Monday, April 04, 2011
drifting off on boulevard st-germain
I never dreamt of retirement.
I have friends who have been planning for retirement their entire working lives. When. Where. How many resources they would need.
Not I. I gave no thought to retirement -- other than socking away money for medical expenses. But, where? When? How much would I need? Not a thought.
They never entered my mind because I come from a family that is not genetically inclined to think about such things. Dying in the traces is what my people do. Retirement is for quitters.
That changed one weekend three years ago.
Two people I knew died on the same day. Those deaths reminded me that for several months, my professional journal included obituaries of attorneys half of whom were younger than your correspondent. I had no desire to go like that.
Right there, I set a retirement date -- with Mexico as my target destination.
I started thinking about that this morning as I sat at my usual table in La Rana (The Frog) -- my neighborhood restaurant.
Visions of sidewalk cafes on the Left Bank danced in my head as I imagined fashionable and edgy Parisians parading past.
And I chuckled. I was conjuring up a dream that was never mine. Even though retirement in Paris sounds nice, I was happy with my current view.
A sandy cobblestone street. Young women on bicycles. A fruit juice vendor. Rustic buildings. And a feeling I was where I should be at the moment.
And that is not a bad feeling at this stage of my life.