Maybe The Empty Nest is Bullshit
Maybe the empty nest isn't the reward we thought it would be.
For years, we dreamnt about it.
One day the kids will move out.
One day nobody will leave every damn light in the house turned on.
Nobody will leave dishes three feet from the dishwasher.
Nobody will be running down the hallway, asking for money, borrowing the truck, eating the food you specifically bought for yourself, or yelling from another room because apparently walking twelve feet to have a conversation is unreasonable.
Someday, we tell ourselves, we’ll finally have peace and quiet.
Then someday arrives.
And you know what?
That house can get pretty damn quiet.
Welcome to a new episode of Diary of a Bald Man:
Find the Joy in the Noise
This episode started with a few things I’ve been watching happen around me.
My friend Chewie retired, got rid of most of what he owned, and started traveling around the country. He’s experiencing something a lot of us eventually discover: freedom and solitude aren’t necessarily the same thing.
Sometimes solitude is wonderful.
Sometimes it’s lonely as hell.
Chewie recently reached out to an old friend—someone he’d worked with years ago, someone who already knew his history, personality, family, likes, dislikes, and probably enough of his bullshit to know exactly what she was getting into.
He wasn’t trying to replace something he’d lost.
He was trying to add something good to the life he already had.
That distinction stuck with me.
Maybe We Weren't Designed to Do This Alone
It also made me start thinking about the way we approach family in America.
Raise the kids.
Get them through school.
Help them get started.
Then around eighteen or twenty-something, point toward the front door and say:
“Love you. Good luck. Here’s fifty bucks. Figure it out.”
Then everybody gets their own house or apartment.
Their own electric bill.
Their own groceries.
Their own car payment.
Their own childcare.
Their own lawn mower.
Their own collection of shit they’re paying for separately.
And everybody struggles independently because apparently that’s what successful adulthood is supposed to look like.
Meanwhile, Mom and Dad are sitting in a house built for five people wondering why the kids don’t visit more often.
Maybe there’s another way.
I’ve lived and worked around cultures where multigenerational households weren’t considered evidence that somebody had failed to launch.
They were simply called family.
Grandparents, parents, kids and grandchildren shared space, responsibilities, meals, expenses and life.
Was it always peaceful?
Hell no.
Put three or four generations under one roof and somebody is eventually going to threaten bodily harm over laundry, dishes, a thermostat or whoever used the last roll of toilet paper without replacing it.
But there’s something else in that house.
Life.
We Finally Got the Quiet We Asked For
There’s a strange irony to getting older.
We spend decades begging everybody to shut up.
Then suddenly they do.
The kids leave.
The schedules slow down.
The bedrooms empty.
And the noise that once drove us crazy disappears.
That’s when some of us discover something uncomfortable:
Quiet and peace aren’t always the same thing.
Sometimes quiet is peaceful.
Sometimes it’s deafening.
Maybe that’s why this episode became less about retirement and more about connection.
And connection doesn’t have to mean DNA.
Family can also be the friend who needs somewhere to land.
The former coworker who became part of your tribe.
The widow or widower rediscovering what life looks like after losing a partner.
The retired friend deciding there are still roads worth traveling—as long as there’s someone worth sharing the view with.
Maybe our later years aren’t supposed to be about slowly removing things from our lives.
Maybe they’re about becoming more intentional about who and what we add back in.
Meanwhile, Corporate America Knows We're Getting Old
Of course, if you’re worried nobody remembers you anymore, don’t worry.
The marketing departments certainly fucking do.
Apparently once you cross a certain age, your mailbox becomes an intervention.
AARP wants you.
The gutter people are worried about you.
The window company thinks your house is collapsing.
Somebody desperately wants to sell you a walk-in bathtub.
And somewhere there’s an insurance company preparing a brochure featuring two suspiciously attractive seventy-year-olds kayaking at sunrise.
Meanwhile, you’re standing at the kitchen counter thinking:
I just wanted my electric bill to go down.
Getting older is expensive enough without being constantly reminded that everybody apparently expects you to fall off a ladder sometime before Thursday.
But underneath those jokes is something important.
If the cost of living keeps climbing, younger families are struggling, childcare costs are brutal, and older adults are increasingly dealing with isolation, maybe sharing more of our lives isn’t such a crazy idea.
Share the mortgage.
Share the groceries.
Share the childcare.
Share the yardwork.
Share dinner.
Share the hard days.
Share the ridiculous ones.
And yes, share the bathroom.
God help us all.
Find the Joy in the Noise
I don’t think everybody needs to move their adult children back home tomorrow.
Some of you just experienced a full-body shudder reading that sentence.
I understand.
But I do think we should question this idea that independence must eventually mean isolation.
Maybe success isn’t having enough money that you never need anyone.
Maybe success is building a life where people still need—and want—each other.
Maybe the grandchildren running through the hallway aren’t disturbing your peace.
Maybe they are your peace.
Maybe the dishes in the sink, boots by the door, conversations around the kitchen table, somebody yelling from the other room, and six people trying to decide what’s for dinner aren’t signs that you’ve lost control of your house.
Maybe they’re signs that your house is still alive.
That’s what this episode is about.
Growing older.
Empty nests.
Retirement.
Friendship.
Family.
Loneliness.
Money.
Community.
And realizing that sometimes the chaos we spent half our lives trying to escape was part of what made those lives worth living in the first place.
So pour yourself some coffee—or something stronger if it’s that time of day—and join me for:
Find the Joy in the Noise
And when it’s over, take a look around.
Who are your people?
Who haven’t you heard from lately?
Who might need a seat at your table?
And maybe the bigger question:
When did we decide growing older meant growing apart?
I’d genuinely like to hear your answer.
Until next time—
Stay safe. Stay bald. Stay honest.
Onward and Upward.