CROSSING OVER

Say good-bye,
show me your love.

As you hold my hand,
my heartbeat softens,
eventually,
stops pulsing. 

When my terrestrial days finish,
shadows lurk in my life’s darkness
where only memories remain.

Flashing before my very eyes,
my entire life is replayed
in mere seconds not a lifetime.

A welcoming staircase appears,
dropping from the cloudless blue sky,
as an invitation from heaven.

I wondered if this was a dream,
everything looked familiar yet,
I’ve never been here before,

Once I arrived,
the gates opened.
I felt as if God embraced me,
with His heartfelt warmth and presence.

I was greeted
by past faces
of family and friends
from years past,
as if they knew of my coming.

From all those who remembered me,
tales of me were shared between tears,
and through all their muted voices.

Then I heard His thundering voice
welcoming me to my new home,
with a liturgy gifting peace.

So here I am now,
finding my way,
around here. 

I feel lost,
finding myself,
in a new shadow
of my former self.

 

BREAKING SILENCE AND SEPARATION

Anxiously waiting, watching, wondering who’ll move first,
From our very long overdue spoken greeting,
To an awkward, silent embrace of long-lost friends.

With an embrace imminent, I opened my arms,
As our aging bodies approached each other,
Like after a season’s lengthy hibernation.

After years without speaking or seeing each other,
First words, carefully crafted, avoiding some tears,
Though some streamed down our unshaven faces,

It felt like only yesterday since we last spoke, 
Yet, a simple, “Hello” broke the long silent void, 
A single voice dissolved time we thought were long lost.

Then slowly, all our words began to flow freely,
Like an artist’s brush dancing on a fresh canvas, 
Painting warm hues into a rising day’s landscape.

In that brief moment, nothing was lost between us,
Just old memories reclaimed and new stories shared, 
Opening new pathways to tomorrow’s friendship.  

BORROWED DAYS FROM FATHER TIME

Before I know it, 
Another week passes by,
But in reality, it’s a whole month.

“Can you slow it down?” 
Father Time just shook his head,
With a resounding, dissenting, “No!”

He explained to me,
“It will only go faster,”
just as another year passes by.

I fill all my days, 
I try to not waste a day, 
but somehow time seems to slip by me.

I glance at my watch,
Take a second longer look,
Only realize another day’s done.

I let out a sigh,
Out of my own frustration,
Knowing another day escaped me.

I make a promise,
As God is my soul witness, 
I’ll better plan my remaining days.

Father Time questions,
Whether or not to loan me,
Another day for my next chapter.

Then reminding me,
“Today’s been promised to you,”
“Make each moment count and memorable.”

I take time to thank, 
Both Father Time and God too,
For trusting me with their offering.

I heard both saying,
With their final words to me,
Which I’ll hold on to for all my days.

“When life throws a curve,
Reality settles in,
Tomorrow is not a guarantee.”

 

WHEN DAYS WHERE LONGER

Wearing only my t-shirt and house shorts,
I walked to the mailbox for the day’s mail. 
Quickly thumbing through it, they were all bills,
With a few pieces of junk and flyers.

As I opened my credit card statement,
I noticed it was now almost past due.
I decided to place a call to them,
Letting them know I just received the bill.

I told them I’ll mail out payment today,
So my balance won’t be credited late.
Before picking up the corded wall phone,
I fumbled for the telephone number.

I heard the dial tone, then continued,
Pressing down each of the numbered buttons.
Between silences, a low grumble played,
Until picked up by a robotic voice.

The voice greeted me, gave me some options,
I pressed the number for billing options.
There was a short wait for a live agent,
Her crystal clear voice confirmed my info.

I proceeded to state my question or two,
She listened attentively while I talked.
She asked if she could put me on a hold,
With my acknowledgment, there was silence.

Within a few minutes her voice returned,
Answering my questions with a smile.
She confirmed my payment will post timely,
So long as its post marked with today’s date.

I thanked her for her time and went on my day.
Put the corded phone back on its cradle.
Then headed to the den for my checkbook,
I wrote out a check for the amount due.

I scribbled in all the payment details, 
Into the mess of a check register.
I gently detached the payment coupon,
From the rest of my credit card statement.

I stuffed both payment coupon and the check,
In the wrinkled envelope tucked within.
Before I sealed the envelope, I checked
Then double checked contents, all good to go.

Found a stamp and a return address label,
And now it was ready to be mailed out. 
I mailed it at the nearest post office,
Making sure its postmark shows today’s date.

In the naive eyes of today’s young folks, 
It only takes a few cell phone keystrokes.
All done before the morning coffee cools,
They never knew anything different.

Yet, there was comfort in those slower steps,
A quiet rhythm woven through the day.
The stamps, the glue and the race to beat the clock,
Life moved at the pace of paper and ink.

But time has a habit of moving on, 
Breaking old routines and changing habits.
We traded patience for convenience,
Losing small rituals we didn’t know we’d miss.

LETTING GO DOESN’T MEAN WALK AWAY

My regular readers will recognize familiar threads woven through these pages — moments from my first days at the YMCA, echoes from the years that followed and reflections shaped long after I retired. These themes return not because I’ve forgotten I’ve written them before, but because they continue to reveal new angles, new lessons, new truths worth holding up to the light again. Some stories ask to be revisited. Some experiences deepen each time we look back at them. This collection honors that rhythm – even when at times they don’t necessarily follow expected chronological timelines.

