Changing Seasons, and Retirement

The air is brisker at dawn this week, a preliminary sign of fall. Fall is probably my favorite season; as chlorophyll’s green subsides and is replaced by vibrant shades of rust, orange, and yellow, one can easily gain a sense of change in oneself.

I was talking about retirement with a colleague the other day as she approaches her own retirement. She told me about her best friend’s husband, who died suddenly of a heart attack while on a cruise, just months after retirement.

“That’s horrific,” I said. “All that saving, all that planning, and in the end it meant nothing.”

There’s a similar lesson in the acclaimed Korean film Parasite: the best kind of plan is no plan.

“That’s why I don’t want to wait any longer to retire,” she said. “I don’t want to wait for more money or whatever. I don’t want to wait to be rich. I’d rather just be free now.”

A lesson lurked beneath those words. There is a cost to having money. There is a cost to wanting things.

That cost is often freedom, and in a life that’s already painfully short and impossible to forecast, this cost tends to be much higher than people want it to be.

I’d be lying if I said that I don’t still desire things. There’s always an upgrade, and the rate of potential upgrades is accelerating as society turns its faith toward the credit card.

There is always a better car, or another car, or another shirt. Believe me, I can find them easily. Hell, there’s always a better bicycle. One can surgically make oneself taller, lift the face, dye the hair, and smooth out some wrinkles. All of these enhancements will provide a nice illusion: the illusion that time isn’t actually degrading you.

I try to take some deep breaths and absorb this present moment in time. How is this not enough? How do I not have enough?

I am not thinking much about the future these days, or even retirement. It can’t be forecasted, and hopes bring with them stresses. I’ll just be glad to enjoy this fall season.