Setting aside money for the future is an act of caring for those you love, by caring for yourself too
Retirement has always been a strange concept for me, and one that makes me flinch. I’ve seen it as some sort of killjoy, reinforcing the idea that one day I will no longer be able to function, and slowly attain obsolescence and death. No thanks!
I have therefore been a little hesitant to commit to the idea fully. Perhaps it’s simply outright denial?
The retirement project also seems to require an inordinate amount of preparation, a fastidious and devout kind of self-respect that I have often lacked in life. I have preferred to fly by the seat of my pants, without much planning or direction. And I cannot say that this approach has done me any harm, to be honest.
Growing up as the son of a labour-intensive physiotherapist with a fatal heart condition, work and death were always in sharp focus. My father didn’t take a day off for the first seven years of his working life, including weekends.
He squirrelled away money whenever he could, so that a volley of retirement annuities matured regularly as he got older.
When he died, my mother became the benefactor of the modest capital he had accumulated, and she has done pretty well to preserve the bulk of it. Or some of the bulk of it!
It’s very clear, this kind of life support he established for her, and for us. Without it, we’d be in entirely different circumstances. I am grateful for the love of my father, which he gave so fiercely in life, expressed in this way. We say his name regularly, giving thanks.
So I have an excellent example to guide me, someone who was kind and diligent. But I am not my father, and the times have changed. In his day, the model of a job for life followed by retirement was still pretty strong.
But now, due to the changed way we work, I think that retirement, too, isn’t what it used to be.
This is because, typical of my crustifying generation, I say that I’ll work until I die. But that’s being blasé. I’ll work until I can no longer. The illusion that I’m in charge of my body and not the other way around will collapse one day. And then what?
I cannot answer this. For most of my life I’ve been self-employed, hence have never imagined not earning my crust, in one way or another. I enjoy working and the idea of not doing so is anathema to me. For me, work is life. It is fulfilling and rewarding and vital.
I therefore think that I’ll never “retire”, as much as change what I am capable of doing.
I became adept at generating the financial resources I need, despite obstacles, and despite a lack of planning. It’s more like I’ve felt my way into what I’m doing, rather than thought about it too much. I don’t see how that will change. I will always find a way of making do with what I have. I am blessed with this feeling of sufficiency.
As the pandemic continues to rage around us, this feeling of enough invites a calmness that helps open new possibilities, as familiar doors are shut.
Another new direction, I discover, has silently been taking shape for years, and will, in future, gain even more clarity and focus, as I age. I am moving in exciting new directions, even while nothing is certain.
There is no guarantee I will be alive next week, never mind tomorrow. And then I discover what has changed. Age has granted me a measure of self-respect. Ironically, this has meant that I am less selfish than before.
For me then, it’s more about leaving what I can to the people I love than caring for myself. I care for those I love by caring for myself too.
I realise that when I did start contributing to a pension fund about 10 years ago, I did so more to salve my conscience than to save for retirement. If I were to rely on this alone in future, I’d not be long for this world. It’s a nominal amount, something I wanted to never really notice.
I haven’t wanted to feel like I’m robbing from today to pay for a tomorrow that might never come. A hypothetical tomorrow invites prudence and speculation, which, I’ve found, I’m not very good at.
I can save something, not much, maybe not enough. But there’s a profound difference, because I’m not saving for retirement, I’m saving for the future. I’m not saving out of fear, but with love.
It’s one I cannot count on, which is precisely what helps me understand what it means to enjoy the present. It is truly all I have. I am not living in tomorrow, but today. I am here, now, fully present, awake and alive, living the life I choose to, until one day, tomorrow finally comes.
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