Four Million Books and Now One More

I recently asked Gemini for a list of real-world events with odds approaching one in four million. Two results immediately caught my attention. Dying from a shark attack while swimming in the ocean was the first, and dying from complications of being left-handed (think accidents with right-handed power tools) was the second.

Given that I rarely swim in the ocean and that my high school basketball career was symbolized by an inability to make a left-handed layup, I think I am safe.

And then I decided to write a book.

More than four million books are published each year.

Four million.

Most disappear quietly into the digital cosmos.

Which raises an uncomfortable question.

Why would I, a retired sales and marketing guy from Central New York, believe he has something worth adding to that pile? What would make my words somehow rise above the fray of those other four million books?

I like my chances of making that left-handed layup a little better.

But then I realized the numbers didn't really matter. I was retired, I liked to write, and I had something to share. Writing gave my days meaning and purpose. The scoreboard was gone, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn't particularly interested in keeping score.

Retirement these past eight-plus years was not exactly what I expected.

I never expected, nor wanted, a Winnebago or rocking chairs on the porch. But I didn't plan for the loss of identity and purpose. And I had never fully comprehended what it would feel like to lose the scoreboard that had guided my path and measured my results over a long career.

So I started talking to other retirees over coffee, sometimes between pickleball games, or a "few" times around a fire pit at the local microbrewery. I found that my quiet struggle was not a rare disease. It was a common affliction, albeit one that we like to keep in the shadows. Pride and fear of failure are powerful motivators.

Writing, or more specifically, putting my thoughts, stories, and reflections down on paper, became a path forward. It helped me make sense of what I was feeling and gave shape to a Second Act that was still being written.

So now, after more than a year of writing, revising, doubting, rewriting, editing, and reflecting, my manuscript for A New Game Without a Scoreboard: Reflections on Identity, Purpose, and Acceptance in Retirement is nearly ready for publication.

The “Coming Soon” label feels less like wishful thinking and more like realistic launch planning.

Kindle and paperback production are now underway and will soon be available on Amazon. Wider distribution, along with hardcover and audiobook versions, will follow in the coming months.

If you'd like a preview, I've made a free chapter available along with updates on the upcoming launch. You can check it out here and join the mailing list for future announcements.

Maybe this book gets eaten by the shark and becomes one of the four million other titles.

Or maybe it finds the handful of people who need it at exactly the right moment.

I know it found me.

And writing it, for myself and for others, has made all the difference.

Dan Troup writes The Sunny Side of 57, where he shares reflections on life, family, career, and retirement. His upcoming book, A New Game Without a Scoreboard, explores what happens when the structure of work fades and questions of identity, purpose, and belonging take its place. When he’s not playing pickleball or hiking with Sue and Rigby, he’s usually thinking about the next post, even if it only shows up once a month.