I Don’t Want Easy. I Want Epic.

As I edge closer to my retirement in early 2026, I’ve found myself reflecting more and more on what this next chapter might look like. Retirement has always been something I looked forward to in the distant future, but now it’s just around the corner.

For a long time, I thought I had a clear idea of what I wanted from retirement. But something unexpected has happened in the past year, and my idea of retirement has started to shift. I used to think I wanted my retirement to be easy. Slower days, quiet travel, maybe a bit of gentle pottering around. But the closer I get to it, the more I realise that I don’t want easy. I want epic.

Looking back, I realise I was a bit ageist against myself, not consciously, but subtly. I had internalised some belief that slowing down was what I should want. But now, standing on the threshold of retirement, I feel completely differently. This stage of life feels full of possibility, of time, of choice, and I want to do something bold with it. For me, that means travel, yes, but most importantly, it means hiking. Hiking has completely shaped the second half of my life. I began walking seriously in my 40s, and it changed everything: my confidence, my friendships, my sense of self. It’s no exaggeration to say that hiking gave me a new identity, a new rhythm to my life. So as I think about the first year of my retirement, I know exactly what I want to do. I want to walk. I want to do something long. Something really long. For me, that means somewhere between 2,000 and 3,000 kilometres.

Why? Because I want that first 12 months to be about space. I want to give myself time to breathe, time to think, and time to gently but meaningfully transition from one life phase into the next. I want to create the kind of mental and emotional spaciousness that’s so rare when you’re working full time. I don’t want to fill the gap left by work with noise. I want to expand into it, step by step. There’s something about long-distance hiking that invites this kind of internal exploration. It’s not about pushing for peaks or ticking off challenges for me at this point. I’m not interested in breaking records or conquering mountains. What I want is endurance, not just physical, but emotional and spiritual too. I want to spend my days moving through landscapes slowly, absorbing the world around me, and letting thoughts rise and fall without interruption. I want to reflect on the life I’ve lived so far, and begin to imagine the one still to come.

I know I’m not alone in this. I think a lot of people my age are coming to similar realisations. We’re rejecting the narrative that retirement is about winding down. We don’t want to be told to “take it easy,” we want to be inspired. We want purpose. We want depth. Yes, we want joy and fun and indulgence too, but we also want meaning. There are so many great travel experiences out there for retirees: rail journeys, gentle cycling holidays, cultural trips with short daily walks. I love the sound of all of them and I may well do a few. But what I’m most drawn to right now is something long and open-ended. Something that takes stamina, both physical and emotional. Something that might even be a little uncomfortable at times. It’s not about adventure for adventure’s sake. I’m not chasing thrills. I’m chasing time. Time to just be, without deadlines, meetings, or emails. Time to let the layers of working life fall away and see what remains.

So what trail am I looking at? Well, first on my list is the Le Puy Camino in France. It’s a route RAW Travel offers, and I’ve spent years dreaming about it. I’ve done plenty of walking around the world, but I’ve somehow missed France. There’s something poetic about finally discovering it in my retirement years. But what’s really made the Le Puy route stand out in my mind over the years was something quite specific. I remember when Dave, the founder of RAW Travel, returned from walking it himself. This is a man who’s extraordinarily well-travelled, he’s seen and done so much, yet he came back from the Le Puy Camino genuinely lit up. His passion for the walk, the landscapes, the history, the people, the pleasure of the experience, he spoke about it with such joy and conviction that it stayed with me. It made me take notice. If a walk could move him that deeply, it had to be something special.

Another trail I’m excited about right now is one I only recently discovered called the Sultans Trail, a long-distance route from Vienna to Istanbul, crossing borders, cultures, and centuries of history. It’s roughly 2,300 kilometres and traverses countries I’ve never experienced on foot. It’s rich in history, shaped by empires, and full of cultural intersections. It speaks to both my curiosity and my desire for a slow, immersive journey. So keep an eye out because if I find a section I think you’ll love, I’ll be recommending it for RAW Travellers to experience and share.

What draws me to a walk like this isn’t a need to prove anything. It’s the desire to inhabit time more fully. We spend so much of our lives hurrying, moving between appointments, deadlines, checklists. Even holidays can start to feel rushed. But on a long-distance trail, that drops away. There’s room to just be. To let your thoughts unspool. To remember moments from your life you hadn’t revisited in years. To dream about what’s next. And I think that’s where this idea of epicness comes in. It’s not about grandeur. It’s about depth. This journey, whatever form it ends up taking, is my way of honouring all the phases of my life so far. My way of easing gently but deliberately into what comes next. I think many people in my generation, especially those of us who love walking, are feeling a similar call. We don’t necessarily want more stuff. We want more space. More experience. More meaning.

There are so many incredible ways to travel in retirement. Slower-paced walking tours, rail journeys, cycling trips, they’re all deeply appealing, and I have no doubt I’ll do some of them. But what I want first is to walk myself into this next chapter. Literally. To begin with breath, pace, and presence. I don’t know exactly what will come after that first big walk. Maybe I’ll want to keep going. Maybe I’ll want to nest for a while. Maybe I’ll discover new dreams altogether. But that’s the beauty of taking the time, you give yourself space to listen.

So no, I don’t want an easy retirement. But I didn’t expect to want an epic one either. And yet here I am.