I had the coolest conversation with Landlady a week ago.
You know, I’m getting to a certain age. I feel it in my joints. Yeah, I know I’m not all that old, 60 is the new 50 and all that. But there’s another cliche: It ain’t the years, it’s the mileage. And brethren and sistren, I got a lot. Also collision damage. And let’s not forget the glaucoma that’ll make me blind at some point, because I never do.
And Landlady said something to the effect that it might be best for a guy like me to die earlier rather than later. I mean she wasn’t suggesting I keel over in the next month or two – I think she wasn’t – just that it would be best to live while you can happily live and then die, rather than spend a decade or two drooling in a wheelchair just to make numbers. I did not disagree.
The conversation started a very interesting line of reasoning, really. I went from young strong witless led-by-his-cock asshole straight to broken pussywhipped middle-aged asshole almost without noticing the transition. It was really quite unpleasant, as I think back on it. The change to throw-it-to-the-wind-and-see-what-happens half-old celibate asshole was more difficult. But not only did I survive it, I almost accidentally became the thing that young me thought he wanted to be.
And I’ve been that new/old thing for almost exactly 14 years, and it has brought me happiness. Seriously, I never expected or even asked for happiness. I only asked for quiet.
If I could have my quiet life forever, I’d do that. But we don’t get forever. And I was thinking thoughts along those lines when I saw the coolest thing…
Great posters from another century in the America we use to know. “sigh”
I need one of those posters as a t-shirt!
My first summer job, beyond babysitting, was working in a nursing home as a nurses aid. I did that for 6 summers, through high school and 2 years of college. I decided early on that nothing about old age appeals to me and I’d prefer not to go there. That sentiment was later confirmed through years of caregiving my mother, mother in law and DH.
Now that I’m fast approaching 70, crossing the threshold, I’m more determined than ever not to give up the things I enjoy in life to improve my odds of getting somewhere I’d prefer not to go. Doctors find me more than a little annoying.
Getting shagged to death by a toothsome nymphomaniac squaw would be more fun than being mauled to death by a stinky bear…just sayin’…
I’ve had that conversation with myself and several friends. We’ve reached the same conclusion. Our debate now is do we start collecting Socialist Insecurity at 62 in order to get some of it back before leaving.
I’m with Stefan – “Death By Orgasm” sounds like a good way to go.
FYI on Social Insecurity – run the numbers. SS Admin will tell you your projected monthly income based on retirement age and your income history to whatever date they do the computation (actually, IIRC, somewhere around 45-50 they start mailing you those data annually). Plug it into a spreadsheet, and if you want to get fancy, write a script in Excel to do the work. Anyway, it’s easy to tell where the break even point is. I found mine as 77 yrs 11 mos – if I started receiving a 25% reduced benefit at age 62 instead of waiting for full bennies at 67, I would begin “losing” money on the deal beyond 77/11. Which, of course, assumes I’ll live at least until 78/1, which is not guaranteed. If one invests wisely some of the benefit that starts at 62 it will move the break even point farther out. I figured having access to 75% for the additional 5 years was worth it (Pro Tip: A Roth IRA is a good place for investing some of that SS payment – Roth withdrawals are exempt from federal and (most state) income tax).
And, also FYI, at age 68 all restrictions on earning additional income go away; up until then you’re limited to something like $1100/mo, beyond which every $2 of additional incme cuts your SS payment by $1.
Norman, investing some of the SS income in a Roth would be a great strategy, but it’s not allowed. Money invested in IRAs must be earned income, and SS is not considered earned income. I looked into it several years ago.
I’m with Stefan. Cumming and going at the same time sounds appealing to me. I know it’s tough being a pig, but somebody has to do it.
Norman, 77 or 78 seems to be the number for about everyone to break even. I’ve already done the spreadsheet. The question, as you note, is do you survive to that age? For me, It’s hard to figure. My great grandfather (Dad’s) lived until 92. His sons all dies in their 60s. Dad made it to 87, but he was a testimonial to modern medicine-3 heart attacks and I don’t know how many stents in his legs due to peripheral vascular disease.
Don’t know anything about great-grands on Mom’s side. Her Dad died in his late 40s, and given some things I’ve heard, I suspect it wasn’t of natural causes. Her mom died in her 60s. Mom lived to 85, again a testimonial to modern medicine. Beat cancer twice, but it got her the third time. Something of a mercy, as she had had one major and God knows how many mini-strokes, and didn’t know what planet she was on.
After reading that, I’m really leaning toward 62.