 

After one year of retirement, I gathered my reflections into a piece called A Manifesto of Lessons Learned in My First Year of Retirement. I wrote it almost exactly on the anniversary of stepping away from my career.  If there’s one thing decades in the YMCA taught me, it’s how to respect a calendar. That first piece was my attempt to make sense of what the year had taught me, or at least convince myself I hadn’t spent twelve months reorganizing closets or mindlessly watching television and pretending that counted as “growth.”

 

A few months later, I followed it with Echoes of My Past Shape My Third Act, which dug into a quieter truth: I wasn’t regretting early retirement — I was grieving the end of an illustrious career. Apparently, you can miss something and still be glad you left it, which feels unfair, like emotional fine print no one warns you about.

 

The shift itself was abrupt. One day my calendar was packed with meetings over meals, coffee catch‑ups, hallway conversations, and the steady hum of people needing things from me. The next day, all of it stopped. No warning, no tapering, just… silence. It’s hard not to call that a loss, even if part of me enjoyed the sudden freedom to eat lunch without an agenda. What took longer to understand was that I wasn’t just adjusting to a new routine; I was mourning the part of myself shaped by decades of purpose, responsibility, and connection. A long, meaningful career occupies more than your schedule — it occupies your identity. Letting go of that was something I had to grieve in my own time, preferably with coffee, long walks, and the occasional pep talk reminding myself that “unstructured time” is not a moral failing.

 

1.    A Career Built on Contribution, Not Spotlight

 

YMCA careers take many shapes. Some people move through multiple associations, collecting titles and chasing the next challenge. Others, like me, spend decades rooted in one place, building programs, relationships, and culture from the inside out. My work was never about visibility; it was about contribution — the quiet kind that keeps an organization steady.

 

For more than forty years, I worked behind the scenes to make the magic happen. I wasn’t chasing corner offices or spotlight moments. I was the steady presence who made sure the lights came on, the programs ran, and the payroll didn’t implode. That rhythm suited me. It shaped me.

 

On my last day, I walked out the same doors I’d walked through for decades. No confetti, no montage — just me, a box of memories, and a key card that no longer opened anything. Simple, fitting, and exactly my style.

 

2.    Retirement Changes the Schedule, Not the Wiring

 

Retiring two days before my fifty‑fifth birthday wasn’t an escape or a crisis. It was intentional — the first time I chose my life’s pursuits over my career’s demands. Today’s workforce is used to change; lifers like me experienced fewer transitions, so when the big one comes, it can feel abrupt. But abrupt doesn’t mean negative. It just means different.

 

Retirement changes your calendar, but it doesn’t change your wiring. After years in a mission‑driven community, you don’t simply flip a switch and disconnect. Most of us look forward to the same things: time with family, relocating or downsizing, long-delayed travel, hobbies we set aside, trying new ones, or simply breathing after years of service. There’s no single path — and no wrong one.

 

3.    Identity Evolves, It Doesn’t Disappear

 

What surprised me wasn’t the quiet — it was realizing how much of my identity had been stitched into the Y polos I wore over the years. I was Robert the payroll guy, the grant writer, the trainer, the program director, and the association historian. I was the one people came to for answers, history, or a calm voice in the middle of chaos.

 

When that role ended, I had to ask a question I hadn’t asked in years: Who am I when no one needs anything from me?

 

The answer didn’t arrive dramatically. It came in small moments — morning walks, quiet afternoons, conversations with friends who knew me long before job titles did. I realized I was still the storyteller. Still the listener. Still someone who values connection, even if I prefer it in smaller, more intentional doses.

 

Identity doesn’t evaporate. It evolves.

 

4.   Rebuilding Connection With Intention

 

Like many men, most of my friendships lived inside the workday. We bonded through tasks, not dinners or weekend plans. When the job ended, some relationships naturally shifted — not out of malice, just out of distance.

 

But losing the surface‑level connections made the meaningful ones stand out. A few coworkers became chosen family, the kind who stay long after the name badge is gone. Community doesn’t disappear; it just needs to be rebuilt with intention.

 

As a social introvert, I’m learning to build connection differently now — smaller circles, deeper conversations, and more time with people who matter.

 

5.    Why Some Retirees Return — and Why Some Don’t

 

For many Y retirees, letting go doesn’t feel like closing a chapter so much as setting down a familiar book. Not everyone chooses to pick it back up. Nearly half of Y retirees prefer not to stay connected at all, and that percentage continues to rise. Those who do reconnect often wait a year or more. Both choices are valid. Whether you return often, occasionally, or not at all, the years you gave remain part of the story.

 

For those who eventually wander back, the connection looks different than it once did. No roles. No responsibilities. No advice. Just presence, shared history, and the comfort of familiar faces.

 

It’s rarely about programs or policies. It’s about walking into a lobby where someone still remembers your name. It’s about catching up with a former coworker who knew you long before retirement reshaped your days. It’s the ease of conversations that don’t require explanation — simply being there.

 

6.   Presence Without Pressure

 

What returning isn’t is stepping into the role of advisor or mentor. Experience only becomes guidance when someone asks for it. Otherwise, it can feel like interference, especially in a world where the new generation wants the freedom to write their own story. That tension isn’t personal; it’s generational.

