What about me?
By MP on Wednesday 20 September 2006, 13:19 - Journal - Permalink
I bet my parents were not thinking about their final days when they started and raised a family. I bet, like most people of their generation, they had only passing thoughts about the deep future, and generally assumed that the government would look after everything.
Despite their lack of planning, things have worked out pretty well for them. They have equity in their house which, if the worst happens, can be used to pay to keep the devil from the door. They have reasonably good pensions, a semi-supportive governmental aged care system, and a family of adult children looking out for them.Compared to that, I have darker prospects, and I have troubled thoughts about them every few days. I don't have equity, I expect practically nothing from future governments, and I won't have a family to pick me up if I fall. I ought to be using these years to furiously build my nest-egg, but I cannot. The prospect of becoming progressively more infirm, a forgotten relic in the hands of complete strangers, frankly appalls me, yet an early death seems to be the only alternative.
I decided a few years ago that I would stay in Sydney for as long as mum and dad were here - not so much out of a sense of duty, but out of a suspicion that I would have regrets if I didn't. Now, as vague prospects of working overseas again begin to loom, I wonder whether I can afford to continue to stay. Maybe it is time to put myself first again? I know that if I ever mentioned this dilemma to mum and dad they would automatically want what was best for me - but is that the best for us (I already know it is not the best for them)? I really don't know.
Is 49 too old or too young to start thinking about your own endgame? It is perhaps too old to start financial preparations - you seem to have to start on that as soon as you leave college these days. It is perhaps too young to be thinking about what not to do, what not to start, where not to go. And yet, those around me who seem to have life sorted out have achieved this happy state by exactly this existential imposition of self-applied constraints. They've each decided that they are a researcher, corporate executive, dentist, etc, and will be for the duration. Instead, I had the idea that life was a picture, and it was up to me to paint in all parts of it, by reinventing myself every few years. While that modus vivendi has provided all its expected benefits, it has also come with an obvious disadvantage: you cannot keep changing boats and expect to be captain. You realise one day that you are good at a lot of things, but there is always someone far more expert in each of these fields. You wonder: have you missed the biggest and most important boat of all?
Well! I didn't expect today's post to be such a self-examination. I'd planned a simple investigation of our own aged care prospects. Looks like something is trying to make itself heard!

Comments
I could have written most of this post, Mike. I'll be 55 on Halloween and have lived my life very much as you have yours, with three exceptions: I STILL cannot bring myself to examine my prospects; I STILL have no regrets; I don't exactly "reivent" myself, but I have this internal compass upon which I rely to tell me whether to go this way or that. I usually end up going "that" way. Most people think the way I've lived and continue to live my life is absolutely insane (including family), although they love me none the less for it. They are, though, waiting for me to be brought up short and learn some sort of lesson that I seem to be unable to grasp. I can't disagree with them, but I have no desire to change my modus operandi. When I think about my "old" future, my solution to my lack of planning is, "Well, if it gets too bad, I can always check out; but, first, I'll do everything I didn't do because I thought I might die if I did it. If I live through all that and things still look hopeless, then I'll check out."
I would never recommend this way of living to anyone; at least I know that much. Nor would I ever tell anyone who has lived similarly that they have been smart to live the way they have, because, well, I don't know if I've been smart to live this way. But, you know, I'd never tell them they were "insane", or, for that matter, stupid, which I've also been called.
And, I wouldn't change anything in my life. Not anything.
Yes, I get scared, yes, I make room in my mind for everyone else's predictions and, no, I have no advice for you. But, you know, Mike, I want you to know, you're not the only one.
Mike--I'll echo what Gail has said so well. I may not say it aloud, but whenever someone asks me what I "do", I think: I'm a writer. That's mine, no matter what happens--I'm the only one who can take that away from me. And so I've made quite a few decisions based on that "vocation"--I haven't really wanted to get married and have children, I've always needed and often preferred to be alone. And I've never set myself on a "career path." I want a job like the one I've got, where I get to spend all day in a big building with millions of books, where I tend to meet others who, as Thoreau said "hear the beat of a different drummer." But, like you, I'm looking closely at my choices in light of my mother's situation--but I'm still not sure if this experience will dramatically change my future. I'll probably make some arrangements at some point (how's that for a plan?!) but there's another part of me that always takes the common wisdom with a big grain of salt. The older I get, the more comfortable I am with my particular life--I'm just very thankful that I've had the writing part of it. So none of your musings seem at all strange to me. (My Uncle Ben decided to get another college degree when he was in his 80's--maybe it runs in the family.)
Mike, all I can say to Gail's and Deb's comments is ditto. Interesting how many of us are in this position - can't imagine how it will be when we're all infirm and demented.