Retirement has made me unemployed from my own identity

Dear Delyara, I worked for the railway for forty-two years. For most of my adult life, I knew where I was supposed to be almost to the minute. My uniform hung ready. Trains arrived, departed, ran late, recovered time. There was always another platform, another passenger, another problem with a correct procedure attached to it. I retired five weeks ago. On the first Monday, I woke at 4:40, showered, put on my undershirt, and opened the wardrobe before remembering there was no uniform anymore. My wife found me standing there. She said gently, “Go back to bed.” I could not. Since then, every day feels like a Sunday that has forgotten to end. My children tell me to travel. Friends say I earned the right to relax. They speak as though relaxation is a skill automatically issued with a pension. Yesterday, I took the morning train into the city during rush hour. I stood among commuters and watched a passenger cross the safety line before the train had stopped. My mouth opened to correct him. Then I remembered I was only another old man on the platform. I came home and polished shoes I no longer need for work. My wife asked what I wanted to do tomorrow. I said I did not know. For forty-two years, the timetable told me where my body belonged. I did not realize how frightened I would become when no one needed me to arrive.