 

Staying connected becomes something simpler: presence without pressure.

 

Sometimes it’s sitting in the lobby with a cup of coffee. Other times it’s a conversation that drifts from memories to everyday life. Sometimes it’s simply being a familiar face in a place that once felt like a second home.

 

The Y doesn’t disappear — it changes shape. Staying connected means allowing your relationship with the Y to evolve into something lighter, rooted in shared history rather than responsibility.

 

7.    Why the Y Still Needs Its Retirees

 

Here’s the part we don’t talk about enough: the YMCA still needs its retirees. Not as relics, but as resources.

 

New staff walk in with energy and ideas, but they don’t always know the history behind the mission. They don’t know the stories behind the policies, the battles behind the budgets, or the values that shaped the culture they’ve inherited.

 

They need someone willing to share their own history and the association’s history on their terms.  Then relate it to the next generation not as advice but as perspective when they initiate conversations regarding topics such as variations of the proverbial – who? what? when? where? why? and how?   Here are some examples of questions I’ve asked my mentors over the years.

 

•       “Who are some key people I should get to know?”

•       “Who was that one person or two who provided you mentorship?”

•       “What was learned doing it the hard way?”

•       “What did you try that absolutely did not work?”

•       “When did you know the Y was your calling?”

•       “When did you know it was time to move on or retire?”

•       “Where do I go from here?”

•       “Where did most of your support come from?”

•       “Why did you do it this way?”

•       “Why did you stick it out through all the changes?”

•       “How can I build my own story to share?”

•       “How do I know if I am ready for the next step?”

 

Sharing that history isn’t nostalgia. It’s stewardship. It’s giving the future a head start.

 

Staying connected doesn’t mean hovering or reliving old days. It means offering perspective, the kind that helps the next generation avoid the potholes we already fell into — sometimes twice. It means being the anchor while they chart the course. It means giving context, clarity, and continuity — the things only experience can provide.

 

Legacy isn’t about titles. It’s about the lives we touched and the wisdom we can still give.

 

8.   A Wider Path Forward

 

Retirement isn’t an ending. It’s a widening — of time, perspective, and possibility. Letting go doesn’t mean walking away. It means walking differently, with intention and clarity.

 

The Y shaped me, but it didn’t define all of me. I’m still the storyteller. Still the person who shows up when it counts. Still someone who values connection — just not the kind that comes from a crowded room or a packed calendar.

 

What I’ve come to understand is simple: letting go of a job doesn’t mean letting go of the impact you made. The movement continues, and we still have a role to play.

 

Sharing what we know isn’t holding on. It’s passing something forward.

 

It’s important to remember if chose to go back, sometimes it’s enough just to sit, to listen, to talk and to understand letting go doesn’t mean walk away.

 

That alone is a legacy worth offering.

 

 

 

THE PEN SPEAKS MY MIND

I have always said,
my written word,
speaks louder
than my 
voice.

I can recall and remember,
Then I take my time,
ensuring timelines are on point,
details are coherent,
ruminate each rewrite 
and carefully craft 
each written word.

If I were to use 
my voice,
I fear,
I either will 
short change the story 
I am about to share or worse,
exaggerate and elongate 
the tale I am about to tell.

Once they leave my voice,
There’s no offer to taking back,
nor redo’s, nor retractions.

Once recited, 
it left my thoughts,
through my voice 
pass through my lips 
then without fail 
it’s gone forever, 
without a copy of 
what was said.

Or worse…
becoming a 
he said 
versus
they said,
with truth muddled 
somewhere in between.

Perhaps, 
when I speak,
I get clumsy at the podium,
and stutter my words
as I know I will.
It’s then I have 
lost my pace
then my purpose. 

Once I finish,
I became my worst enemy,
I try to recall my words
but best I can do is ruminate.

So I return to the page,
where my thoughts slow down,
where truth doesn’t tremble,
and clarity waits for me.

Here,
the pen speaks my mind—
and finally,
I hear myself,
before anyone else does.

UNCOVERING MYSELF THROUGH NEW ROUTINES

It’s been just over a year,
Seems like only yesterday,
Since I retired
From my career at the Y.

I spent time,
More than I probably should have,
I ruminated and
Created an old school
Pro’s and con’s list.

While emptying boxes,
A tissue or two wipes away tears
As old memories resurface.

But now its done,
Everyone asks me,
How will I fill my time,
Which will be my own.

I honestly said,
That is no issue,
As I have plenty,
Keeping me busy.

I wake up early,
Way before the sun,
Get the java going,
I no longer race,
Beating morning rush,
Get to work early,
No longer eat breakfast,
In the car or on the go
Avoiding traffic,
But in facing the rat race
Of the office politics,
Of the favorites and
Of the never ending
Phone calls, emails and visits.

I only race
Out the door to the beach,
Where I race the clock,
Greeting the waking sun,
As it scrambles the horizon,
Climbing above the ocean,
Greeting me back with His light.

I still try to workout,
Most days of the week,
At my local Y.

Before my body,
Feels any movement,
I start with my mouth,
A quick chat amongst,
My closest friends.
Only then I am ready,
Getting my muscles moving
Preventing aging and decay.
I am a far cry,
Being a gym rat,
But allows me to splurge,
In those evil treats,
Which all my life,
Bombarded my senses,
From all directions.

