We working folks retire at some point. For somebody with a career in the arts, retirement is unlikely to take the shape it takes for those in business or many of the professions. Artists don’t really retire, after all. Yet the bulk of my career has been spent as a teaching artist, and teachers most indubitably do retire. It’s usually a good idea, in fact, since many of us lose some of our flexibility, and with it our reserves of patience, as we grow older. Crabby old teachers aren’t good for anybody, even if they might have some worthwhile stuff to communicate. Then again, growing old gracefully is not at all uncommon, especially not in the teaching profession.
I would describe my retirement thoughts as casual with an edge of commitment. I turn 60 this summer, an age to start looking ahead, but not the onset of old-fuddiness. I haven’t the slightest intention of packing it in at the industry-standard 65. I’m in good health, I’m energetic and full of good ideas, I’m a deeply experienced teacher, and I’m just fine with younger people’s problems. It would be the height of stupidity for me to think of retiring any time soon—and the height of insanity for any college worth its salt to encourage me to do so.
Yet it stands out there, like the tippy-top of a landmark peeping up over the horizon. Retirement. Hmmm. What would I want to do when I retire? Or, more to the point, what would I not want to do?
First things first: unless by some miracle I could keep the lovely house I’ve been renting since 1986, I will not remain in San Francisco, or even in the Bay Area. No point in having my nest egg wiped out by ludicrous housing prices. Hence step one, which is to myself a place where I can live in some comfort and style, but that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. Fortunately there are plenty of those out there. Housing prices in much of the country are low, not high.
Thus I’m saving up to buy myself a nice house with hard cash, no mortgage. I want to enter my sunset years without debts. A paid-up house and the equity it represents is an absolute must. Now then: where?
Where, indeed. The whole world awaits, I suppose. I can narrow that down to the continental United States since I don’t want to live anywhere else. Certain areas are resolutely out—nowhere hot and dry, or hot and muggy. I’ll never willingly live in the Southwest, hellish places such as Arizona or New Mexico. Ditto Florida, to me a hell realm personified. Ditto anywhere with winters that are just too severe—no North Dakota, Wisconsin, Minnesota, etc. Some winter would be just fine and dandy. Midwestern winters wouldn’t be a problem for me, nor would midwestern summers. That puts me in tune with the great mid-swath of the US, from Illinois through Indiana and Kentucky, Ohio and Iowa and Missouri, all that. I’m also fond of the mid-Eastern seaboard, north of the rednecks but south of the Eastern megalopolis. North Carolina beckons.
Then there’s also the Pacific Northwest, almost a cliché destination for Californians but no less attractive for all that. The Portland area is very high on my list, for its combination of near-perfect weather for me (I don’t mind rain and overcast at all; in fact, I rather like them) and reasonable home prices without a wad o’ crime or ickiness. There is a slight problem in that many Oregonians have had their fill of transplanted Californians, and I can’t say I blame them. But who could object to a quiet-living retired college professor? In fact, who would even notice me? Among my prime requirements is plenty of space and solitude. I’m not even considering buying a house that’s on less than a half acre of land. I have no intention of gardening or whatnot. I’ll even be happy to let the land run wild or subject it to minimal upkeep. I just want the space.
So. I retire (maybe around age 70) and move to my paid-up house wherever, on its nice big lot. Then what?
Then what, indeed. Perhaps the greatest gift of a life in music is that you never stop living a life in music. It’s not something you retire from. The life in music simply continues in its new digs, without the daily appointments or classes. It continues as I wish it to continue, like a summer vacation that never ends. I keep studying music, making music, enjoying music.
Retirement is a silly concept in my case. I wouldn’t be retiring so much as changing addresses. And just maybe I won’t change addresses at all, but just keep on teaching, fewer hours per week to be sure, but just keep on going. As long as I can live where I do (not by any means a done deal!) then there’s not the slightest need to consider packing it in, unless the mind or body reaches the state where I just can’t function adequately. In that case, I’ll be thinking more assisted living than some bucolic Oregon spread. But I’m saving up anyway, so if nothing else, I’ll have a nice healthy financial cushion to ensure that my late years are relatively free from money worries.