In 1978, John Robinson began his first job at Ohio University as an “instructional materials editor.” It wasn’t a flashy role, but it was quietly revolutionary. His job? Transform traditional classroom courses into correspondence study guides for students across the globe—years before online learning was even imagined.
“I don’t think we realized it at the time,” he says, “but we were preparing for online education before the internet existed.”
Faculty would hand over their course materials, and he would turn them into polished study manuals and exams—first for correspondence students, and later for online learners. “We were doing distance education before it was cool,” he laughs.
He worked for 29 years, retired… and then went back. “There weren’t commercials every night telling you how to plan for retirement back then,” he says. “My parents and their siblings retired and lived comfortably. I assumed we would, too.”
But after taking an early retirement buyout at 57, he and his wife started an online business selling planters—cleverly named Hooked On Pots. It didn’t take. “I’m not a businessperson,” he admits. “We lost money and started racking up credit card debt. So, 17 months after my big retirement party, I was back at my old desk, same job, same office.”
He worked seven more years.
After that, retirement “stuck.” And with it came something unexpected: creative blossoming.
“I did all that left-brain work for decades,” he says. “But it was my right-brain work that got me on the local newspaper’s front page.”
That moment came after his final retirement, when the local library hosted an exhibit of his found-object sculptures—playful, clever pieces made from leftover parts at his workbench. The show was titled Art from Leftover Parts, and it delighted visitors. “Most of the sculptures were funny, and I got such positive feedback. I’d worked at the university all those years—but this, this is what got me on the front page!”
The exhibit wasn’t his only foray into creativity. A decade before he retired, John had started writing humorous fictional letters to an old friend from graduate school. The letters, written in the voice of the well-meaning but naïve narrator named Lyle, chronicled Lyle’s workplace misadventures and misunderstandings. “He kept getting into trouble—and getting his coworkers into trouble,” John says, laughing.
After retirement, he compiled 42 of those letters into a book titled More Later, Lyle’s Letters from the University. He self-published the first edition, and to his surprise, a British publisher picked it up the following year for a second edition. “The content didn’t change,” he says, “but I wanted to differentiate it. That publisher went out of business—but now the book is back out again through Lulu.com.”
He didn’t stop there.
In 2017, he planted a rose garden— eventually 17 bushes strong. The following summer, he began posting rose photos on Facebook, always taken in the same vase, at the same bright corner of the kitchen window. “People started looking for them. Every summer, I’d post about 20 of them. And when I didn’t post, people would message me, asking when the roses were coming back!” John’s photos can be viewed on Facebook by searching “windowsill series John Robinson”.
A year after retirement, he exhibited a collection of his photos at the same library, his second public art exhibit. “These are all things I never had time for when I was working,” he reflects. “I’d been creating things in bits and pieces, but I finally had the time to do something with them.”
Looking back, he’s grateful for both the left-brain years and the right-brained renaissance that followed. “At work, my job was to take what people created—course outlines, notes, handouts—and make them into a cohesive lesson manual. I was making other people’s ideas shine. Now, I get to do that for myself.”
While much of his newfound creative expression is rooted in hands-on art and community work, he’s also embraced technology. “I had used Photoshop at work for years,” he shares, “and I still use it today. I design all my own book covers, and I really enjoy playing around with digital tools.”
He’s grateful that new technology allows him to stay connected with the world—especially as he keeps up with his writing, his photography, and the technology that supports it.
Reflecting on his journey, this retiree offers valuable advice for others facing similar challenges. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” they counsel. “You need to be your own best friend. Be kind to yourself.” It’s a simple but powerful reminder that we are often our own worst critics, and self-compassion is key to navigating the ups and downs of life, particularly in retirement.
If his calendar is full, it’s not by accident—it’s by design.
“I’ve never had a day since I retired where I wished I was back at work,” he says. “I always have something I want to do. I’m not working at it—I just prefer it that way.”
He believes the key to a joyful retirement isn’t money or status—it’s engagement. His relationship with his wife has also changed since retirement. “We see each other all the time now!” he laughs. “We’re both at home, and it’s been nice. We also have friends we do things with, and we’ve never had a dull moment.”
“Try a new recipe. Take an archery class. If you like your spouse, take ballroom dancing! It doesn’t matter what it is—just don’t sit in your recliner.”
None of his hobbies have been expensive. His books are self-published. His “sculptures” are made from leftover parts. His photos were originally taken on a 35 millimeter camera but now are mostly taken on his cell phone. But every piece, every project, every blooming flower is a small declaration: life is still happening, and it’s still worth celebrating.
Though he hasn’t cracked the code on marketing his books or photography, that’s not what drives his creative expressions.
“I could probably use help figuring out how to market what I do,” he says. “But honestly, I create because I love it. I wouldn’t stop even if no one was watching.”
And that may be the most powerful message of all: reinvention doesn’t need permission. It doesn’t even need an audience – it just needs time, heart, and a little bit of courage.