Memento Mori

~ Karin ~ 2 Comments

My guidance kept nudging me toward early retirement with more signs. On March 19, 2024, the topic of death appeared three times in a single day.

First, a WordPress blogger wrote about a friend with cancer who was considering medically assisted suicide. While I did not know him, I felt shaken. How desperate must he have felt to reach that point?

Later, when I took a walk around the fields, I overheard a conversation between a neighbor and a friend who asked why she was dressed in black. She replied that she had attended a funeral and added, “The pastor said life is short. We are all only guests here.”

That evening, my husband told me that the father of one of his colleagues had died the day before.

I felt sadness and compassion hearing about these deaths, along with a strange alertness about the timing. Three instances on the same day felt like more than a coincidence. It felt like an urgent message. Memento mori. Remember that you will die.

What did I want to do with the time I had left? Was there something beyond the corporate grind? I took it as a nudge to accept the early retirement program and enjoy life, because you never know what comes next.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

FIRE

~ Karin ~ 2 Comments

I kept receiving signs that encouraged me to accept the early retirement offer. So far, I had mentioned symbols of gold, frogs, and clowns. But there was another one whose meaning only became clear later. It was fire.

I saw several fire trucks parked without sirens and kept wondering why they were showing up so often. In the office, behind the desk I usually used, there was a whiteboard with a campfire drawing. Below it, someone had added a meme, a cartoon dog sitting in a room full of flames, saying, “This is fine.”

What was the message of the fire? I wondered whether it had something to do with passion, but nothing quite clicked.

Then, as I started reading more about early retirement, I came across the FIRE community. Here, fire is an acronym for Financial Independence, Retire Early, a movement focused on saving and investing to achieve early retirement. In mid-March 2024, it struck me that perhaps all those fire trucks and that campfire drawing had been pointing to exactly this.

Just a few days later, on March 17, 2024, there was another fire-related incident.

It was a quiet Sunday morning after breakfast. We were all at home, and I was reading an online discussion about whether early retirement actually feels good. People shared how young they had retired and how grateful they were to travel before health issues set in. They wrote about relaxed days and freedom. Best decision ever.

Then a woman described how she had stopped paid work to become a writer.

Shortly after I finished reading her post, the smoke detector in our house went off.

The noise was piercing. We ran through the house trying to figure out which of the eight detectors was screaming and why. There was no smoke, no fire, no obvious cause. We just wanted it to stop.

My older son stretched himself up and lightly touched the smoke detector on the first floor. Instantly, the alarm went silent.

I filed the incident under unexplained events and sat there wondering about the message. Fire alarm. FIRE. Maybe this, too, was pointing toward early retirement. And perhaps, because it happened right after I read about the woman who became a writer, it was not only about stopping paid work but also about starting to write more. More specifically, it pointed to spending time editing the book about my spiritual journey and shaping it into a publishable form. I felt hesitation. Would I be able to meet this challenge?

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

Too Young to Retire?

~ Karin ~ 2 Comments

How many years should we work? Most people work because they need to make a living. But if money were not an issue, how much of a human lifespan would it actually make sense to devote to work?

When the news about the early retirement program arrived, I was fifty-four years old. One of my first reactions surprised me. I felt too young to retire. I had not worked long enough. In my mind, sixty felt like an appropriate age for retirement. Fifty-five felt early, even though I had once wished to retire at that exact age when a previous early retirement program had been offered, back when I had still been too young to qualify.

In February and March 2024, I read Chronicles from the Future by Paul Dienach. It presents itself as an autobiographical account of an extraordinary experience. Dienach falls into a coma, and his consciousness travels two thousand years into the future, inhabiting another body. He experiences life in that future society for about a year. Afterward, he returns to his own body, wakes from the coma, and later records his experiences in a journal that is published posthumously.

The story is controversial in several respects. Still, one aspect struck me deeply. In that future society, people are required to work for only two years, right after finishing school. After that, they are free to follow their calling. That may include work, or it may not. Earning a living is no longer the reason for working.

That perspective shifted something in me. Maybe retiring at fifty-five was not too young after all. Maybe my hesitation was less about readiness and more about conditioning. The book quietly nudged me to loosen my grip on the idea that work must take up the better part of a life.

In retrospect, I marvel at the timing. What were the odds that I would read this book in early 2024, just as I was pondering the early retirement program, without knowing beforehand that it would also address the length of a working life? It felt like an orchestrated synchronicity, quietly offering guidance at exactly the right moment.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

Farhad’s Channeling

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Not only were all the signs pointing toward retirement. I also received an encouraging message through a channeling.

On March 14, 2024, I met my colleague Farhad for a chat in the coffee corner. He is psychic and sometimes channels guidance. I told him about the early retirement program, how we had realized that we might be eligible, and how many signs seemed to be pointing in that direction.

