Lately, Mike and I have had discussions about retirement. It will be more than a while before either one of us does but for some reason, we have talked about it. The talk tends to center around where we would live. We love our place in New York City. But do we really want to 60- and 68-year-olds living in the Concrete Jungle?
Those of us who live and work in New York City have seen them. The 60-ish-year-olds walking around while the rest of us scurry along. We pass them in a rush. Sometimes irritated to have to slow down to avoid running them over. We huff at them because we have no patience for their slower pace. I don't necessarily think we are mean. It's just a fact. We're younger and more in a rush. So, we find it irritating that they have all the time in the world. And we don't.
But as I get older, I wonder if I want to be on the other side of the huff. Do I want to be that person who is given the eye for taking his time trying to get down the subway stairs? Or the person who gets smirked at for saying that things just keep getting expensive? I'm not sure how I feel.
New York City is hard. In all kinds of ways. It's hard on the wallet. It's hard on the knees. It's hard on the psyche. And it does not get any softer as you get older. You just become less durable. Or not as quick. And not as visible.
So far, we have decided on at least keeping a place in the City. For those times when we want to visit. But our primary residence will most likely be elsewhere. Our past visit to Atlanta certainly opened our eyes. It was lovely. Who knows. Atlanta seems so peaceful. So inviting. We'll see. Later.