I fill my,
Voids in my day,
With whatever fills,
My balance of joy,
Finish chores and
Chase any errands,
Catch-up chit-chat,
With friends,
Who really are family,
Over a shared a meal,
Then catch-up on,
Latest happenings.

I find my way home,
Grab the closest drink,
With no other plans,
Take a long shower,
Get dressed in home threads,
find my comfy chair,
Either listen to,
My favorite songs,
Or put on TV,
To binge a season,
Or more of something,
I waited to watch,
When I looked the time,
Maybe find the time,
To plan my next trip.

I later decide lunch,
Meet up with a pal,
Or make something here,
It’s one of a few,
Hard pressed decisions,
I am forced to make,
Each and every day.

I return to my home,
Ready for a nap,
Maybe take time for,
One of my many
Solo diversions.
Which I fought for time,
Before this new normal.

Finding time to write,
Or even to sketch,
Or paint a picture,
Or read a novel,
Or catch up on mail,
Or some new hobby,
Which I have yet to learn,
But have the time to learn.

With more time to spare,
I try recipes,
Which collected dust,
From not seeing light,
In my junk drawer,
Or the one I caught,
Watching too many
Cooking TV shows.

I invite friends over,
Share a meal and
Some stories and more,
Maybe a movie,
Or old school board games,
Make for a relaxed,
Evening for all.

Once the evening ends,
I’ll clean up the mess,
With a smile on my face,
From new memories created,
Of the night’s events.

Then when I’m ready,
I’ll call it a night,
Say a prayer or two,
Then lights off,
Only to repeat it,
On another day.

But in reality,

Yet,
I still struggle
finding and accepting,
My new normal,
My new routines,
My new social circles,
My new triggers,
My life as I know it.

I realize I am,
No longer the shy boy,
Now a middle aged man,
I have grown to call myself,
The learned social introvert,
Where I love being with people,
Yet, my life battery drains,
Needing a full recharge,
Before I can do another round.

I reflect back,
How far I have come,
I can stand tall and proud.
With a longstanding legacy,
I left behind for years to come.

Where I first started,
Over few decades ago,
To where I finished up,
My life played out much like
A few good rounds of poker.
I played all my chips at once,
I doubled down with nothing to lose,
And after a few royal flushes,
I walked away smiling,
Knowing I won life’s jackpot.

ON BECOMING AND BELONGING TO FAMILY

I cried today, not once but twice,
Much like a creek flowing slowly.
I bowed my head into my hands,
With no words to say, only thoughts.

I dwelled on the weight of my world,
Tears rolled down my unshaven face.
Thoughts of no family close by,
An only child, I’m alone.

Growing up I always saw my friends,
With large extended families.
Wondering what it would be like,
Having siblings and grandparents.


My blood family is distant,
Some were near only in distance.
A few forged family close bonds,
Others were strangers crossing paths.

My parents shared their memories,

Of those left behind the iron curtain.
We met only in recent years,
Once the divide just disappeared.

With each year quickly passing by,
No words to say, phones sat silent.
When time together slipped away,
Arranging visits grew harder.

Feeling less like a family,
More like long lost acquaintances.
I questioned what is family,
As it’s not just shared blood lineage.

I was welcomed with open arms,
By my closest circle of friends.
In a few years, they have become,
Nothing less than chosen family.

Newly framed family photos,
Reveal my brothers and sisters.
Also, aunts, cousins and uncles,
Grandmothers and grandfathers too!

I cried today, not once but twice,
Like a rapid raging river.
Sensing I’m no longer alone.
I raise my head high now, I’m blessed.

 

 

 



A LEDGER OF MY TIME

Costing of my time is priceless,
In terms of any currency.
It becomes totally worthless,
Even in its apparency.

I freely just give it away,
No set timeline to be paid back.
Please just don’t let it go astray,
It takes time to get back on track.

Somehow In my younger years, 
The hours of the days seem longer.
As I get less young, each year blurs,
Regretfully, I conquer.

Life, like a video player 
With just the play button working,
Replay is at your mind’s favor,
Since the rewind button’s missing.

Yet, it seems record is always stuck,
Even when I tried to fix it.
Seems to store my life in a trunk,
Even ones I’m ready to split.

There are days I contemplate,
Flashing back to life’s past moments.
Mostly pleasant, some captivate,
Others stay in disagreements.

Living life filled with no regret,
Only a few disappointments.
Just shadows of my silhouette,
Leaving my life with no judgments.

Seeing life played out everywhere,
Each day carrying its own theme.
I suddenly become aware,
This wasn’t another night’s dream.

 

BRANCHING OUT FROM MY OLD ROOTS

Staring out to sea,
I stand tall and proud, 
Watching over you,
Enduring each storm.

I swayed in the wind, 
Bending with each breath, 
Never showing pain,
I felt with each gust.

I felt every pull,
Each and every one,
Without shedding tears,
I stayed numb to pain.

Until that one day,
When I couldn’t stand,
I finally broke,
Just below my core.

The day I stood firm,
Refusing to flex,
I just cracked in half,
Losing my character.

Waiting for someone,
To pick up pieces,
One by one or more,
Of what’s left of me.

I can only hope,
They put my roots down,
Back in the moist ground,
To start life again.

