A recently retired writer filled every page of her new diary within months — exercise, coffee dates, projects, lists. On paper, an enviable retirement. In private, a nagging question: who am I when I'm not producing anything?
That question sits at the heart of a reflective piece from Scandinavia Standard, which borrows the Swedish idea of lagom — usually glossed as 'not too much, not too little' — and applies it to life after work. The argument is simple but uncomfortable: most of us spend decades having our worth confirmed by output, targets and people who need us. Retirement removes all of that almost overnight, and many retirees respond by quietly rebuilding the same productivity machine they just escaped.
The writer's own experience will feel familiar to anyone who has left a demanding job. About three months in, the emptiness hit hard. Structure, identity, connection and purpose had all arrived bundled with employment, and none of them came with a handover note. Her first instinct — pack the calendar — helped, but eventually raised a sharper question: was she building a life she wanted, or another system for proving she was still useful?
Lagom, she stresses, is not a commandment to slow down. Sweden's own framing describes it as 'just enough' or 'appropriate', and it will look different for everyone. One person's balanced retirement might mean volunteering, grandkids and language classes; another's might be long mornings, a garden and a stack of books. The test isn't how busy it looks from outside — it's whether the shape feels right to the person living it.
There's research behind the intuition, too. A set of four studies covering more than 1,300 people found that those who saw leisure as wasteful enjoyed it less, and reported more stress, anxiety and depression. The effect was strongest for activities done purely for pleasure — a walk 'counts' as exercise, but sitting in the sun with a coffee has no defensible output. Retirement research points the same way: people who adapt their sense of self, rather than clinging to the old job title, tend to fare better. 'I'm a teacher' carries more than an occupation; it carries competence, belonging and standing, and all of it needs somewhere to go when the role ends.
The writer is careful not to swing into rustic cliché. Enough is not deprivation dressed up as wisdom. A good retirement still needs movement, connection and some sense of mattering — plus enough structure that freedom doesn't go shapeless. The real shift is subtler: small pleasures like birdwatching, family history or French films may not produce an impressive answer to 'what are you doing now?', but the question itself might be too narrow. Some days will be full and purposeful; others are for tea that takes longer than strictly necessary. A life doesn't have to look impressive to feel like yours.
For travellers of a certain age — or anyone planning a slower chapter abroad — it's a useful reframe before booking that whirlwind retirement itinerary.
