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It's been a year since I entered semi-retirement – a quiet pause between life chapters, filled with unanswered questions. What comes next? Where does purpose go once job titles and status fade?

I wasn’t ready to stop learning or giving. After decades in higher education marketing and book publishing, I knew the relentless rhythm of targets and deadlines. But now I longed for something slower – work that nourished the heart and stretched the mind. Most of all, I wanted to contribute, especially to the younger generation.

That longing led me somewhere unexpected – illustrated journalling, a blend of sketching and storytelling. I’ve always been interested in design and creativity – colour, shape, experimentation. Slowly, I began to believe maybe I could join in too. Maybe art didn’t have to be perfect – just honest and doable.

The first spark came via artist Danny Gregory on YouTube. His prompt – 7 Days, 7 Themes – felt accessible: sketch a meal, a quiet moment, a memory. No rules, no pressure – just draw and reflect.

Illustrated journalling, he said, celebrates your life.

So I tried. And something inside me shifted.

Through lines and colours, I found new ways to reflect. Sketching small things – a mug, garden plants – helped me slow down and notice overlooked details. Handwritten notes beside each drawing linked emotion with image.

I drew more often – imperfect pages that captured moments, memories and dreams. They reminded me that expression doesn’t need an audience – just the act of showing up matters.

Sharing these sketches with children sparked joyful conversations – they responded with their own fearless drawings. A sketch became a simple way to connect.

Art, I’ve found, is a quiet invitation to stay curious and keep learning. On a recent trip to Tasmania and New South Wales, I searched for journal images – Cradle Mountain, Manly, Katoomba – where bays, ridges and shifting light met rustling trees. Some days I sketch cliffs – others, vibrant autumn leaves. These pages root me in the present – reminders that beauty still surrounds us, if we choose to see it.

Some drawings bring back tender memories – like our French Bulldog, Milo, who was only three when he passed.

Sketching him still brings deep gratitude – for his comfort, loyalty and love.

“Retirement” doesn’t quite describe this stage of life – I’m not retreating, nor finished. If anything, I’m returning – to myself, to what matters. I’ve realised that meaningful contribution doesn’t require grand gestures – it can be a sketch, a shared idea, a story told in lines.

If you’re in a time of transition, I encourage you to try something new – not to impress or produce, but simply to feel alive. Whether it’s art, gardening, writing or walking in nature, let it bring you closer to yourself, and if possible, to others.

Illustrated journalling won’t change the world – but it’s changed my days. It’s helped me see beauty in the ordinary, and stories hidden in plain sight.

Creativity, I’ve learned, isn’t only for the talented – it waits for all of us to begin.

So here’s to crooked lines, uneven letters and stories straight from the heart – to sketching the next chapter with heart and soul.