With new beginnings,
My new roots take hold,
Green leaves start to bloom,
Branches sprout about,

Proving once again,
Resilience wins,
As the life’s cycle,
Renews once again.

ECHOES OF MY PAST, SHAPE MY THIRD ACT

The only thing on my mind that first day of employment, July 1, 1984, as a junior summer camp counselor was if I would survive working a mostly outdoor summer camp in the heat of a south Florida summer.  It was not even a distant thought if this organization would be one I could spend my high school years with let alone have a lifetime career with.  On December 13, 2025, I officially retired from the YMCA of South Florida after just over forty years of service in a variety of capacities.  Though I did not retire with the coveted gold watch, a large bonus check and an all-expense paid trip of a lifetime.  Yet, I retired with much more in terms of wealth of friends who became nothing less than family, left an impact in multiple capacities and can readily say, I had a blessed career filled with more “up’s” than “down’s”.  I  was part of a dynamic evolving organization which I contributed significantly to in multiple departments.

My apologies for being a bit egocentric in writing this from my own perspective of retiring after a fantastic, just‑over‑forty‑year career with the YMCA of South Florida. I can only share my own experiences as I write this. Yet I believe anyone reading my journey can still take something away from it — and relate it to their own.

1.    The Storyteller Behind the Stories, 
“Once Upon A Time… No, Stop!”

My life has always been an open book of experiences I share with anyone willing to lend an ear. This was true long before I began posting my stories and poetic parables on my blog. Writing doesn’t just let me express myself — it exposes the real me.

Anyone who knows me has heard me say that my written word is better than my spoken word. When I speak, I often feel as if I’m standing naked in front of strangers. When I write, I’m still naked — just comfortably hidden behind my laptop. It’s the one place I can watch every word, revise as many times as I need, and feel both authentic and vulnerable at the same time.

Think of it like Sophia from The Golden Girls saying, 

“Picture it…” 

And suddenly you’re transported to another time and place. Unlike Sophia, I don’t have the Sicilian‑Brooklyn accent or a captive audience — but I am far more likely to write my tales than tell them.

People often mistake my ability to chat with anyone for extroversion, when in truth I’m more of a social introvert. The larger the circle, the faster I lose energy. Writing lets me dive into details I’d never share in conversation with anyone outside my closest circle. And once you get to know me, you learn quickly there’s always a story waiting to be told. 

I can practically hear the whispers:

“There goes Robert again, another story to share…”

Getting to know me can take days or decades, but only I decide how much of myself I’m willing to share. I have friends of only a few years who know my innermost thoughts, and friends of decades who never made it past the welcome mat of my soul. It’s not dishonesty — it’s a fail‑safe security mechanism. I open up only when I feel comfortable.

And while I’m well‑read in business management and best practices, my writing rarely fits those models. I’m certainly not an eighty‑something Sicilian grandmother with a wicker purse — but I do try to keep my tales personal and relatable.

2.    Leaving the Y,  
“Now What Next?”

As I walked out of the YMCA for the last time after just over forty years, I half‑expected a dramatic farewell — sunset, swelling music, maybe a slow‑motion wave goodbye. Instead, I turned in my keys, access badge, and laptop, drove home, and woke up the next morning with no one asking me for a manual check, a signature, a payroll report, or sometimes just someone to chat with who understood their frustrations.

After decades of being needed, the first Monday morning, the quiet was so loud, I checked to make sure I hadn’t overslept or that the phone still worked.  The pace albeit slower didn’t stop my typical routine to wake, get ready and get my workout in at my local YMCA family center and then get my day going yet with no agenda, no meetings, no deadlines just a day to begin absorbing my new reality.

I expected to miss the work. What surprised me was how much I missed the echo of it — the small, everyday moments that never made it into a report but somehow shaped a lifetime.

3.     What Legacy Really Means,
 “It’s Not Who I Was!”

Legacy is a word people love to use once you retire. They say it with such seriousness you’d think I was being inducted into the YMCA Hall of Fame, complete with velvet ropes and a plaque no one dusts. It sounds big — like something carved in stone or announced at a retirement banquet. But those of us who spent our careers in the YMCA movement know better.

Legacy isn’t the plaque on the wall. It’s the people who walked through our doors and left a little stronger, a little steadier, a little more hopeful than when they arrived. I’ve learned to smile politely, but between us: legacy is far less dramatic and far more human.

4.     The Echo That Stayed, 
“Just As My Heart Beats”

Once the initial shock wore off and the dust settled, something unexpected happened: the memories started bubbling up. Not the official accomplishments, the grants I helped secure, the programs I implemented, or the payrolls I processed — but the small, wonderfully human moments that stitched my career together.

Retirement gives me time to notice that. Time to look back and realize that the real legacy of a YMCA career isn’t measured in programs launched or budgets balanced. It’s measured in the quiet ways we helped people feel seen. It’s in the stories others still tell about us, sometimes without our knowing. It’s in the habits of kindness we passed on simply by showing up, day after day, with our sleeves rolled up and our hearts open.

5.     Moments That Whisper, 
“You Made a Difference”

I’ve come to believe that legacy doesn’t end when the job ends. It shifts. It softens. It becomes less about what we built and more about who we continue to be.

If you work at the YMCA long enough, there’s always one moment that sneaks up on you and says:

“This is why you’re here.”

