disability and retirement
The past few months, I have thought a lot about aging, retirement and disability a lot. Iām often surrounded by people who take their health for granted, and where degenerative effects on the body are something they leave to their future selves to deal with, being almost in denial that it will happen. There is missing awareness (or willingness to see) that you could end up disabled almost instantly, but definitely will not feel like you do now at the expected retirement age either way. Which doesnāt mean it has to suck or is full of suffering necessarily, but:
There is still the idea of (rather early) retirement as our grandparents have been enjoying, and this idea of finally getting to enjoy life then; mixed, paradoxically, with the awareness of our collapsing retirement system, longer times in the workforce, and a possible climate related early death. Thereās denial about how well youāll be at 75, and how you likely still need to continue working to survive, and what that does with your body and retirement plans.
The following may sound grim, or otherwise weird, but somehow, I am grateful my disability has removed the delusions about growing old, and even removed the desire to absolutely maximize my lifespan. I could already taste what it was like to be weak, almost unable to walk, needing help getting dressed and with managing the household, keeping track of meds and symptoms, the pain and all that; and I know it will be recurring, and in some ways getting worse over time. And that gave me an accurate vision I can plan withā¦ and that I want to avoid.
My helplessly sick times are not a one-time thing, like breaking a leg at 19 or being down with the flu for two weeks, and nothing I can avoid or control, which I guess is why othersā situations of temporary illness donāt hit them the same. Itās something they can recover from, so aging related events feel unreal or like something reversible to them, even if they arenāt; like they can go to the doctor and have them fix it perfectly, instead of it being a persistent issue with an ever-growing list of meds that come with side effects that warrant other meds, that seem to only soften the blow instead of treating the source.
Chronic illness, to me, feels similar to aging, and is tied to it. That made me know better than to expect to be able to work at a high age, or do some kind of elaborate retirement bucket list that others my age still hope for just because grandma and grandpa are on a cute little RV trip right now whenever theyāre not in their paid-off, huge, half-empty house with garden. Thatās simply not the life most of us will have.
My situation and insight brings with it no desire to stockpile experiences, money or passive income to be delayed and enjoyed in old age. Knowing my āretirementā will be very difficult or not exist at all liberates me to prioritize the now. It allows me to plan to tap out earlier instead of desperately trying to clobber together a survival plan and income reserves for my ancient self as our system is collapsing.
I also donāt cling to the thought of a cure, as Iām realistic about the irreversible permanent damage the illnesses have already caused until then that will still rear its ugly head the older I get. Itās the same reason why even with meds, I have less energy or am less flexible or still have occasional pain in my guts.
Itās a weird sort of twisted positive in it all. The removal of rose-tinted glasses causes my appreciation for the next day, the next week even. My drive to make things happen now, my ease with which I can give to my wife, my friends, to organizations I support because I know I canāt take any of it to the grave. It doesnāt feel hopeless or negative, just realistic in a way that almost feels reassuring and comforting. I can grieve early if I want to, but I don't feel like I need to.
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