And this wasn't necessarily a bad way of looking at the rest of my life.
I'm no longer living on a big bright forward curve full of possibility. I'm living a big bold black line with a stark beginning (today) and an end. I'm in my endgame. Every day I don't do something, my endgame is a little bit shorter.
When I was young, I was drifting toward some hazy, undefined future that seemed full of possibilities. Even if my current life, finances, or love life sucked, there were still all those bright decades ahead when I could buy that cabin, get that horse, find that perfect guy, build that spay/neuter clinic, etc.
I first realized time was truly finite when I gave up the dream of the horse. I'd chosen cats, and they were taking up all my time and dollars. Even though I had acres enough for horses, I didn't have fences, and a big enough bank account to be immediately available for horse injuries and monthly farrier visits. When I looked at my priorities, those fences weren't on it. I also suspected that if I built fences, I'd become the caretaker of every local shelter's found horses. So...
- Horse = strikethrough.
- Gut the upstairs of my house and add a balcony = strikethrough
- Learn the mandolin to expert level = traded for ukulele (easier on the fingers if practice is haphazard)
- Build a spay/neuter clinic = Love the vision, but prefer the hands-on to the ownership admin work
At first it seems like striking things off your list is kind of sad. On the other, I begin to focus more sharply on what I could really do over the course of that big bold black line. What thing could I do that might REALLY make a difference? Did it have to be what I was doing now? Did what I was doing now make me happy - or even make a difference?
More and more of us over 60 are waking up to the reality: there’s no cushy, pension-paid retirement ahead. We have to work. The question is — how?
- We can find a job that keeps us moving, gives us some satisfaction, and maybe even some benefits—something that lets us live while we do what we love on the side. 💥
- We can grind ourselves into the ground, making someone else’s dream come true, just trying to keep the lights on. 😖 (Hint: This is where I am now)
- We can cling to a career we’ve outgrown, constantly updating our skills to stay relevant in a game we no longer care about.😕 (I'm here, too)
- Or we can be the architect of our own endgame.✨
- Maybe that means quitting the thing that’s draining you.
- Maybe it means starting over—crafting a legacy that actually matters to you.
- Maybe it’s finally making something of your own rather than building for someone else.
One day, our names will be printed in an obituary. What do I want mine to say? (Quiet tip: Go ahead and write your own obituary now. I would have loved it if my mom and dad had left a rough draft of what they wanted to be remembered for, rather than me worrying my sisters and I had left something important out, or highlighted something they really didn't care about).
We don’t have forever. But we have now until our end day. And that’s enough to build something that lasts.
So what about me? I do have a pretty good idea of what mine will be. I've been talking about it with a friend, and making a few new professional contacts in hope it will come true. It needs to be simple (because you know, I'm tired). But it needs to make a difference.
I'm just putting Step 1 here, now, just in case anyone else has also discovered that perhaps that unforgiving big black line right in front of us could have even more power and potential that that big misty curve did, decades ago.
