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There is no universal optimum. While of course it’s sensible to moderate one’s consumption and to regard the future without idle fantasy or obliviousness, we can never be certain. Old age might be forestalled by cancer, accident, suicide; the poster “Serious Conversation” makes amply good point. Carefully cultivated investments might be wiped out by fraud, divorce, civil or criminal forfeiture, vagaries of markets, personal lapse in good judgment, a freakish reversal of luck. Just as it takes years to cultivate an honorable social reputation, but only one careless moment to lose it, so too, a great fortune sedulously amassed may quickly be broken; or, despondency over the enormity of the task, may prevent one from ever seriously starting to save, and then comes the “cliff” (mentioned already by others) when one’s working-capacity is vitiated, and one’s need for money goes unmet.
The golden-middle is hard to attain; there is no size called “extra medium”. I marvel at the disparity between responsibility and consequence. We are responsible for ourselves, our savings and our careers; we can not blame a corrupt state or a grossly unjust society, for narrowly personal woes. And yet by taking care of ourselves, it does not strictly follow, that we’ll be taken care of. There are so many ways to fail, for tortoise to overtake hare, for regretting too much parsimony or not enough. One almost comes to believe, that it’s better to die young; or to live the feudal-peasant life at meager edge of bare subsistence, where the main concern is the present day’s hunger, and not the hypothetical hunger of imponderable decades left for unrealizable future-self.
I can not live like a gypsy, because of not caring for flamboyant clothing or having much skill with the violin; nor do I crave rootlessness or living at mainstream society’s harangued and pitiable margin. I do however find that as I grow comparatively older, ambition cedes ground to yearning for serenity, heading towards unassuming dotage. Needs wither away. A means of writing, the hint of an audience. The mental acuity enabling having something to say. Dinner, not necessarily a fancy one. A sturdy box that’s called a home, until such time as smaller box will do.
There is no universal optimum. While of course it’s sensible to moderate one’s consumption and to regard the future without idle fantasy or obliviousness, we can never be certain. Old age might be forestalled by cancer, accident, suicide; the poster “Serious Conversation” makes amply good point. Carefully cultivated investments might be wiped out by fraud, divorce, civil or criminal forfeiture, vagaries of markets, personal lapse in good judgment, a freakish reversal of luck. Just as it takes years to cultivate an honorable social reputation, but only one careless moment to lose it, so too, a great fortune sedulously amassed may quickly be broken; or, despondency over the enormity of the task, may prevent one from ever seriously starting to save, and then comes the “cliff” (mentioned already by others) when one’s working-capacity is vitiated, and one’s need for money goes unmet.
The golden-middle is hard to attain; there is no size called “extra medium”. I marvel at the disparity between responsibility and consequence. We are responsible for ourselves, our savings and our careers; we can not blame a corrupt state or a grossly unjust society, for narrowly personal woes. And yet by taking care of ourselves, it does not strictly follow, that we’ll be taken care of. There are so many ways to fail, for tortoise to overtake hare, for regretting too much parsimony or not enough. One almost comes to believe, that it’s better to die young; or to live the feudal-peasant life at meager edge of bare subsistence, where the main concern is the present day’s hunger, and not the hypothetical hunger of imponderable decades left for unrealizable future-self.
I can not live like a gypsy, because of not caring for flamboyant clothing or having much skill with the violin; nor do I crave rootlessness or living at mainstream society’s harangued and pitiable margin. I do however find that as I grow comparatively older, ambition cedes ground to yearning for serenity, heading towards unassuming dotage. Needs wither away. A means of writing, the hint of an audience. The mental acuity enabling having something to say. Dinner, not necessarily a fancy one. A sturdy box that’s called a home, until such time as smaller box will do.
Translation: "You live your life. Things may or may not happen. You get old and need less things. Then you die." The End.
I am much more focused on retiring early since both of my parents died, after watching my Dad's slow physical decline from caring for my Mom with dementia. If I run out of money before I die naturally, I'll just check out. In the meantime, I have two years then I am gone from the job, regardless of what I have in the bank. But, I do think I will have enough. So, I guess I am being irresponsibly responsible? I could easily work longer and be certain, but life is too short. I just want 10 good years. That would be enough.
There is no universal optimum. While of course it’s sensible to moderate one’s consumption and to regard the future without idle fantasy or obliviousness, we can never be certain. Old age might be forestalled by cancer, accident, suicide; the poster “Serious Conversation” makes amply good point. Carefully cultivated investments might be wiped out by fraud, divorce, civil or criminal forfeiture, vagaries of markets, personal lapse in good judgment, a freakish reversal of luck. Just as it takes years to cultivate an honorable social reputation, but only one careless moment to lose it, so too, a great fortune sedulously amassed may quickly be broken; or, despondency over the enormity of the task, may prevent one from ever seriously starting to save, and then comes the “cliff” (mentioned already by others) when one’s working-capacity is vitiated, and one’s need for money goes unmet.
The golden-middle is hard to attain; there is no size called “extra medium”. I marvel at the disparity between responsibility and consequence. We are responsible for ourselves, our savings and our careers; we can not blame a corrupt state or a grossly unjust society, for narrowly personal woes. And yet by taking care of ourselves, it does not strictly follow, that we’ll be taken care of. There are so many ways to fail, for tortoise to overtake hare, for regretting too much parsimony or not enough. One almost comes to believe, that it’s better to die young; or to live the feudal-peasant life at meager edge of bare subsistence, where the main concern is the present day’s hunger, and not the hypothetical hunger of imponderable decades left for unrealizable future-self.
I can not live like a gypsy, because of not caring for flamboyant clothing or having much skill with the violin; nor do I crave rootlessness or living at mainstream society’s harangued and pitiable margin. I do however find that as I grow comparatively older, ambition cedes ground to yearning for serenity, heading towards unassuming dotage. Needs wither away. A means of writing, the hint of an audience. The mental acuity enabling having something to say. Dinner, not necessarily a fancy one. A sturdy box that’s called a home, until such time as smaller box will do.
The 'disparity' comes from the fact that we have a lot less control than we feel we do, as you alluded to in your first paragraph.
But why would it be better to die young when all of the things that you have said apply equally to both young and old?
I plan to live like a gypsy 5 years from now and just as I enter dotage. Sailing south every winter to warmer climes and with all of the adventure that the lifestyle brings. It's that 'extra medium' golden middle you mentioned.
Thinking about it, I have had those and king crab.
I love shellfish! My husband and I are heading to Halifax, Nova Scotia this weekend for the boat show. There is a really good deep fried clams and scallops place over there that we intend to patronize. YUM!
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big puffs of wind
