# The Story of My “Hibernated Wish”

From Balance Sheets to Blank Pages

For thirty-five years, my life was governed by the rhythmic ticking of the office clock and the uncompromising precision of financial ledgers.

As a banker, I lived in a world of “now” or “by the end of the fiscal year.” There was little room for “someday.”

But “someday” is a persistent thing.

I’ve come to realize that many of us carry what I call a Hibernated Wish.

It is that quiet, flickering desire—to paint, to travel, to cook, or in my case, to write—that we tucked away decades ago.

We put these dreams on ice, not because we stopped loving them, but because the responsibilities of making a living demanded all our warmth.

When I retired, the silence was deafening at first. The figures and data were gone, leaving a void.

But in that stillness, I felt a familiar stir. My wish to be a writer, which had been dormant since my youth, began to thaw.

Many people view retirement as a “winding down.” I’ve chosen to see it as a defrosting season.

Retirement isn’t the end of the book; it is the moment the protagonist finally stops working for the plot and starts writing it.

It is the realization that while your career might have a mandatory end date, your curiosity does not.

There is a common myth that creativity and “newness” belong to the young. We are told that if you haven’t mastered a craft by forty, you should simply stick to what you know.

I am here, with my keyboard and my newly minted blog, to tell you that logic is wrong.

In banking, an expired check is worthless. In life, a dream does not lose value simply because it has been put on the shelf for a while.

In fact, my “hibernated wish” of writing is much richer now than it would have been in my twenties.

I now have a lifetime of observations, a career’s worth of discipline, and the perspective that only comes with time.

Transitioning from a world of spreadsheets to a world of sentences was intimidating. I worried if I had “missed the boat.”

But the beauty of a hibernated wish is that it waits for you. It doesn’t care about your age, your previous job title, or how many years have passed. It only cares that you are finally ready to listen.

If you are reading this and feeling a slight tug at your heart, that is your wish waking up.

My Prompt for You Today: What is one “hibernated wish” you’ve been afraid to wake up? Is it a language you wanted to learn? A garden you wanted to plant? A story you wanted to tell?

Don’t worry about being “late.” The sun doesn’t ask what time it is before it rises; it just shines.

I invite you to join me in this season of defrosting. Let’s see what happens when we finally give our oldest dreams a little bit of light.

BE HAPPY… BE ACTIVE… BE FOCUSED… BE ALIVE

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18 replies

  1. Wonderful post Verma! Very thoughtful and inspiring :D.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. The entire concept of a hibernated wish is fascinating. Which implies the idea of a fat bear. These wishes that sit under those metaphorical layers of fat.

    No time but now to start but now.

    Liked by 2 people

    • I love that extension of the metaphor — a “fat bear” of wishes quietly surviving the winter. It makes the idea feel almost alive, like something warm and breathing under the surface of time.

      And yes… “no time but now” feels like the only honest door left. Not because everything is ready, but because waiting itself has already been its own kind of season.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Verma ji, this piece speaks directly to the quiet war we all fight between duty and desire. Your metaphor of the “hibernated wish” is going to stay with me—especially the image of retirement as a defrosting season, not a winding down.

    I retired from teaching last year, and for months I just stared at the wall, waiting for purpose to knock. Your words made me realize: the knock comes from inside. I’ve started sketching again after forty years. My lines are shaky, but my heart isn’t.

    Thank you for showing that curiosity doesn’t expire—it just waits for us to stop pretending we’re too old to begin. You’ve given me permission to be late, and that feels exactly on time.

    Liked by 2 people

    • That’s really moving to read. 🤍

      I’m glad the words met you at this point in your journey. There’s something quietly powerful about returning to what once mattered — especially when it finds you again after so long. The shakiness you mention isn’t a flaw; it’s part of the re-entry.

      Wishing you joy in those returning lines.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. This was achingly beautiful Verma ji. 🤍✨
    The idea of a “hibernated wish” and a “defrosting season” touched something very quiet inside me. There’s such tenderness in the way you wrote about beginning again not with regret for lost time, but with gratitude for finally arriving at yourself. And that last line… “The sun doesn’t ask what time it is before it rises” I think that will stay with me for a long time. Thank you for giving forgotten dreams such warmth, dignity, and hope. 🤍

    Liked by 2 people

    • That’s such a beautiful way to receive it, truly. 🤍
      I’m really glad those words found a quiet place in you. Sometimes we don’t need to rush beginnings — just let them thaw, gently, in their own time.

      Thank you for feeling it so deeply.

      Liked by 2 people

  5. Verma ji,
    Thank you for reminding us that it is never too late to awaken the parts of ourselves once buried beneath duty and routine. Your writing is itself a beautiful proof that some dreams only grow richer and more meaningful with time.

    I truly loved the phrase “hibernated wish.” So many people quietly place their dreams on hold while fulfilling life’s responsibilities, and your words gently remind us that dreams do not expire with age or time. They simply wait patiently for the moment we are finally ready to listen to them again.

    Your journey from balance sheets to blank pages is not merely about retirement, it is about rediscovering life with renewed curiosity, courage, and purpose. I especially loved this thought: “Retirement isn’t the end of the book; it is the moment the protagonist finally starts writing it.” That line carries both wisdom and hope in equal measure.
    Vijay

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you, Sir for such thoughtful and generous words 🤍

      You understood the spirit of “hibernated wish” exactly as I had hoped it might be felt — not as something lost, but something quietly waiting beneath the surface of responsibility and time. Your reflection adds even more meaning to the piece for me.

      And I’m especially touched that the line about retirement stayed with you. Sometimes life only gives us the courage to begin our true chapter after we’ve spent years believing the story was already written.

      Liked by 2 people

  6. This is highly moving, sir.

    To write is to create, and any creation is art. And I believe art never dies, even if the artist does.

    Happy for you that you got to pick up the threads of your dream. It’s never too late 🩵

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you so much for these beautiful words 🩵

      I truly believe that too — art has a way of outliving us, carrying little pieces of our spirit forward long after we’re gone. And yes… sometimes dreams don’t disappear, they simply wait patiently for us to return to them.

      Liked by 2 people

  7. Kya baat hai, uncle! This is such a superb way to look at retirement—a “defrosting season.” You’ve hit the nail on the head with the “Hibernated Wish” concept. Feeling truly inspired to finally wake up my own forgotten dream. All the best for your writing journey!

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you so much, dear.🤍😊

      Your words truly made me smile. I’m so happy the idea of a “hibernated wish” resonated with you. Sometimes our dreams don’t disappear — they simply wait quietly for us to return to them when life finally gives us the space and courage.

      Wishing you all the best in awakening your own forgotten dream too. Start small if you must, but start. ✨

      Liked by 1 person

  8. A beautifully reflective opening—capturing the quiet transition from structured working life to the open, introspective space of retirement and self-discovery. ✨📖

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much 🤍✨

      I’m really glad that reflection resonated with you. There’s something quietly profound about that transition — when structure softens and space opens up for self-discovery in new ways. Appreciate you taking the time to read and feel it so thoughtfully.

      Like

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