Pyjama Time came early today. This is a nightly ritual my daughter and I have. At some point in the evening, one of us will call out to the other:

— "Guess what time it is?"

— "What time is it?"

— "It's Pyjama Time."

Pyjama Time signals that our obligations are done for the day. We don't have to go out again. We don't have to make supper and clean up. It also usually means that it's dark outside and so it's perfectly acceptable to be snuggled up in bed.

Today was a busy but altogether satisfying day. This morning, I met a friend to take a walk with her and her puppy. The conversation was so lovely that it made the cold, snowy weather almost imperceptible. I imagine that her puppy was exhausted by the time we concluded our 90-minute walk, which included some off-leash time at an enclosed dog park.

Next I had lunch with my husband and kids at a shawarma place near my son's condo. The first thing I noticed about Shawarma Al Mouna on Wellington Street in Ottawa's Hintonburg neighbourhood was the welcoming decor: fresh blue, clean white and jaunty yellow. But the pleasing decor was quickly outdone by the brilliance of owner Mohammed's smile. The warmth of his greeting was matched only by the warmth of his lentil soup, a generous sample of which he offered to each of us while we decided on our order. My daughter and I chose the chicken shawarma sandwich while my son had a donair, and my husband, a falafel wrap. All were excellent, perfectly spiced and expertly dressed with just the right amount of sauce and the freshest of ingredients. My son, a regular at Shawarma Al Mouna, insisted we get the roasted potatoes, which were hot and tasty—especially welcome on this frigid day in the city.

Then it was off to IKEA to meet another friend for coffee. It may seem like an odd place to meet, but the ample parking, free coffee and tea (if you have an IKEA family membership) and comfortable surroundings make it an ideal choice. As I said to my friend, there's enough activity that a conversation doesn't hang in the air for others to hear, but also enough space to feel like you have room to breathe. It has the welcoming ambience of a public library with the buzz of a university coffee shop. We chatted happily for a couple of hours, talking about health, family, learning, work, leadership, and things that bring us joy.

If I had to pick one highlight from our conversation it would be the freedom, in retirement, to pick and choose what one does in any given moment. Some retirees no doubt like to maintain a fairly structured life post-employment, with volunteer commitments, contract work, and scheduled activities. I'm less inclined to do so. Perhaps, in retirement, I'm rebelling against my highly structured work life. I'm doing the opposite: enjoying—for the most part—a highly unstructured life. That's not to say that I don't have set commitments. In fact, I paste bits of Post-It notes on my kitchen calendar to remind myself of various engagements I and my family have during the month, from medical appointments, to online seminars, to coffee dates with friends. But for the most part, I love a day that stretches before me in endless possibility. Sometimes I'll write. Sometimes I'll read. Often I'll bake or cook.

Indeed, the friend I met for coffee today is the same friend who inspired me to identify my priorities. When we met in June 2022 (it feels much more recent than that), she shared with me a document identifying 10 categories for where she wanted to spend her time: the second item on her list was unstructured time, just behind sleep, which her therapist had advised her to prioritize. As I explained in my post on that day, I grasped immediately why my friend would identify unstructured time as a priority given how impossibly overloaded and overstructured her life has been in recent years.

By the time I got home from my outings, it was 4:00 PM, in the waning minutes of the golden hour. Though the sun had not yet set, the overcast day made it darker than one might expect a half hour from sunset. I headed to my room and flicked on the light. Because we had eaten a large lunch, supper would be a simple affair: leftovers or a small sandwich. So instead of donning an apron to prepare a meal, I slipped out of my jeans and sweater and into soft lounge-type pyjamas and fluffy socks. I gave myself permission to declare an early Pyjama Time, for that was my whim.