Retired is a seven-letter word for dead. At least that's what I read in one of the many stories that have attracted my interest as my retirement nears. This wasn't a story about people who retire only to find that they hate having so much time on their hands. I know that isn't me. I'm full of ideas about what I'll do next.

No, this story was about people who like their work and want to keep doing it, but less of it, when they retire. If they say they're retired, the story said, they are soon forgotten in their profession.

"It's a negative word," Susan Stone told the New York Times. "It creates the impression that you've left the busy, active world."

The story went on to suggest that retirees refer to themselves as self-employed or independent contractors, consultants or pro-bono workers.

That all sounds a bit euphemistic to me. It is true that I am transitioning this month into a new life. It will include research and writing, mainly in history, and I'll continue to contribute to the Monitor and other publications.

That may sound like what a freelance writer does, but in my experience, this term connotes dogged effort and a hand-to-mouth existence. I'd rather be retired.

Besides, to some extent, I want to be left alone.

I loved running the newsroom at the Monitor and wouldn't trade those years for anything. Still, working my final full-time year at the paper as a writer brought into sharp focus some of the components of my old job.

The obvious one, and the reason I moved to the reporting staff, was that, as editor, I didn't have enough time to write. Most days during the last year, my mission has been to write at least 1,000 words. The only things that kept me from it were stretches when I had heavy outside responsibilities.

In the past, I often wrote for hours during weekends because weekends were when I had time to do it. During the last year, I have passed some weekends without writing at all, and suffered no guilt over it. I return to the keyboard Monday mornings eager and refreshed. I love waking up thinking, "What am I going to write today?"

Because I have so enjoyed this experience, I came to see other aspects of the editor's job that I did not miss. I might go to work with a to-do list just a few items long: critique the front page, compliment Annmarie Timmins on her story in this morning's paper, speak with a young reporter about getting to the point sooner in his stories, meet with editors about coverage of the coming campaign. Before I knew it, the clock had struck 7 p.m. and I had not done one of those things.

Why? Because events over which I had no control shaped my days. Tasks walked in my door, called me on the phone or showed up in my e-mail inbox. Someone was sick and I needed to arrange a fill-in or fill in myself. There were more letters to the editor than usual. A reader had a complaint that needed addressing. A staffer gave notice and we had to strategize about what to do next. A big news story broke.

Next day, same thing.

This is not a complaint. I loved the unpredictability of the job. It's just that to see it as it was, I had to leave it. Now I know why it was so difficult to think big thoughts and turn them into action. Now I see why I so often sacrificed what I needed to do (my to-do list) and wanted to do (write).

My writing year has been a transition into retirement - and I don't mind that word. I'll still be a writer, author and amateur historian, but I'll set my own pace and leave time to tend to other aspects of my life: to travel, canoe and hike, be a better husband and citizen, read more for pleasure, dig into archives, maybe even learn to cook. At least that's the plan.

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