Like the child with special needs who met a developmental milestone, or the parent who cried when seeing their child finally repeating the same. Perhaps it was the staff member who told me I was the first supervisor who ever asked how their weekend really was — and then waited for the answer. Maybe it was the shy, quiet child (much like myself) arriving for their first day of camp and leaving the final day with boisterous confidence.

Those moments don’t make it into retirement speeches, but they’re the ones that follow you home. They’re the ones that whisper:

“You made a difference!”

Even on the days you felt held together only by coffee and good intentions.

6.     The Beginning, Hidden Inside the Ending, 
“Trust Me, Its Not The End!”

When I announced my intention to retire to our President/CEO, I mentioned my desire is for my selfish interest as I want to put me first after years of putting families and staff before my very own needs for so many years.  I want to travel more, spend quality time with my Mom, perhaps get to know my family overseas better, pursue hobbies and interests that I kept putting on the back burner for years as I just didn’t have time between maintaining a full-time career and either going to school and/or being a caretaker for an ill parent.  One of these is spend some more time to focus on my storytelling and writing.

Retirement is often described as an ending, but for many in the YMCA family, it feels much more like a beginning. After decades of service — whether in wellness, aquatics, child care, administration, or community outreach — we step away from the daily rhythm of the Y only to discover that the values we lived there continue to shape our days in surprising ways.

One of the greatest gifts of retirement is time: time to breathe, to wander, to reconnect with old passions or uncover new ones. Yet many retirees quietly admit that the transition can feel disorienting. For years, our calendars were full, our roles were clear, and our sense of purpose was woven into the lives of the people we served. When that structure slips away, it’s natural to ask:

“What now?”

The good news is that purpose doesn’t retire. It simply changes shape.  Though not a day is scheduled or planned out too rigidly, there’s not a day I go by being bored, only questioning, 

“What do I want to try next?”

I started asking myself what I wanted to try next, I realized something important: beginnings don’t happen in isolation.  Even the most personal reinvention still depends on connection — the people who walk beside us, challenge us, or simply remind us we’re not alone in the process.

For now, don’t worry, I promise – no skydiving or anything involving high heights.

7.    When the Dots No Longer Connect, 
“Standing Alone But Not Lonely”

That’s when I began noticing what I missed most after retiring: the everyday connections that once filled my days without my even realizing it.  The hallway conversations, catching up over a cup of coffee, sharing mission moments and even celebrating birthdays and other milestones — all the small threads that quietly held my work life together and offered balance for those not so easy days.

Connection remains essential. Many retirees of both genders tell me they miss the camaraderie of the conversations chatted, tales told and the stories shared which made even the busiest days feel worthwhile.  Unlike women, men do not fare as well in keeping in contact or maintaining relationships upon changes or separations in life.

Like most men, I find myself increasingly more of a loner as I become older and find it harder to maintain or even make new friends.  When I was younger, similarly shared experiences and responsibilities to meeting expected milestones of graduation, careers, marriage and families easily lent themselves to making new friends.  As we get older and the forks of our lives spread out much like the branches of an older tree, the further I am from the root of the foundation of friends.  

8.    Finding New Ways to Serve, 
“Reinventing Me!”

As a younger retiree, I’ve found it challenging to meet new people — those my age are still working, and those older often have established routines.  The struggle for this is real.  I don’t quite have answers how to do better in lessening the distance and increasing the bonds that brought us together.  I found one way is to give back your expertise by volunteering with organizations sharing your values and support causes you believe in.  Though I have not gotten involved yet, I am grateful to know there’s groups like YMCA Alumni and Y Retirees.  These matter so deeply on so many levels.  They offer a place to stay linked — to each other, to the movement, and to the sense of belonging that has always been at the heart of the Y.

Many of my fellow YMCA retirees find meaningful ways to stay engaged — some expected, some delightfully unexpected.  Some find themselves continuing to lead community development.  A former program director leading a neighborhood walking group or a retired aquatics director teaching water safety to new parents. One longtime administrator taking up storytelling, sharing decades of Y history with local schools and libraries.  None of these roles come with a paycheck, but all of them carry the same spirit of service that defined our careers.

But connection doesn’t have to be formal. It can be as simple as checking in on a former colleague, joining a local volunteer project, or sharing a story with someone who needs encouragement. The wisdom accumulated over a lifetime of service is a resource worth passing on.  

I participate in a few writing circles and storytelling groups and give back by participating in various community events until I find the one that fits right – then I will focus more energies to those agencies which I have a kindred affinity for what they stand for.

Finding new ways to serve has helped me stay connected, but it also reminded me of something I spent years overlooking: service is only sustainable when we care for ourselves, too.  After decades of putting others first, I’m learning that giving back and tending to my own well‑being aren’t opposites — they’re partners.  One strengthens the other.

9.    Caring for Ourselves, Too, 
“Time For Me, First”

Retirement has finally given me the space to practice that balance.  It invites me to care for myself with the same intention I once brought to caring for others.  Many retirees are rediscovering the joy of morning walks, yoga classes, gardening, or simply watching the sunrise over a cup of coffee. Wellness looks different at every age, but the Y’s message remains the same: movement, community, and balance matter.

