November 16, 2024, was the first day of my retirement—a long-anticipated milestone that feels both monumental and surreal. Two days later, on November 18, I took the final step by retiring my medical license, submitting the necessary paperwork to the Arizona Medical Board. It was a symbolic act, marking the final chapter of a career that has shaped my identity and life’s purpose for 44 years.
I am stepping away from a vocation that has defined me, moving into unexplored territory. This process feels liberating as it releases the responsibilities of a physician I’ve carried for decades, yet also disorienting, as if I’ve lost the map I’ve followed for most of my life. It’s as though I’m standing on the edge of a familiar shore, preparing to set sail into an open sea, vast and full of possibility, but with no clear horizon in sight.
My journey as a psychiatrist began in September 1980 at the Neuropsychiatric Hospital in Vršac, Serbia, a town nestled close to the border with Romania and an hour's bus ride away from Pančevo, where I lived at the time. I still remember the excitement I felt on my first day, marking the start of my career after completing an internship, fulfilling mandatory military duties, and experiencing the joy of becoming a father to my daughter, Iva. It was a time of both professional and personal growth.
Over the decades, my career carried me across countries, cultures, and institutions. I have worked in academic settings, led a mental health department, provided in-patient care, and worked in many outpatient clinics, all the while mentoring, teaching, and continuously learning the tricks of the trade.
Every career move came with its challenges: navigating cultural differences, adapting to healthcare systems, finding ways to connect with patients in diverse settings. All these experiences were dedicated to understanding the human psyche and helping others heal.
Being a psychiatrist was never just a job for me. It became a way of life, a role that influenced how I perceived myself and how others saw me. As I wrote in my professional autobiography, Sculpting of a Psychiatrist, I have lived and breathed this identity "from head to toe, front and back, inside and out." Over the years, I’ve seen the field of psychiatry evolve, and with it, I’ve evolved, expanding my knowledge, honing my skills, and deepening my understanding of the human condition. In this sense, I feel my professional “sculpture” is complete, a work I can look back on with satisfaction and gratitude. Now, it’s time to begin sculpting a new identity.
Retirement is not unfamiliar territory for me. In 2018, I retired from the full-time job as the head of the mental health department at the VA in Fargo, North Dakota. That transition was defined by a joyful retirement celebration, filled with balloons, speeches, and plenty of food. It was a happy moment, as I was ready to leave behind the demanding administrative responsibilities of that position. The following year, I relocated to Sedona, Arizona, and soon I was drawn back to patient care, joining Tribe Wellness Clinic. There, I had been working part-time, two days a week. Tribe Wellness blended traditional psychiatry and psychotherapy programs with innovative ones, such as meditation, craniosacral adjustments, hypnotherapy, yoga, reiki, qigong, acupuncture, sound healing, readings, and many other healing arts modalities, creating a vibrant community of practitioners committed to integrating mind, body, and spirit.
My time at Tribe Wellness had been immensely rewarding, but it also came with its own challenges, particularly during the COVID-19 pandemic. Like so many in the healthcare field, I had to adapt quickly to telehealth, learning how to provide care through screens rather than face-to-face. While this shift was not easy at first, I quickly adapted and found ways to connect meaningfully with my patients virtually.
Despite officially working only two days a week over the past five years, the habits of my profession persisted. I continued to check emails, respond to refill requests, and accommodate urgent patient needs on a daily basis. Even in my lighter schedule, the role of “doctor” remained a central part of my identity. Now, in my first week without any work obligations, I’ve noticed how ingrained those habits are. I’ve caught myself reflexively logging into electronic medical records, expecting refill requests or emergency messages, only to be met with silence. That silence feels strange, a reminder that I am truly stepping away from a way of life that has defined me for decades.
I feel well-prepared to navigate the challenges that come with this stage. I have spent my life cultivating resilience, adaptability, and a sense of trust in myself and the world around me. These qualities will serve me well as I embrace the unknown. I am also fortunate to have strong personal connections and a supportive community, key factors that the Harvard Study of Adult Development identifies as crucial for well-being and fulfillment in later life.
For me, retirement feels less like an ending and more like an opening, a shift in focus. As a psychiatrist, my work centered on healing minds. Now, I am drawn to explore what lies beyond the mind, practices that cultivate inner stillness, spiritual inquiry, and a deeper sense of connection.
I look forward to further exploring practices involving movement, meditation, and states of consciousness by connecting to the energy that binds us all, moving beyond the labels that have defined me: psychiatrist, doctor, professor.
I’m learning to embrace a broader sense of self without abandoning my identity but expanding it, deepening my understanding of what it means to live a joyful, purposeful life.
Retirement is not about stopping. It’s about shifting gears, redefining what it means to live fully and contribute meaningfully. It’s an opportunity to rediscover joy in the present moment, to accept the impermanence of life, and to embrace the freedom that comes with that acceptance. As I step into this new phase, I do so with curiosity, peace, and a sense of purpose. To everyone navigating their own transitions, I wish joy, courage, and the ability to embrace life’s ever-changing flow.
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