The Time of My Life

I feel that I’ve lost my way. I can’t say just when that happened or why. I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.

I am fifty-four years of age. Her majesty’s government have decreed that I may retire with full pension rights in April 2025. My job is comfortable: I don’t get stressed. My commute is a mere two miles. My home life is not fraught in any way. My missus seems content; the collie and chickens are happy. I’m not rich, but I have no financial worries. My health is not perfect, but not a worry. By any measure that seems reasonable: I don’t have any just cause for dissatisfaction. I know, to my shame, there are millions in far worse situations.

But I am dissatisfied, all the same. Am I to continue, more of the same, for the next twenty years? What would be the point of that? Am I just living for living’s sake? I try to enthuse myself by considering my legacy. Do I want to leave the world a better place than I found it? Why would (should?) I care what happens, once I’m dead?

I thought that maybe I needed a new challenge; something to strive for. But I can’t think of anything that would “get me going”. I feel I ought to be “making a difference” somewhere.

Am I supposed to take a mistress, buy a Ducati, take up bungee-jumping? The mistress sounds like a great idea, until I consider first, how much I love my wife; second, the effect on my home life, when her indoors finds out; third, how picky and perverse my taste in women is; fourth, my lack of pulling power. I used to really enjoy motorcycling, but I was never very good at it. I gave up when my arthritis made it uncomfortable. I’d already had one major prang, resulting in broken neck and shoulder blade. I don’t think spending retirement in a wheelchair will improve matters any. I hate heights. I think I’d sooner gnaw my own bollocks off, than go bungee-jumping. In the immortal words of Ron Moody, “I think I’d better think it out again.”

I checked to see if I could afford to retire early. I probably could, though it would be expensive. But then I thought: why would I want to? To give myself an extra forty-odd hours each week to do as I please? That’s only useful if I have a plan to fulfil.

I can’t believe that my plight is unique. How does one grow old gracefully? I’m sure I don’t want the next twenty years to be principally marked by my fading away.


About micklively

Fifty-something, pacifist, six sigma black belt, lean implementer, brewer, vintner, guitarist, wood-turner, and slave to collies.
This entry was posted in age, death, life, retirement, sex, work and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to The Time of My Life

  1. My husband worked the last 20 years in London, a place he hated, saving for the day he retired and we could find a nice place in the country. Within 9 months of our move his cancer came back and he died the following year. He said “Is it too much to ask, after 55 years work, that I should have a few years of peaceful retirement?” Work isn’t everything, but it’s damned hard to find an alternative -especially these days.

  2. housedrugsrelationships says:

    my blog entry is written with a similar view to this… x

  3. I am in the very fortunate position of being able to turn my hobby of writing into something that pays (some of) the bills. My fond hope is that it will enable me to retire from my day job long before I reach old age and I can write full-time. Aside from biking and bungee jumping, have you any hobbies that you would love to do full-time? Would any of them bring in cash?

  4. Make something, something you’ve never made before.

  5. Arkenaten says:

    ”By any measure that seems reasonable: I don’t have any just cause for dissatisfaction”

    Damn straight, Mick, and you better believe it, my friend.
    Corny as it sounds if you want to ‘feel’ something go and work at a soup kitchen or help kids to read or muck in at an old age home.

    Even if it does nothing to sort out your Karma it’ll help someone else!

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