The Return of Curiosity. And Hot Chicken.

One of the unexpected perks of this whole early retirement thing has been having a friend to go through it with.

He and I went to grad school together almost twenty years ago. MBAs, side by side, full of the usual hopes and dreams - the careers we'd build, the money we'd make, the interesting and important work we'd do. The life that was waiting for us on the other side of all that effort.

And then, like a lot of people, we did what we were supposed to do.

We got the jobs. We built the resumes. We became the professionals.

And almost immediately, it felt like a trap.

Not in a dramatic, I can't go on, kind of way. More in the polished, respectable, why do I feel dead inside while sitting in a meeting, kind of way. The creativity was gone. The curiosity was gone. That itch to learn, explore, think, and build something that actually meant something got buried under inboxes, meetings, fake urgency, and all the other little soul-sucking rituals of corporate life.

I left my job in October. He left a few months later.

Now we've got our own little ritual.

He lives about two hours away, so we meet somewhere in the middle. There's a hike we found more or less at random the first time, and now it's becoming our spot. We've done it twice. We're aiming for monthly, though life already managed to turn our first attempt at that into a two month gap. Still, both times it's ended the same way - long hike, hot chicken for lunch, then coffee and more conversation, and at some point one of us saying some version of "can't wait until next time."

It's funny how fast something starts to matter.

The hike itself is huge, too. We’ve already done it two different ways, and there’s more of it waiting for next time. Which somehow feels fitting. Same place, same rhythm, different trail, different conversation. Like the whole point is not to arrive anywhere. Just to keep walking and keep thinking.

And that’s really what these days are.

We walk for a couple hours and talk about everything that lives in our heads.

Space exploration.
Entrepreneurial ideas.
Family.
Our kids.
Books.
Work.
Why work feels the way it does.
Whether any of us were ever meant to live like that.
What early retirement even is once the novelty wears off.
What happens if one of us has to go back to work.
What all of this is actually for.

It’s never just a hike.

Afterwards we get lunch - both times hot chicken - then coffee and keep going. The whole day turns into one long conversation. Not surface-level catching up. Not “how’ve you been?” and “crazy weather lately.” (Though I couldn't help complaining about this soul-crushing winter.)

I mean the good stuff.

The kind where one thought leads to another and before you know it you’re talking about ambition, identity, marriage, school, money, fear, freedom, meaning, and whether modern life is just one giant machine built to flatten interesting people into calendar invites.

You know. Casual lunch conversation.

What makes it especially energizing is that he gets it.

Not just the logistics of leaving work. The psychology of it.

He’s one of the smartest guys I know. He’s originally from Germany, now also American. Former military. Philosophical. Practical. The kind of guy you’d want around if everything went sideways and survival suddenly mattered. He’d probably figure out how to build a shelter, start a fire, and explain the deeper meaning of the ordeal while the rest of us panicked.

His mind is always working.

And that’s what makes these meetups so good. We’re not just killing time. We’re helping each other think. Sometimes I’m a month or two ahead on some realization and he sharpens it. Sometimes he’s further down the road on a thought and helps me see it differently. Sometimes one of us says something that lands so cleanly it reframes the whole conversation.

It feels like handing each other little pieces of the map.

Both hikes so far have been cold. Winter woods. Hats on. Bare trees. Probably not exactly the cinematic setting for some grand philosophical awakening. But somewhere in my head, it feels like we’re ancient Greeks or Romans walking side by side in robes, wandering through some sunlit square, talking about life and meaning and the structure of the world.

Which is admittedly ridiculous.

Two ex-corporate guys in winter jackets getting hot chicken and coffee after tromping through the woods are not exactly Socrates and Plato. But dammit, that’s still what it feels like!

Not because we think we’re important. Just because it feels deeply human. Like we stumbled back into something people used to do before we all collectively agreed that sitting in buildings, staring at glowing rectangles, and answering emails was what life was for.

Walk. Think. Talk. Eat. Keep going.

There’s an irony to all of it that isn’t lost on either of us.

We do these hikes in the middle of the week. During the exact hours we used to be stuck inside. During the exact hours we would’ve been staring at screens, pretending the thing in front of us was urgent, while the better parts of ourselves sat quietly in the background waiting for their turn.

Now we’re out in the woods on a random weekday, laughing our heads off, talking about life, then heading off for hot chicken and coffee like a couple of escaped inmates who still can’t believe they made it over the wall.

And I think that’s part of what I’ve been trying to understand with this whole financial independence thing.

For a long time, I thought the reward at the end of all this would be rest.

And some of it is. Rest matters.

But more and more, I think the bigger reward is getting your curiosity back.

Getting your mind back.

Getting long conversations back.

Getting the freedom to follow a thought all the way to the end instead of cutting it off because you have a meeting in eight minutes.

Getting a random Wednesday back.

That might be a bigger part of the why than I realized.

Not luxury. Not status. Not doing nothing.

Just having enough room in your life to think again. To laugh again. To ask better questions again. To feel like yourself again.

And every once in a while, to do that with someone who understands exactly why it matters.

If you ever want to reply, shoot me a note at whatsthewhyfi@gmail.com — I read everything.