I want to retire around age sixty-three on a yacht, in some tropical waters, with a forty-five-year-old captain at the helm, which is weird because I’ve always liked older men. He prepares my scrambled eggs and cuts my mango so perfectly…
Okay wait, no, fairy tales have never been my thing. That’s beyond ridiculous.
So the yacht is actually Clint’s Ranger boat, a fishing boat. The tropical water is actually Paint Lake, twenty minutes south of town. I make my own damn scrambled eggs ’cause I cook them the best. And I’m not fussy when it comes to HOW mangoes are cut before I eat them.
Oh and I guess the younger handsome captain is actually my older, very un-romantic (if I’m being honest) life partner Clint.
How’s that for a reality check?
I honestly don’t think about retirement. It’s not something I dream of.
If I’ve said this once, I’ve said it twenty times, having worked for years as a nurse in long-term care, I’ve seen the illnesses that rob people of their retirement dreams too often and too soon.
Dementia, strokes, Parkinson’s disease, Multiple Sclerosis, and of course the C word ravage human beings and take the helm.
People work and work and save and save for that day when they can finally stop working, throw in the towel and enjoy freedom. Only to find out freedom is actually a prison and you’re either locked up in your mind or your body.
So I’m living now. Doing what I want now. Enjoying life now. Even if that means working for my money. I don’t mind.
bloom.planted.north 
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