Even retirees deserve a day off once in a while | Opinion

Retirement and the Work Ethic: Maine Educators Reflect on the “Can We Do Nothing Today?” Question

Portland, Maine – Retired English instructor and writing tutor Vicki Sullivan is a familiar face in Maine’s academic circles, known for her quick wit and her devotion to teaching. During her long career at a local high school, Sullivan was often met in the hallway by students asking, “Can we do nothing today?” Her customary reply was a blend of sarcasm and the familiar rhythm of school life: “No work, no pay,” or “That’s what you do every day.” The exchanges, while brief, have come to symbolize a deeper conversation about work, retirement, and the desire to pause.

Sullivan’s own approach to retirement is shaped by a lifetime of disciplined work habits. She grew up in a family whose roots trace back to the Depression era. Her mother frowned upon sick days, and the notion of a personal day off was unheard of. Her father, a steady presence at the local church, would often urge anyone in the room to “Keep on digging.” Even a coach at the University of Delaware, a friend of her father, would remind his football players that “On Labor Day you labor.” For Sullivan and many of her generation, the idea of doing nothing was rarely considered acceptable.

When her father retired, a friend advised him to “Plan every day.” That guidance was not heeded, and retirement proved a rocky transition. In her own case, Sullivan, now three years into retirement, still struggles to adjust. She has adopted a routine that mirrors her former life as a teacher: a daily to‑do list that she checks off with the satisfaction of a classroom bell ringing at the end of the day. The tasks are small—mailing a card or emptying the dishwasher—but they serve as a reminder that her days are filled with purpose.

Sullivan’s network of retired friends illustrates the variety of approaches to staying active. Michael, a former antiques shop owner, now spends his mornings organizing the many items in his garage. In a series of text messages, the two discuss their daily productivity, from Michael’s garage clean‑up to Sullivan’s “death cleaning,” a term she uses to describe downsizing holiday items for a less cluttered life. Another friend, a former police officer, juggles a full‑time teaching job, part‑time consulting, and various short‑term projects. When Sullivan joked that he “runs around as if the devil were after you,” he simply replied, “I don’t like to be idle.”

Sullivan also remembers a beloved friend, Gladys, who lived to 98. Before passing, Gladys kept an independent life: she cooked, maintained her home, and drove. At 97, during a doctor’s appointment, Gladys told the physician she didn’t feel particularly ambitious. The doctor, unperturbed, asked, “Why do you need to be ambitious at 97?” The exchange underscored the generational tension between the desire to remain productive and the freedom to relax.

The COVID‑19 pandemic forced many retirees to confront a reality that had long been avoided. Sullivan herself was laid off during the spring semester when the virus hit, and for the first time since her student days, she found herself unable to fill her schedule with purposeful activity. She was one of many who, for the first time, had to confront the idea of “doing nothing.”

Yet, for Sullivan and her peers, the idea of a day without work is not an affront but an invitation. “Let’s do nothing today,” she writes, acknowledging that, after decades of hard work, many deserve a chance to unwind. The column serves as a reminder that retirement need not be a time of purposeless idle, but also a period in which retirees can choose to rest without shame.

In Maine’s retirement communities, the conversation around work ethic versus leisure remains alive. For those who grew up in an era that prized diligence, the prospect of a quiet day is both a challenge and an opportunity. And as the state’s retirees reflect on the legacy of their hard‑earned lives, they are finding new ways to balance productivity and peace, sometimes by simply saying, “Can we do nothing today?”