Visualizing Retirement Before I Arrive There
In my baseball career, visualization was not optional. It was a tool.
I used it constantly. I would picture success, picture execution, picture the moment going right. Not every step of the path, but the shape and feeling of it. What it looked like when it worked.
I have started doing the same thing with retirement.
Not as an escape plan. Not as a countdown. As a design exercise.
I am not trying to run away from work. I am trying to get clear on what I am moving toward. The path will change. The details will change. But the direction matters. It feels a lot like the old saying about dressing for the job you want. You start aligning now with the future you intend to grow into.
So I picked a simple scenario. A random Tuesday in the future. And I started there.
A Normal Tuesday, Not a Fantasy Day
It is early. Around 5:45 or 6:00 in the morning. My youngest is a senior in high school at this point, based on my current target timeline. I am up making breakfast for my wife, my youngest, and me. Nothing rushed. Nothing frantic. Just steady and present.
After that, I move to what used to be my office but now feels more like a study. I sit with coffee in my Eames chair. Early morning light. Quiet. Maybe I read, journal, check the news, or watch early golf coverage from the East Coast. Sometimes I am outside under the pergola when the Arizona heat allows it.
There is a ritual to the first hour. Calm. Slow. Grounded.
Later, my wife and I head to the club. She meets a friend or goes to the gym. I go to the practice facility. Putting. Short game. Sand work. A bucket or two on the range. Focused practice, not rushed reps.
Some days I play. Some days I hit the gym. On this Tuesday, I play.
We meet for a light lunch after. Something simple and clean. Conversation that is not squeezed between meetings. Then home for an early, thoughtful dinner. In the evening, I go to a culinary class. Not for a credential. For craft. For skill. For the joy of getting better.
That is not a vacation. That is not an indulgence. That is a normal day by design.
The Old Model of Retirement Was Wrong for Me
For most of my life, I accepted the cultural definition of retirement without questioning it. Stop working. Sit still. Fill the days with rest and distraction. Lawn chair living.
The closer I get to the possibility of retirement, the less accurate that model feels.
For me, retirement does not mean doing nothing. It means not working for someone else. It means I have secured enough financial freedom to choose what deserves my time, my focus, my intensity, my excellence.
I am not wired to sit still and disengage. That does not sound restful to me. It sounds empty.
What excites me is pursuit without pressure. Golf is a great example. There is no finish line in golf. Only practice, feedback, adjustment, and growth. The same is true for cooking, writing, mentoring, building, and learning. These are infinite games.
I also see this future in chapters. A first chapter of reset and refinement. A year of deep practice. Golf. Culinary training. Time with my wife. Recovery and recharge. Then a second chapter that turns outward again. Building something new. Contributing. Creating impact beyond my immediate circle.
Not stopping. Evolving.
Chosen Work Still Deserves Intensity
Even in my future, work does not disappear. It changes.
I am not fully there yet today. I still earn a living. I still carry responsibility. But even now, I can feel the shift starting. Not everything deserves my greatness. Not everything deserves my full emotional load.
Some things always will. My family. My faith. My craft. Mentoring younger reps when the opportunity appears. Passing along what others once gave me, not as the answer, but as perspective.
Cooking continues to teach me patience and attention. Skill by skill. Technique by technique. Deboning a whole chicken. Sharpening a knife and getting better at something tangible.
Intentional Luxury itself is part of this chosen work. It is outward-facing, but also deeply personal. Narrating what I am learning helps me understand it better. Teaching, or even just articulating, becomes a mirror.
The biggest difference is this. I am not trying to remove effort. I am trying to remove fear.
Chosen work feels different from required work. The pressure drops. The discipline stays. Urgency fades. Commitment remains. It feels like playing free. The same swing, without the tight grip.
The Feeling I Am Actually Designing For
Underneath all the activities is a feeling state.
Calm. Presence. Acceptance. Earned confidence. Flow.
I can feel it on certain days even now. A Saturday where I run errands, cook a thoughtful meal, try a new kitchen skill, spend time with my family, move my body, and end the day with good conversation. Nothing dramatic. Just grounded.
When I am in that state, my nervous system is different. My internal idle speed drops. I am not running hot all the time. The intensity does not disappear. It gets redirected.
It shows up as empathy. As better questions. As patience with craft. As steady diligence without panic. I used to worry that if the pressure went away, the drive would go with it. That has not been true. The drive remains. It just has somewhere healthy to go.
The real luxury I am building toward is the feeling of flow.
What Enough Unlocks
Enough does not mean I stop. It means I am finally free to enjoy.
I already recognize how good my life is. Truly. I enjoy most of it right now. Enough expands that enjoyment. It removes the background noise.
Decisions get cleaner and faster. I second-guess less. The “what if” voice changes tone. It becomes optimistic instead of defensive. What if this goes incredibly well. What if this opens something new.
Saying no gets easier. Respectful. Professional. Unapologetic. No unnecessary guilt layered on top.
Money becomes infrastructure instead of a scoreboard. Risk starts to feel energizing instead of threatening. Not reckless risk. Informed risk with a stable base.
Generosity opens up more naturally, too. When I am worrying less about my own security, I have more attention available for others. Mentorship. Philanthropy. Service. Impact.
Intensity, once self focused, turns outward.
A Tuesday Moment
I leave the practice range after a great short game session. Chipping is sharp. Lag putting is dialed. I made a run of eight footers that built real confidence. The sun is warm on my skin. The air has just enough breeze to feel alive.
Today I am playing.
I step to the first tee loose and clear. No overthinking. One simple swing thought. I make a smooth pass at it, about eighty percent effort, and the ball launches. Long. Straight. Center cut. A wedge from the fairway that lands just past the hole and spins back close. The putt drops. Birdie to start.
There are a couple mistakes later. They do not stick. I bounce back. I am not playing for status. I am playing for the game.
Lunch with my wife is relaxed and animated. We debate a movie we watched. We laugh. No clock pressure.
That evening in class, my knife feels like an extension of my hand. Freshly sharpened. It slides through an onion in clean, precise cuts. Butter hits the pan. The aroma rises. Timing, heat, and motion all line up. I am fully there.
And the thought passes quietly through my mind.
This is enough. I worked hard for this. I am grateful I get to live this life.
— Stephen
This is part of Intentional Luxury—a newsletter about building wealth, meaning, and legacy through thoughtful decisions. What does your version of a normal Tuesday look like? Hit reply—I would love to hear what you are designing toward.