He looked at me with gentle concern and said, “Why are you doubting? Your guides tell me that you have doubts.”

I was taken aback. It amazed me how clearly he was able to receive information.

Was I doubting?

Yes and no. The signs from the universe had been remarkably clear. Still, there were practical concerns about whether the money would truly be enough.

“Your guides are saying that you determined a specific amount of savings you would need in order to retire,” he continued. “And now you have crossed that threshold. So why are you still doubting?”

That stopped me cold. Yes, I had done exactly that. I had estimated how much savings I would need so I could withdraw a monthly amount to supplement my pension. And it was true. I had crossed that threshold.

“The guides are saying to go forward,” he added, “dancing with joy, and then see whether the program is right for you.”

He did not receive a message telling me outright whether I should retire or not. But the image of me dancing with joy felt unmistakably accurate. Inside, I already was.

At that point, the details of the program were still not finalized. There were many unknowns. While my husband and I waited impatiently, and sometimes anxiously, for the conditions to be announced, moments like this helped us stay anchored in trust.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

Fine

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March 9, 2024, one day after meeting my former neighbor at the grocery store and hearing her uplifting rumors, I felt almost giddy with the certainty that the early retirement would work out. The weather was beautiful, and I took a bike ride, stopping to rest on a few benches. There, the universe greeted me with more reassuring signs.

On the first bench, I found a purple paper strip printed with 5!! 5!!. For me, five signals change.

When I sat on the next bench, a man walked by and called his dog Fine, pronounced the Italian way. It reminded me of Da Capo al Fine, an instruction found in sheet music, where fine means “the end.” Surely, the end of my corporate work life was near.

On my ride back home, I saw a license plate that read LI FE. Life. It felt like life was about to begin in a new way.

When I stepped into the kitchen, the clock displayed 11:11. Watch your thoughts.

Then my husband showed me the calorie count on his sports watch after his run: 444. Angels are with you.

I took all these moments as comforting messages that the early retirement program would work out well for us.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

The Pesto Encounter

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On March 8, 2024, my husband and I were on our weekly shopping trip at the grocery store when something unusual happened. I had left our shopping cart unattended for a moment to grab something, and when I returned, another woman was placing several jars of pesto into it. She paused, realized her mistake, and removed them again.

Then we recognized each other. She was our former neighbor. Our kids had gone to the same preschool, but she and her family had moved away years ago. We had not seen each other since. The surprise of seeing her again lit me up, and we dove straight into conversation because there was a lot to share.

I told her that my husband and I were impatiently waiting for the conditions of the early retirement program and that we felt excited about maybe not having to work anymore.

She said, “I know someone in your HR department who is involved in the negotiations, and they said the program is going to be fantastic, and anyone who does not take it is stupid.”

What a statement.
And what a coincidence that we ran into each other because she placed her pesto jars in our cart.

It felt like an orchestrated meeting, and I took it as another clear hint from the universe that we would retire soon. Whenever we slipped into doubt during the anxious waiting period of the following weeks, we returned to this story. Remember the encounter in the grocery store: It is going to be fantastic. It will work out.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

More Frogs

~ Karin ~ 2 Comments

On February 29, 2024, the frog symbol appeared three times. First, I took a different bike route to work and saw a car with FROG on the license plate. When I arrived at the office, the colleague who sat across from me and whom I had not seen for six months wore a lovely necklace with a large silver frog. Then I opened my browser, and the Google Doodle that day featured a frog.

Earlier that year, on January 1, I had already found an orange plastic frog that had felt strangely significant. Now I wondered what all these frogs were trying to tell me.

Prince had once shown me the frog symbol in a vision, and later in a channeling he said it meant Wisdom lives within you. Somewhere else, I read that Frog can be seen as an acronym for Fully Rely On God. So, was this about wisdom, faith, transformation, or all of the above?

Then a WordPress post by Linda appeared in my feed titled Let’s Leap. It was leap day, after all, and after I mentioned my frog appearances in the comments, she told me that there is a game called leapfrog. Between leap day itself, Linda’s post, and even that playful image of a leapfrog jump, the meaning seemed to fall into place. All these frogs were pointing toward a leap. A leap into freedom with the early retirement program.

Even though the conditions had not yet been published, and even though we still did not know whether we could close the gap to the legal retirement age, these signs felt like steady reminders to trust that everything would work out.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

The Magnifying Glass

~ Karin ~ 2 Comments

Even though I felt almost certain that we would be accepted into the early retirement program and was already dancing inside with joy, a thread of doubt still gnawed at me. The gap between the end of the severance payments and the legal retirement age was still there, and it felt uncomfortably large.
What could I do about that?

