I hadn’t seen my family in five months, so I flew from San Diego to Newark for Christmas. The trip, which should have ended in a mid-afternoon landing, was delayed for eight hours and dragged on until well after midnight. My parents pulled up in my mother’s new SUV, their faces tired but brightening when they saw me. We drove the hour south to the house by the beach, the roads empty, the world quiet.
The next morning, after breakfast at a local diner, we sat in their living room, letting the comfort of being together settle in. They are both 70 years old. They brought up three kids — I am the 39-year-old middle child. My father still works remotely as an attorney and has talked about retirement for years but continues to work. My mother retired a decade ago after 30 years of teaching high school home economics. They have worked hard and certainly earned this time to relax. Most of the time, however, they seem busier than I am. They travel all over the world. They go to concerts. They take weekend trips with friends. They model what active retirement (or semi-retirement) should look like.
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