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.

1.    A Personal Beginning,  
“I’m Sorry, But Not Sorry.”

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.

2.    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.

3.    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.

4.     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.


5.     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.

6.     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.

7.     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.

8.    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.  

9.    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.

10.    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.

11.    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.

12.    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.

13.    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?