I’ve had these moments before. One notable example involved my pottery, a creative outlet that gave me many stress-free moments. But years ago, pottery shifted from a joyful hobby to a second job. Deadlines replaced delight, so I stepped away until I could rediscover why I loved it.

Whether it’s graduating, changing careers, becoming a parent, retiring, or watching children leave home, life has a way of urging us to ask the same question: Who am I now?

For me – I need a purpose, every day. I am happiest when I have a goal to achieve. I don’t feel comfortable in a sloth-like existence. I admire sloths, I even desire to be more like them at times. I simply haven’t learned to do sloth very well. It’s just not how I’m built. Even my hobbies tend to come with spreadsheets. You should have seen the activity binders I created when we’d travel with our young children! My family knows I organize fun.

I’ve always turned to writing during the difficult seasons of life. It is very cathartic for me. The blank page is always available to listen to me.

So I did what writers often do when they’re looking for answers. I reread my old columns. Do you know what I found? Almost none of them had anything to do with my profession. They were about ordinary life – letters, adventures, grief, joy, mistakes, coffee dates, pottery, friendship. Apparently, I’d been writing about being human all along.

That’s when I realized I’d been asking the wrong question.

I honestly never doubted that life would keep giving me stories to tell. What I doubted was whether retirement had somehow changed my value in your eyes.

It hadn’t.

Somewhere along the way I’d quietly tied my worth to my profession. Retirement took away the title, but I was the one trying to silence my own voice. It took this little hiccup to remind me that the title was never the point. The life behind it was.

So instead of withdrawing, I am re-energized, recommitted, and absolutely excited to see what the next chunk of time brings us all. Instead of putting away the pencil, I’ve sharpened it.

I hope these columns continue to offer you a few quiet minutes away from whatever headlines are competing for your attention. Maybe they’ll make you smile. Maybe they’ll remind you of someone you love. Maybe they’ll spark a conversation around your dinner table.

They remind me of something I almost forgot: our relevance is found in the experiences we’re willing to share and the connections we’re willing to make.

Oh! I’ve sharpened my pottery tools, too! As a matter of fact, I’ll be at the Art on the Bay in Alpena, MI, this weekend. Stop by and say hello. I’d love to see you.