Ideally, I would have saved more hours in my time account. But blissfully unaware of anything related to early retirement, I had saved almost nothing there.

On February 27, 2025, I received another sign. That evening, as I lay on the sofa with my iPad, a small rectangular magnifying glass suddenly appeared on the screen. I had no idea how it got there, and I couldn’t turn it off. I could make it larger or smaller, but it would not disappear. It drove me crazy because I couldn’t use my iPad normally. It disrupted everything on the screen.

I panicked and started searching frantically for a solution, but I didn’t even know what the feature was called, so my search was useless.

Then I calmed down and asked myself whether this was a sign, and if so, what it might mean. A magnifying glass. What could that represent? Maybe I was supposed to look at something more closely. But what?
Perhaps the documents related to early retirement, although nothing official had been published yet.

Once I had calmed down, the magnifying glass on the screen disappeared on its own. I must have made some odd gesture without realizing it.
Only years later, when it appeared again, did I finally learn how the feature is activated and how to disable it for good.

In the following weeks, I began looking through all the HR information on retirement. The different parts of the pension. When they were due. How much tax and social security would be deducted. And then I looked at the information about the time account.
And here I found something important.

Apparently, for a few years already, it had been possible to put part of the monthly salary into the time account, not just part of the yearly bonus.

My stomach dropped. How had I not noticed this? A wave of regret and guilt washed over me. Darn, too bad I missed this. I should have paid more attention. But it was too late to change the past.

I told my husband, and we both decided to put as much of our monthly salary into the time accounts as possible. That choice significantly reduced the gap to the legal retirement age.

In retrospect, that annoying magnifying glass had pointed me toward exactly what I needed to see: the option to move a substantial part of our monthly salary into the time account. Amazing what tools spirit uses for guidance.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

Sparkling Wine and Tape Measures

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In the days that followed, it began to sink in that we could really retire early.

On February 25, 2024, I looked at the clown painting in our living room, the one I wrote about in a previous post, and suddenly understood its meaning. It was a sign. It was our retirement clown.

A day later, a post appeared in my WordPress feed titled “Let Go, It’s Over.” Another sign.

Alongside the clues I was receiving from the external world, I felt a steady joy in my heart at the thought that I could finally leave the corporate world behind. It felt strange, since we didn’t yet know the conditions or whether we would be accepted. But despite the uncertainty, I already felt drunk with joy, as if I were constantly dancing on clouds in euphoria.

With all the signs I had received so far, I already felt quite certain that this retirement thing would work out. So, I decided it was time to plan the celebration of the transition. On February 27, I went to the grocery store and bought a bottle of sparkling wine to keep until we were officially accepted into the retirement program so we could celebrate.

I also bought two soft tape measures, each 150 centimeters long, like a tailor’s tape. When the last 150 days of work began, my husband and I would cut off one centimeter of tape each day, watching it grow shorter and shorter. It was a custom that recruits in the Bundeswehr, the German armed forces, used to follow 150 days before their mandatory service ended—counting down the days to freedom.

It would be summer before we drank the sparkling wine and started cutting the tape measures, but I already felt like buying them in February, as if it was important to show my trust by doing something tangible.

When I came out of the store, I saw a car with the license plate F-IN. It reminded me of the French word la fin, “the end.” How fitting. It was as if life was whispering that it was safe to let go, to trust, and to look forward to the next chapter.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.

Pain with a Message

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After the spreadsheet revelation, when we realized that early retirement might actually be possible, the excitement came mixed with doubt. Could we really afford this?

I knew that our pension situation consisted of several parts, but I had never taken the time to understand the details. How much money was saved in each account? When would each one start to pay out, and how much would remain after taxes and social security? My mind felt like a tangled knot of unresolved questions.

During the night of February 22, just one day after the spreadsheet epiphany, I woke with intense pain in my right groin. The pain was sharp enough to keep me awake. I was familiar with groin pain from my rheumatoid arthritis, but it was usually on the left side. This time, it was clearly on the right. That difference caught my attention.

At first, I wondered whether this pointed to a different homeopathic remedy. I lay there thinking through possibilities. But gradually, something in me shifted. Instead of treating the pain as physical, I began to consider it symbolic.

In German, the right groin is called rechte Leistenbeuge. The verb leisten also means to afford. I associated this with es sich recht leisten können, which suggests being able to afford something rightly or appropriately. So the location mattered. It was not simply groin pain. It was the right groin. The message, as I understood it, was that we could afford early retirement, and that it was the right thing to do.

Once that clicked, the pain eased. I fell asleep again.

The next morning, I felt calm. The financial research still needed to be done, but the doubt about whether this was allowed, reasonable, or responsible had dissolved. Something in me had already stepped forward.

***

This post is part of a blog series about my transition into early retirement. You can find the table of contents, with links to each chapter, here.