The Freedom of Choice in Retirement

Tomorrow we start looking at houses again; the first one is unaffordable. I just looked it up; it's gorgeous, new, but out of our reach. Oh, well, it will be fun anyway I guess.
I just ordered jersey shorts; every year I think I have to buy new ones. I weigh a little less but I'm built far worse and it's harder to find clothes. Suddenly, I have a lump of fat over each hip; where did they come from? The dimples on my backside have spread down my thighs and are becoming uglier; they're transforming into old lady lumps. I need to move soon so I can get back onto my treadmill and maybe start riding a bike sometimes again.
I'm painting a lot and enjoying it too. I'm loving retirement in general. For the first time in my life, I'm totally free. I have no mom or dad--although I wish I did--or bosses to tell me what to do. I can go to bed late, read in bed, and get up when I feel like it. Everything I do is voluntary. There is an absence of additional stress. Whatever emotional garbage I experience is from inside me and that's my choice too. I choose to see the pain that's been pushed down all my life so I could function. At least, I'm trying to look at it, experience it, and help myself see life completely through my adult eyes. That's how I describe my goal now, but it may change. All I know really is that I've always had a river of pain coursing unseen through my heart. I believe it was born when I was a child, lonely and desperate. I wanted to die; I didn't believe, couldn't imagine, ever getting what I needed. But I have and that desperation still flows, escaping infrequently as rage or overwhelming blind pain. I didn't recognize it, didn't even know it was still there, until July when I had a horrible reaction to prednisone or the lack of it. Suddenly, I felt the darkest pain for which I had no words, just paralyzing agony.
I thank God I worked; thank God I have a pension; and get down on the floor, on my knees to say thank you from the bottom of my heart, for this retirement.