I had the notion in the back of my brain that around 50, I would figure out a way to semi-retire. I don’t ever want to completely retire and by that I mean sit at home in front of the TV waiting for death. My life functions better when I have some higher cause or purpose. Sorta like Apollo in Rocky IV: if you’re a fighter who doesn’t have a fight anymore, then WTF good are you? That being said, I don’t feel like that higher purpose lies within CorporaPe America, which I doubt is a shock to any of my readers. For me, CA is a means to an end. I saw a shirt or a bumper sticker that said something like, “It’s a big gamble to spend your first 60 years doing something you hate in order to spend the last 20 doing what you love.” And it really inspired me. Amen to that 1000x over. I had a similar reaction reading Possum Living: since I don’t plan on lying in bed like a slug from age 65 to death, I don’t see much value in tossing an abundance of cash into the stock market to gamble for retirement. I can’t predict the future, of course, and I have no clue what will happen in terms of being able-bodied. But I can say I intend to make hay while the sun shines. In less frilly terms: fuck this, LOL. I don’t want to wait until I am 50 and put my dreams on hold. I hate to sound macabre, but I may not live that long. We get no guarantees. My friend, Ron, is a great example. He had all these things on his bucket list that he never got around to. One of the things we talked about was getting a small ground of friends and family together to take an Alaskan cruise. Unfortunately, after he was diagnosed with cancer, he declined quickly and then passed away. I look at that and go, “What was it all worth, man?” I know he liked his job and I know he liked buying crap with his paycheck, but on his deathbed, he wasn’t saying, “Gee, I really wish I had spent more time at the office. I wish I had crammed myself up the boss man’s ass just a little more.”* Ron was less than a year away from retirement and wasn’t hurting for money. He could have retired and pursued other things, but he kept putting it off. Then it was too late. I don’t want that to happen to me. I don’t know how much time I have left, but I can’t bear the thought of never even trying—just mindlessly toiling away like a wage slave, pissing and moaning about it but not ever making a proactive change. (All roads lead to Roy Batty: “I want more life, fucker.”)
Because the plan was not to deal with this until 50, I wasn’t prepared at 33, but I decided to at least step carefully into it. I’ve used the analogy that I’m in the toddler pool with floaties on. I’m not ready to dive in the deep end or swim with the sharks yet, but I’m able to get sea legs in the toddler pool. Taking baby steps is all I feel comfortable with and it will get me where I want to go. The next few years of my life are going to pass by whether I take this leap of faith or I don’t; I’d rather have something great to show for it than to sit and kvetch. That’s why I’m in the process of starting my own small business. It encompasses a lot of emotions all at once: terror, excitement, exhilaration, fear, anxiety, pride, and worry. But it’s worth it. I can tell you unequivocally it is worth it. To feel like I am slowly paving my own way out is nothing short of miraculous. It’s easier to stomach the nonsense when you know an end is in sight, even if it’s a dot on the horizon. I’ll have more updates to come as things develop. But this is why I’ve been an absentee blogger. It’s all for good reason!
*In fairness, I work with a guy currently who might actually feel that way. He is the biggest asskiss I have ever seen. He probably says, “We can do this,” “Let’s make this happen,” and “Piece of cake” no less than 50 times per workday. So on his deathbed, he might wish he had spent even more time at the office. Jackwagon. To make it worse, he paints himself up to be some avant-garde rebel, which he most certainly is not. He’s a mouthpiece full of hot air. To steal a term from my friend, Marion, he’s nothing more than a “safe rebel.” In these parts, there’s nothing avant-garde about parroting whatever broke-ass propaganda you’ve heard on AM radio this morning. He’s your typical big government Republican / libertarian in name only: I want the government to enforce my agenda, which is racist and homophobic, but otherwise, I want no government. He has every right to free speech and I have every right to walk the fuck away.
Here are two bonus quotes from me to you:
“How does this other guy’s gayness affect you at all? Unless you’re sleeping with him or want to be, what do you care about his penis?” (This could be my response to anyone who gets “offended” by someone else’s adult bedroom activities.)
“I’m sure your husband probably thinks I’m a big ole bitch who doesn’t have anything positive to say about anyone up there. In point of fact, he’s right because I don’t. You put them in a lineup and ask me to point out which one whose company I like and I will never raise a finger. I’ve been browbeaten by all of them too long to be pleasant anymore.”
