Our retirement plan is not to retire. My husband and I might be able to stop working at some point for about six months—and then we’ll need to begin an encore career or buy an Airstream and camp out in various National Parks and Costco parking lots. Funny. Not funny.
We both made the idealistic decision to follow our dreams. To live out our callings. Unfortunately, neither of those callings happen to be valued by the mysterious powers that set salaries. He works as a teacher, worship leader, and therapist. I make photos and string words together. Both of us typically put in 50-60 hour work weeks—not because we waste time noodling around on social media or going for long lunch breaks but because that’s how many hours it takes to pull together a middle school production of Shakespeare or write a book.
The reality of not being able to save for retirement only troubles us when we read estimates about how much we’ll need in order to live our our lives. The rest of the time, denial serves us well. Denial and the fact that we both love what we do.
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