As we navigate this new chapter, it helps to remember that the Y was never just a workplace. It was — and is — a community built on compassion, resilience, and hope. Those qualities don’t fade when we hang up our ID badges for the last time. They continue in the way we show up for our families, our neighbors, and ourselves.

After a good workout or a good night’s sleep, I find myself, several times a week taking a ride out to the beach and welcoming the day with the sun rising over the ocean.  This is my happy place and find my inner peace when I start my days here.

10.    Where My Legacy Lives Now, 
“Blessings Show-Up”

These days, my legacy shows up welcoming the day with sunrise at the beach where I remember the people who shaped me. It shows up in the conversations with friends who became nothing less than family over the years.  It shows up when I share a story — sometimes humorous, sometimes tender — helping someone else feel less alone.  It shows up by offering a helping hand in both my career skills and experiences to causes I believe in.  Blessings show-up in countless ways proving once again, my legacy is still being written.  

Unlike Sophia’s, 

“Picture it…” 

my stories usually begin with:

“You won’t believe what happened at the Y that day when…”

It doesn’t take long for someone to laugh, nod, or say:

“I needed to hear that.”

It shows up when I check in on someone who once checked in on me. It even shows up when I take a nap without guilt, because after decades of caring for others, I’ve finally learned that rest is not a luxury but a legacy in itself.

11.    Legacy in the Third Act, 
“It’s Woven Into the Fabric of Who I Am”

Here’s the part I didn’t expect: legacy grows in retirement. We think of it as something behind us, but it’s also something we’re still writing. The third act of life is rich with possibility, and for those who spent their YMCA careers strengthening community, there may be no better time to rediscover the purpose that has always guided us forward.

As we navigate this third act, maybe the question isn’t:

“What legacy did I leave?”

but

“What legacy am I still creating?”

These days, when someone asks what legacy means in retirement, I just smile and say:

“It’s the ongoing story of who you are when no one is watching.”

If you can laugh at yourself along the way, even better — it keeps people guessing and makes the stories more entertaining. It happens behind the scenes, every time we mentor a younger colleague, volunteer in our community, or simply offer a steady presence to someone who needs it. We’re adding another chapter to our own legacy.

The truth is, a legacy with a wink is the kind people actually remember. Even in retirement, my legacy is still under construction. I’m building it between naps and sunrise beach walks, discovering that the third act is a lot more fun once you stop taking yourself so seriously.

Legacy isn’t behind me at all — it’s happening in real time, every time I check in on someone, share a story, or offer a steady presence to a person who needs it. Yes, it’s happening every time I say:

“You won’t believe what happened at the Y that day when…”

Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: the work continues, the stories get better, and my legacy keeps growing — especially when I leave room for a little humor along the way.

12.    And Finally…, 
“Some Last Thoughts”

I am, and remain, Robert — with my own lifetime of stories to share with anyone willing to lend an ear, or at least pretend to. I’m proud to say it wasn’t the paychecks that mattered most, but the footprints left on my heart and the impact i continue to make with the words i share and the actions i take.  My legacy is still being written, with each step i take and the difference i continue to make in the lives of others.  After all, my blog “Y Me Journey” wouldn’t exist without a story to share or a tale to be told on highlights of my wonderfully blessed journey.

When I awoke on Monday, December 16, 2025, it’s as if nothing changed but in reality everything changed when I retired and started writing echoes of my past which in turn helped me shape my third act.

Now I ask you … 
… what echoes of your past will shape your third act? 

A FAINT WATERMARK ON MY SOUL

I remember the day all too well,
As if it were only yesterday.
Yet, it happened forty years ago,
I was a sophomore in high school.

It was one of the coldest mornings,
South Florida faced in a while.
A sky painted in a cobalt blue,
With not even one cloud to be seen.

We were just high school kids way back then,
Not the middle-aged adults we became.
Chasing teachers who were the same age,
Quietly questioning their purpose.

The bell rang for early dismissal,
Another round of mid-terms finished.
Minds still buzzing with half-formed answers,
Pencils cooled as our hands set them down.

A favorite popular teacher,
Asked some of us to join her outside.
We spilled into the north parking lot,
Stood close for an impromptu lesson.

Pointing slightly to the northwest sky,
We squinted into the sky’s brightness.
She shared what we were about to see,
History about to be witnessed.

A sliver of a bright orange glow,
Streaking a white arc in its pathway.
Like a brush tip loaded with fresh paint.
Just waiting to paint a blank canvas.

We watched the Space Shuttle Challenger,
Climbing and speeding towards its orbit.
Like our teenage dreams of tomorrow,
Racing to paint life’s canvas today.

We cheered our brave heroes onward,
Without knowing, they raced to heaven.
Their fate sealed, January, twenty-eighth,
Nineteen eighty-six Anno Domini.

Reminding me, days when teachers asked,
Who will you become when you grow-up?
With excitement, I shared, a teacher,
As I was blessed with many great ones. 

When they named the first civilian,
Became a role model to follow.
A teacher named, Christa McAuliffe,
Only made chasing my dream real.

I recall, a teenage boy staring,
Upward to the night’s heavenly sky.
Hearing her enthusiastic words,
Exclaiming, “We’re reaching for the stars!”

We watched a scar of white plume follow,
Against the perfect cloudless blue sky.
Leaving our thoughts stranded somewhere there,
But definitely not here either.

