Among the manifold privileges of retirement is the right to make up one’s own mind.

Curious phrase, come to think of it. As if one’s mind were imaginary – something made up – or perhaps deceptive – like an actor’s make-up. And who are the characters in this little lexical drama – who’s doing the making? – and what is made?

We may imagine we’ve enjoyed this privilege all along – since college, say. Didn’t we make up our mind, which career, spouse, town, number of kids, whom to vote for, which vegetables to plant, etc.? Yes and no. Most of our choices are logical deductions from inflexible premises. When we live in a town and have kids and a job, we must behave suitably or face unwelcome consequences – is that a choice? In the workplace, we must satisfy our customers and supervisors – is that a choice?

Retired, fewer depend on us. The fewer dependents, the greater our independence. Oldsters are permitted eccentric conduct because, after all, what difference does it make? Retired, Jane and I were able to decamp to Rome for four years; during our years in harness, such a move, while open in theory, would have entailed forbidding consequences.

I have never been freer. Waking to few duties, I can read what I please, write what I please (up to a point). Some days, feeling sluggish, I’ll grant myself a “day off” from customary assignments – no fresh missive, say – then, lickety-split, revoke my bequest. What would I do with “nothing to do”? I shudder to think.

I lie in the dark making up my mind what to do when it’s light. How will I spend my precious minutes (for I’ve not many left)? There is urgency in these deliberations – the clock is ticking. I’m conscious if I rose to vacuity – the legendary “blank slate” – I would not be happy. (Richard II’s “I wasted time and now doth time waste me” strums in memory.)

How to make up my mind? This calculus, while tricky, for most of us occurs invisibly, running in the background as with a computer. How about a peek inside?

Behold me consulting my

· Competence

· Strength

· Health

· Longings

· Obligations, and

· The expectations of others

Each minister in my cabinet has a portfolio and viewpoint. Today I will do what I can, feel up to (and for), and have committed to, while fulfilling my responsibilities to Jane – and Henry, of course.

In my working years, these daily deliberations wrapped up fast. I’d do my job. My only choice was what sort of sandwich for lunch (or maybe a salad!). There is freedom in such captivity: freedom from doubt. Decisions make themselves.

Today, whatever I choose to do defines me. My choice of missive topic makes me a certain sort of writer. My industry measures my commitment, my intensity my seriousness. Often these days I find myself cross-examining myself: Am I in earnest? Why am I dithering? Maybe I’m a fraud! – and so forth (it gets tiresome). The immensity of my opportunity gives me vertigo. “From those to whom much has been given,” the old exhortation growls, “much is to be expected.”

The deliberations in my cabinet can get pretty testy. Insults and accusations ricochet. I’d play you a little of the soundtrack, only that would violate both confidentiality and propriety. Glorious the days I wake to clarity, opening my page and getting cracking.

I hate making up my mind – and enjoy nothing more. Some folks stuff their calendars so full they’ve no options. I’m the opposite. I love outfacing my futility, testing my resolve. It’s suspenseful. Am I man enough?