The nice folks at the American Association of Retired People sent me a brochure about five years ago, which I tossed in the recycling, unopened, chuckling to myself at the blatant inaccuracy of their mailing list.

Three years ago I got a large envelope from them in the mail, promising the gift of a roomy insulated travel tote upon the return of their membership postcard. I clucked my tongue as I tossed it in the recycling, bemoaning the waste of paper, ink, and jet fuel necessary to deliver their message to the wrong address.

But this year, when the AARP invitation inevitably arrives, I will answer. I will answer “yes”. Yes, please send me the travel tote, and I’ll take the quarterly news mailer and subscribe to the helpful bi-weekly email tips regarding vitamins and annuities and affordable travel adventures. Fine. You got me. You stayed in the same place and I came right to you.

You ARE sort of sneaky - just looming there in the future with your discounts and life hacks, as sure of your inevitable relevance as a trusty umbrella, waiting for Spring. I would call it diabolical if it wasn’t just TIME.

(Oh, and if you offer an umbrella, I’ll also have one of those.)

The Social Security office wrote me this week - reminding me that in two years I could begin to collect payments - but if I waited five years, I would get more money, and if I waited ten years I’d receive even larger payments - albeit with statistically less opportunity to spend it, due to the whole TIME thing again.

I have always thought of “retirement” in the same space as “winning the lottery”, a goal where the implied lifestyle was mostly fantasy. Handball, fishing, wine tasting, light carpentry, walking barefoot on a beach with my slacks rolled up. I know a few folks who planned very, very well and are now enjoying the world around them after superior careers in challenging fields - though the world they’ve ended up in isn’t the one they were aiming for. They unknowingly packed warm clothes and optimism for an age of global warming and internet bullying.

I never thought retirement would be “stopping” as much as “making a 90 degree turn”. There were rumors of pensions and pretty gold watches. But change moved faster than any career could - buildings I remember seeing constructed were entirely razed, businesses that had thrived for almost a century were casually dissolved, entire industries understood as primary and essential proved wholly unnecessary. So most of us wound up taking those 90 degree turns sooner than we expected, and the future, once a mathematical result of sage calculation, became once again uncertain.

But in two years, dependent on the state of democracy, I could receive a payment from the United States government each month, along with a bit of healthcare to stave off the injuries I may incur while playing handball, fishing, or walking barefoot on a beach and mistakenly stepping on a jellyfish.

Again, I’m not expecting retirement to mean that I don’t have to work - but that I’ve earned the time to add something other than work to my schedule. I never learned to “take my time”, mostly because (not to be twee) I didn’t really see much time that “belonged to me”. Besides unescapable life function, my every moment was an urgent payment forward, relentlessly thriving or surviving this or that or everything.

I’ve given out a great deal of advice over the years, most of it to groups of eager college students or potential entry-level employees. My central theme was to always keep learning. Now, I am going to take my own advice. I have a list of things that I’m going to keep learning. In alphabetical order, they are:

* ASL

* (the) banjo

* bioscience

* sleight-of-hand

Given that I’m still working everyday, I understand that I will need to make room for these pursuits, so I’m giving up

* worrying about things

* going out of the house after dark

* drinking alcohol (outside of the house (after dark))

* doomscrolling

* thinking about doing things rather than immediately doing them and then just being done with it

Oh, and I’m going to sing more. I enjoy it, even if two of our cats do not. I mean, Tom Jones, Paul Simon, Bob Dylan, Barbara Streisand, and Paul McCartney are all 84 years old this year. Five of them have released new albums in the last three years, and Tom Jones is out on tour RIGHT NOW. Inspiring.

But the grand dame of it all is Shirley Bassey, best known in the US for singing the James Bond theme “Goldfinger”. She is the first Black artist to sing a Bond theme, the first Welsh singer to have a number one hit, and the first female artist to have a song on the UK top 40 charts in seven consecutive decades. She has released over 40 albums, 20 tv specials, and is 89 years old.

Dude. I have a ways to go. Maybe I don’t need that tote bag yet. Oh AARP, don’t be mad at me: I really do appreciate that you are there to greet us as our enlightened sherpa to Creakybone Mountain™. But you just sit tight. I’ll be on my way.

In a while.