Some of us gasped, others stayed silent,
We knew something went terribly wrong.
When asked, heaven refused to answer,
The sky’s permanent unforgiving view.

Our teacher’s voice took a moment, paused,
Quivered as she recited a prayer.
Slowly, we returned to our classroom,
She then tried to find words; silence spoke.

With no answers to what was witnessed,
She tuned the TV to local news.
The information came in pieces,
Like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

The room became earsplitting silent,
As if the world stood still and listened.
The news confirmed what we all just saw,
Challenger and crew met its demise.

Watching history before our eyes,
Suddenly, we seemed to feel older.
A day forever scarred in our minds,
Even when we took a step forward.

Watching from the shadows of my past,
I chose which memories filled my soul.
I think of who I was becoming,
Sometimes succeeded, at times I failed,

Like a faint watermark on my soul,
Her words guided my career choices.
As a promise I made to myself,
I still carry those words in my heart.

When life reveals teachable moments,
I leave my footprint on youth today.
It’s my way of reaching for the stars,
Where I still can make a difference.

Though I know it wasn’t yesterday,
The memory remains as real.
My senses distinctly remember,
How I felt, what I saw, what I heard.

I still can feel the cold winter breeze,
I still see cloudless cobalt blue skies,
I still hear the news reporting it,
But it happened many years ago.

I still try to make sense of it all,
Even when questions stir in my soul.
Yet, not quite understanding that day,
Nor do I try to figure it out.

I think of the teenage boy I was,
Gazing into the bright morning sky.
Realizing breaking is sometimes,
Beginning of learning then healing.

Serving as a lifetime reminder,
Heaven can fracture without warning.
Leaving us with prayers for tomorrow,
With better days than our yesterdays.

BAGGAGE OF BROTHERHOOD

Mission Accomplished. 

After a month or so of planning, I was able to pull off surprising one of my best friends of nearly four decades, or as I call him my brother.  Though I am an only child, he is one of the closest friends in my circle, I call his family, my family as well.

My brother and his daughter made plans to fly from Cleveland to visit his Mom and younger brother (my Jewish Mom and my little brother) and their respective life partners in Raleigh.  I got wind of this and contacted my Mom and told her my intentions and she was game for it as was my little brother.

Fast forward to December 26, 2025, I almost gave it all away when I signed off a final text with him to say, “See you later!”  I arrived on my flight about an hour prior to him and then had the pleasure to surprise greet him as he came down the escalator.  After recognizing my voice greeting him, he still had no idea where it came from.  He took a double take not just once, not twice but at least three times, I said, "Hey Stephen!" before he first spotted me.  I am certain he heard and recognized my voice but didn't know where it came from until, I stepped in front of him and welcomed him with a hug.

As they say the rest is history.  This is what true friendships are about.  It’s not just about being present to make new memories and catching up on life but being there in person in their time of need, regardless what that need may be.

Thank you Michelle Langel and Jack Berry for extending your gracious hospitality during my stay.  It was great seeing you Nicolas Langel and Claudette Cardounel it was great catching up and spending time with you.  Emily, your proof to make every day count as time does speed by faster than we can keep up and the importance to make every day count. I can’t believe you’re 16!

Lastly, Stephen Langel I enjoyed being able to spend some time catching up, laughing like old times, reminiscing and creating new memories.  We can't go so long without a visit!

Cheers to you all!

May New Year 2026 bring all my family and friends blessings of health, happiness and all that you wish and dream.

======================

Stop yelling, talk with me,
As if I give a damn.
Take a breath, talk with me,
As if I feel your pain.
I’ll listen, talk with me,
As if I’m somebody.

I am not just your friend,
In times of all life’s joy.
As you pour your soul,
Filled with raw emotions,
Into the open space
Between your heart and mine.
I am here to absorb,
Those painful moments too.

I hear pain in your voice,
Watching you fall apart,
With every word you speak.
Leaving me unshaken,
Yet, I remain grounded,
As I reassure you,
I am here for you now,
And all your tomorrows.

I am here to help you,
Carry all your baggage
Of despair, fears and tears.
I bring brand new luggage,
Filled with what you need most,
Empathy, love and hope.
I replaced the tired ones,
That caused you all your hurt.

I know a heavy weight
Lifted from your burden,
As you spilled your heart out,
All you held deep within.
I felt your body talk,
I answered without words,
With an acknowledgment
Of a few quiet nods.

With each sigh, you let go
Baggage weighing you down.
Your heartfelt tears dry up,
Before leaving a trace
On your unshaven face.
Slowly uncovering,
Then revealing, the man
I met decades ago.

I watched you carefully,
As you set free your thoughts.
Every last ounce pulled you
Closer to falling into
My eagerly awaited
Welcoming embrace
In helping you release
Pain you held way too long.

Life shifts without warning,
Like a game of poker.
Whether a royal flush,
Celebrating life’s wins
Or knowing when to fold.
Much like life’s unknown twists,
Hoping a better hand
Is around the corner.

It’s then I remind you,
As always, I am just
A phone call away or
Just a few hours by
Airplane or a car ride.
I promise you, my gift
Of always to be there,
In your greatest time of need.

If you listen closely,
You will hear the voices
Of both our dear mothers,
Sharing life’s wisdom and
Love for us, as they say,
That’s just what brothers do!

Greeting Stephen at RDU
 Airport on 12.26.25