Love Life Purpose
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Over the past few months, we’ve been exploring some pretty big topics— love, life, and purpose. And how these all come together. If you missed any of those posts, please catch up using the links above.
Use It or Lose It
You’ve probably heard the saying “use it or lose it.”
If you haven’t, I’m not surprised—it doesn’t get much airtime these days. Still, it’s alive and well in every sports field, dance studio, and training ground where people push themselves to keep their skills sharp.
Maybe you’ve even watched Strictly Come Dancing—that glittering spectacle where sequins meet sweat. Perhaps you’re one of those faithful fans who plop down on the couch, snacks in hand, ready to be dazzled by fancy footwork and sharp judges’ comments.
Behind the scenes, though, the magic only happens because of one thing: practice. Endless, sweaty, unglamorous practice. Because if the dancers didn’t give their all during rehearsals, they’d lose it—simple as that.
But this isn’t just about dancers or athletes.
It’s true for almost everything in life.
Take me, for example. I’m a writer.
I don’t write for money. I don’t write for fame. I don’t even write as a hobby. I write because it’s what keeps me alive inside.
If I don’t write for a while, the fire cools. Let it go too long, and it’s not just cooled—it’s ashes. So I write to stay warm.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Sitting at my desk, staring at a blank screen, waiting for magic to happen—that’s my version of backstage. It’s not as glamorous as a dancer’s dressing room, and there’s no one around to clap when I finally get it right (except maybe my partner, who sees me sweaty and grumbling at my keyboard). But it’s the same kind of discipline. Passion on its own doesn’t cut it; you have to show up and use it.
Writing is a big part of who I am. Without the habit—without the doing—I’d lose touch with that part of myself. And honestly, I’d miss out on the joy of hearing that something I’ve written has lifted someone else. That, to me, is worth all the effort.
But that’s just one part of my life.
Let’s talk about the rest.
Every day, Quora floods my feed with stories about aging, relationships, and retirement. (I didn’t ask for this, by the way. I’m just curious—and at eighty-three, curiosity is still one of my best habits.) I opened a couple of those stories, and now the algorithm thinks I can’t get enough of them. Serves me right, I suppose.
Still, I’ve learned a few things. There’s wisdom in all that noise if you look for it.
Here’s what I’ve gathered so far:
- Talking about retirement is theory.
- Being retired can be a misfortune.
- Courting your partner can feel like a dream.
- Fifty years later, it can feel like a nightmare.
Harsh? Maybe. But true more often than not. Let me explain:
Talking about retirement is theory
There’s advice everywhere—books, blogs, podcasts, seminars. But here’s the real truth: no single formula fits everyone. Retirement isn’t one-size-fits-all; it’s more like tailor-made trousers—you only find out if they fit once you try them on.
Being retired can be a misfortune
The biggest challenge? Adjustment.
It’s not the money or the free time—it’s the change. Suddenly, everything shifts: your routine, your health, your relationships, even your sense of purpose. Navigating that takes patience and a flexible mindset. And sometimes, that’s harder than any job you’ve ever had.
Courting your partner can be a dream
Ah, the honeymoon stage. Being in love is easy. Loving someone, though—that’s the marathon. It takes respect, commitment, and a stubborn willingness to understand one another, even when you’d rather roll your eyes.
Fifty years later, it can be a nightmare
Why? Lost expectations. The sparkle fades, the balloon pops, and suddenly you’re noticing weeds in the garden of your relationship. And the longer you ignore them, the deeper the roots grow.
You’ve probably heard it before—“Your father drives me crazy!” or “Your mother’s always complaining!” It’s universal. Separate rooms might solve some problems, but individual homes? Not always. Staying can be hard; leaving can be harder.
So, back to where we started: use it or lose it.
Whether it’s your body, your creativity, or your relationships, the rules are the same. Keep showing up. Keep practicing. Keep tending the garden.
Because once you stop using the things that give your life meaning—your passions, your purpose, your connections—you start to lose them.
And that, my friends, is the real misfortune of retirement… or any stage of life.
Sometimes the best way to explain a truth is through a story—one where life, love, and purpose find their rhythm again. So, here goes, enjoy.
The Piano in the Corner
The piano had been sitting in the corner for years, gathering dust and silence. It used to sing every evening — scales, hymns, and the occasional wobbly rendition of Moon River. But lately, Margaret walked past it as if it were a stranger.
“Play something,” her husband, Tom, would say.
“Later,” she’d reply, waving her hand. “I’m out of practice.”
Then one afternoon, while Tom was trimming the roses, she lifted the lid. The keys looked different somehow — older, yellowed, a bit resentful. She pressed one tentatively. The note came out flat and unimpressed.
“Well,” she muttered, “you’ve aged too.”
But she tried another, then another. Slowly, her fingers began to remember — not everything, but enough. When Tom came in, covered in garden soil, she was halfway through Clair de Lune.
He stopped in the doorway. “Haven’t heard that in years,” he said softly.
Margaret smiled without looking up. “Neither have I.”
From that day, the piano came back to life. She played every morning, no longer for perfection, but for pleasure. Sometimes she stumbled, sometimes she improvised. It didn’t matter. The music filled their small house again, wrapping around the clink of teacups and Tom’s off-key humming.
One evening, he said, “You know, love, that piano sounds younger than we do.”
She laughed. “That’s because it’s being used.”
And she was right.
Whether it’s a piano, a pen, or a partnership — stop using it, and it fades.
Keep it alive, and it sings.
©2025Peter-JamesPienaar
Until next month, same place, much the same date.
Love and blessings,
Peter-James Pienaar
Oh, and by the way – Always expect a miracle.
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