(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Nothing that went before prepares you for retirement. That light bulb has just clicked on in my brain.
From your first day of school through all the years of work, you’re taught to prepare, to strive, to advance, to make money and accumulate stuff. Always pushing on, always goal-oriented. Always another mountain to be climbed.
Nothing prepares you for retirement. (Except maybe golf. Should I have taken golf lessons?) Continue reading
Largest Bankruptcies (Photo credit: Adam Crowe)
Long-term viability of Social Security has been a subject of concern for years. Now, the Detroit bankruptcy filing turns the spotlight on municipal and state pensions.
I personally believe Social Security is in better financial shape than most people think. Social Security can easily survive into the 22nd century and beyond, if only we have the will.
Detroit skyline (Photo credit: Bernt Rostad)
But retirees, and anyone who expects to retire in the future, ought to be nervous about the shock waves from the Detroit bankruptcy. How many other cities, big and small, will have their credit ratings reduced? How many more will follow Detroit into bankruptcy? Not many, we may hope.
Alternating random emotions as retirement comes racing at me.
Ever have one of those days where it feels like you’re driving through water?
Me too. Hoping to write something worthwhile, that is.
Hold that thought. You’ve already written a bunch of posts that no one else could have written, Ms. Sled. You could probably mine your blog for a good eBook. — John
I am not any kind of big fat fan of David Brooks, but this offering in a chat feature he shares with Gail Collins made me sit up:
The great art critic Kenneth Clark once wrote an essay on what he called the “old-age style.” He noticed that some artists peak young but others, like Michelangelo, Titian, Rembrandt, Turner and Cézanne, peaked in their elderly years. These artists shared what he called:
A sense of isolation, a feeling of holy rage, developing into what I have called transcendental pessimism; a mistrust of reason, a belief in instinct.
Holy rage? Transcendental pessimism? I’m there. Not sure about the mistrust of reason, but after reading this, I’m clinging to the hope that as I get older, I’ll write something really worthwhile.
Hit the link to the chat; it’s a bagatelle worth your time, over a morning caffeine infusion or while waiting for…
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Here we are, the middle of July, and I haven’t posted in nearly a month. It’s one of my longest lapses since I began blogging in 2007. (“Work In Progress” is of more recent vintage, started in 2009.) Why is the summer rushing by so quickly? I haven’t been on summer vacation; I’ve been working at the beach motel. And I’ve been distracted by all the uncertainties associated with being on the cusp of “retirement.” Thanks to all who are following along and wondering patiently what’s become of me. I will resume regular posting soon, friends. Whether I can shed any light on the state of my own life or anything else in the world remains to be seen. — John
From our perspective here in the early 21st century, the world is full of contradictory trends, projections and predictions. You can’t help but be confounded by the tidal wave of information. At least I can’t.
Here’s a counterintuitive situation: We have graying populations in major countries, and at the same time, widespread unemployment among young workers? How can that be? Continue reading
When I started this blog in 2009, I called it “Life After 60.” Then I realized that life after 60 is not all that interesting. Not as interesting as books, politics, the economic crisis. Now, as of yesterday, I could call the blog “Life After 65.” Boring. Think I’ll stick with “Work In Progress.” Still trying to simplify, still obsessing about political and economic mysteries. Long live Medicare and Social Security!
The Beatles on the human condition . . . youth . . . aging . . . illness . . . life and death . . . and the song goes on . . .
Today, the beach motel opens. Another summer begins, even as the cool spring lingers. I work the evening shift, and I’m happy to have the job.
It’s my 65th summer on Spaceship Earth. I’m fully aware that the seasons are numbered, like the fastballs in a pitcher’s arm. You don’t know how many you have left.
“No matter how long you live, it goes by fast.” My favorite great-grandmother — the only great-grandmother I knew — said that. Most people don’t get to know a great-grandmother.
(Cora Hayden was my great-grandmother’s name. Her maiden name was Cora Cash. She was indeed a grand lady, matriarch of a great family. I was a child and she was a very old woman, so it’s not as if we had any deep conversations. Or any conversations at all, of more than a few words. Adults talked; children listened. Still, my life would have been much smaller except for her.)
I take each season as it comes now. “It’s a long season, and you’ve gotta trust it.” On Opening Day, all things seem possible, no matter the number of seasons. Is it the home runs you remember, or the strikeouts?
Yes, I’m not writing well right now. But some days and nights are like that.
— John Hayden
Living Simply And Still On The Grid 