growing old in America
It’s a common thread of some retired expats. What place offers value, fun, travel. Many of us oldsters come from careers spanning 20 or 30 years. We’ve seen the best and the rest. We have been called boomers and blamed for this and that. So some of us leave it all. We leave the prison of old age in America. The spiraling cost of living and cost of dying. We see ourselves as extraneous with no value given or taken. It’s sad really that many of us have given to wars and peace and then find ourselves unwanted extras playing cribbage at McDonald’s and visiting all you can eat buffets with hesitant families.
But some leave. We decide that there’s a risk to be taken and we want some of the things back. So our birth countries fade into some past mirror reflection. We go. There are many countries happy to take us. That offer more or different. It’s not just a Vietnam or Cambodia. It’s a life apart from growing old and unwanted or needed by our own birthplace.
It’s easy to go. To get rid of everything. House, cars, stuff. Debt and responsibility. Jobs that may leave us before we leave them. So what is the step or steps to find something out there. Good question! There are no answers. What may work for my Canadian friend M may not work for you. What delivers the goods for D may leave you wanting.
It’s like everything. You love that and I don’t. You want this and I want that.
I can tell you growing old in America is not a piece of cake. It’s not even sweet. It’s a sour and rank feeling for us and maybe relief for you. But more and more of us will go. We will find lives apart and away from corrosive names and festering self disability. Maybe we have years. Maybe longer. But what we want is neither time or space. We want place. A place where we can live and breathe. Maybe again find friends. Most of all spend our days and decades in happiness.
Growing old we should have that. We paid for it.