I love reading about Boomers who retire to a houseboat or a yurt or some other oddball place that will give them a shot at fulfilling the dream. Now that the kids are gone and they have a measure of freedom, options begin to emerge.
Bill and I go back and forth, not sure what we want. Sometimes he’ll start a sentence with “In about five years, when we move…” and I’ll say, “When did we decide that? I like this house, and I don’t want to move. Maybe ever.”
But we might. Bill has been warning the kids for years that, at some point, we’ll stop doing holiday parties and expect to come to their (big, grandchildren-filled) houses for the holidays. Parties are a lot of work. Might be smarter to have a small home unsuitable for big parties. Young people feel sorry for what they see as shrinking lives, but older peeps cry crocodile tears. We get all the partying with none of the cleanup, and if we want to go somewhere, we just lock the doors and head out.
In fact, we both have a fantasy of living way up in a Florida high-rise overlooking the ocean, with a balcony/patio to serve as all the yard we need. The only problem is that my family doesn’t live in Florida, so that’s never going to happen. But we might do a couple months’ lease one of these years, just to pretend.
Bill has a fantasy of renting a nothingburger two-bedroom apartment somewhere and using that as our home base while we travel around the country, staying several months at a time at each of our kids’ locales: Atlanta, Oregon, and southern California. He would either rent a place in each city or own an RV.
Frankly, he’d have to be a widower to enjoy that particular daydream.
I guess, at 60, I’m starting to dig in. Just to make it fun for our adult kids, who at some point in my widowed, elderly future will have to use dynamite to get me out of here.
Embarrassing update: If you saw a “post” about Steve Jobs entitled “Bad Advice for Millennials,” I released it by accident in an incorrect format, and – oh, never mind. Just ignore it. Sorry.