Last week, I came to the cold realization that I'm just four short years away from some senior discounts.
As my work colleagues reminded me, and they're all older than me, that some banks waive service fees for customers who reach the age of 55. The news that I could be eligible for such discounts in a few years hit me like a ton of bricks.
This weekend, I posted a photo of me and my mother as a celebratory reminder of Mother's Day. I was barely a year old: my mother, only 23. We're both bundled against the winter cold as we stood on the edge of the St-Lawrence River, in Montreal, smiling despite the weather. As I looked at that picture that I love so much, I realized that the photograph is now more than 50 years old.
I am now only 11 years younger than my dad was when he died. Granted, I'm healthier than he was at my age (for the most part), but with impending tests coming in the next couple of weeks, the results could change that assumption.
I'm nine years away from the government officially recognizing me as a senior citizen.
I'm 14 years away from retirement. I hardly feel that I'm ready.
I still feel young. I still feel like I have a lot that I want to do, still feel that I can accomplish those goals. But when I look at my numbers, know that I will soon be entitled to some senior discounts, I feel as though the pressure's on. That time is running out.
Freedom 55? Yeah, right. Some days, I don't think I'll be able to comfortably retire at 65.
And that's not that far away.