I retired on April 30th, 2024, and drove to Florida the same day. Thirty-seven years in Utah had wired me a certain way. Everything moved fast. Everyone had somewhere to be. You didn’t lollygag.

The first thing I noticed driving into Pensacola was the roads. Five in the morning, two lanes, one each direction. The few cars out weren’t pushing it. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry to get anywhere. I thought, okay, this is different.

But moving to a slower place doesn’t make you slower. Not automatically. Not even close.

Months in, I started noticing it more. Even when traffic gets heavy here, people aren’t rushing. They’re relaxed. Then tourist season hits and everything shifts. Suddenly there’s hurry in the air. The grocery store fills up with people moving with purpose, trying to get somewhere. And I realized I was watching them like an outsider. Grateful they support the economy. Also glad when they go home and things get quiet again.

That’s when it hit me. I was the tourist in my own retirement.

In Utah, fast paced was just how you lived. In Florida, I kept trying to live that way and it created friction. If I had somewhere to be, I’d get frustrated with the slow pace. Why is nobody moving? Why is this taking so long? Also with everything spread out, it took 30-45 minutes to get anywhere! My Utah brain wanted efficiency. My Utah body wanted speed.

But then something started shifting.

When I didn’t have anywhere to be, I’d stop. I’d think about it. I’d try to relax into the moment. And when I actually did, my mind would slow down. I’d start paying attention to what was right around me. The body fights it at first. But when it finally lets go, it feels really good.

Right now I’m sitting by my pool. The sunshine feels nice. The sky is blue. There’s a slight breeze moving through the palm tree in my backyard. My mind is here. My body is here. I’m not trying to get somewhere else.

That’s what I didn’t expect about retirement in a slower place. The real work isn’t moving to Florida. It’s learning to be Florida. Your mind can get there first. Your body takes longer. But when both finally catch up to each other, that’s when you understand why you left in the first place.

The pace of life here isn’t really about the roads or the traffic. It’s about permission. Permission to stop pushing toward the next thing. Permission to notice the breeze through the palms. Permission to let your life finally be yours.

More on adjusting to that pace in y’all, yes sir, and a whole lot of Miss LoriAnn, and on the mornings that make it worth it in why some mornings in retirement feel like a gift.

I wrote about what it felt like going back and realizing I really am just a visitor now in this post, if you want to read more about that.