At 70 I've stopped introducing myself with what I used to do because I realized every time I said 'I was a teacher', I was admitting that the most interesting thing about me ended six years ago

Last week at the grocery store, I ran into someone from my old school district. She was lovely, asking how I'd been, what I was doing now, and then came the inevitable question: "Don't you miss teaching?"

I smiled and said something polite, but inside I was thinking about how I'd just spent the morning learning to make sourdough bread, the afternoon writing about finding joy in unexpected places, and the evening video-calling my granddaughter. Yet somehow, none of those things felt worthy enough to mention compared to my former career.

That encounter crystallized something I'd been wrestling with for years. Every time I introduced myself as a "retired teacher" or said "I used to teach high school English," I was essentially announcing that my story's best chapters were behind me. It took me until 70 to realize how limiting that backward glance had become.

The weight of "used to be"

Have you ever noticed how we define ourselves by our past accomplishments, as if nothing we're doing now could possibly measure up?

For the longest time, I couldn't shake the habit. At parties, book clubs, even casual conversations with neighbors, I'd immediately reach for my teaching credentials like a security blanket. Thirty-two years in the classroom, two Teacher of the Year awards, countless students whose lives I'd touched. These felt like my identity papers, proof that I mattered.

But here's what I've discovered: every time I led with what I used to do, I was inadvertently dismissing everything I'm doing now. It's as if I was telling myself and everyone else that retirement marked the end of my interesting life rather than a fascinating new chapter.

The truth is, clinging to our former professional identities can become a crutch that prevents us from fully embracing who we're becoming. I think of it like wearing your old work badge to a beach vacation. Sure, it tells people something about you, but is it really relevant to the moment you're living in?

Breaking free from the professional identity trap

Kevin William Grant, a registered psychotherapist, puts it perfectly: "Retirement isn't just about money — it's about identity.

Who are you without your job?" That question haunted me for my first two years of retirement. After I left the classroom at 64, I felt utterly lost. Without lesson plans to create, papers to grade, or students to mentor, who was I?

The answer didn't come overnight. It took time to realize that I'd been confusing my job with my identity, my profession with my purpose. Yes, I had been a teacher, but teaching wasn't just something I did in a classroom. It was, and still is, part of how I move through the world. Now I teach through my writing, through conversations with younger friends navigating life transitions, through the stories I share with anyone willing to listen.

What helped me break free was actively choosing to introduce myself differently. Instead of "I'm a retired teacher," I started saying things like "I write about life transitions" or "I'm learning to make sourdough bread" or even "I'm figuring out what comes next." Each time I resisted the urge to mention my past career first, I felt a little lighter, a little more present in my actual life.

Discovering what makes you interesting now

You know what's fascinating? Once I stopped leading with my professional past, I discovered how much more there was to share. These days, when someone asks what I do, I might tell them about the essay I'm working on about finding purpose after loss. Or how I'm teaching myself watercolor painting despite having zero artistic talent. Or the hiking group I joined where everyone is over 65 and we call ourselves the "Creaky Knees Club."

I've mentioned Jeanette Brown's retirement guide before in my posts, and I keep coming back to it because she really nails this concept of identity transformation. One insight from her free guide that resonates deeply is how retirement is fundamentally an identity shift, not just a career exit. She describes it as involving real grief, relief, excitement, and confusion all at once. When I read that, I felt so seen. It perfectly captured the emotional rollercoaster I'd been riding since leaving the classroom. Understanding that this confusion was normal, even necessary, helped me stop fighting against it and start exploring who I might become. 

These days, my life is filled with activities and interests that have nothing to do with my teaching career, yet everything to do with who I am now. I volunteer at the library's literacy program, not because I was a teacher, but because I love books and believe everyone deserves to experience that magic. I write, not because I taught English, but because at 66 I discovered I had stories worth telling.

Final thoughts

At 70, I've finally learned that the most interesting thing about me isn't what I used to do but what I'm doing right now, today, in this moment. Every morning I wake up with the possibility of adding new dimensions to who I am. Some days that means writing an essay that helps someone else navigate their own transition. Other days it means perfecting my sourdough technique or having a deep conversation with a friend about what it means to age with grace and grit.

If you find yourself constantly reaching backward to define yourself, I invite you to try something different. Next time someone asks about you, share something from your present life first. Tell them about the book you're reading, the skill you're learning, the cause you're passionate about now. You might be surprised by how much more engaging these conversations become when they're rooted in your current reality rather than your past achievements. After all, the most interesting thing about any of us is that we're still here, still growing, still discovering new facets of ourselves, no matter how many years we've been on this earth.