Countdown to Retirement: 3, 2…
Why is Brussels sprouts so disgusting? That's the first fundamental question a person asks themselves upon birth. Or at least, in place of this absurd question, it could be any other equally useless one—except for those that seem important personally to me.
But honestly, who cares about what specifically bothers me, other than myself?
Lately, I've been wondering: why do strong, bold, confident people so easily surrender to decay the moment their butts start rotting?
Once upon a time, I would've blamed it on two key factors: lack of imagination and collective conspiracy. But now it seems to me the truth is way simpler. Still, let's suck some life-giving juice out of those two already mentioned aspects. After all, I should also confess my own obvious delusions that make it perfectly appropriate to slap a sticky note to my forehead reading, "Dumbass."
So, to believe in a future where you're sipping 300-year-old wine you personally left to age, you need at least a basic imagination module installed. No matter how you spin it, conjuring yourself up in distant futures during your sweet erotic daydreams isn't easy. First, you have to install the "Imagination Add-On." Without that DLC, the whole game feels… incomplete.
As for the collective conspiracy—oh, that's even simpler. Society says: "Are you out of your damn mind thinking about that crap? Better check out the Botox queen's latest red carpet look! Think she's guzzling more whiskey or adrenochrome? Now that's the kinda stuff you should be pondering, not your dumb nonsense!"
And still, that's not the whole list.
Running like a red thread through the whole story—even way back to Book One—was that ever-present fear.
Here's the thing: a brave person walks through life unafraid of dangers (that's how they usually write it in novels, right? Or not?), while a coward is busy looking for any possible loophole just to survive.
Thus, a natural conclusion bubbles up: if humanity wants to ditch the chains of old age and death, it needs to royally shit itself—and not because of a badly timed taco on vacation, but for the greater good.
And I don't mean some vague, lofty ideal of "the good of all people" (which always sounds suspiciously like the start of a creepy cult recruitment pitch). I mean something very specific, where the collective good flows straight into personal benefit. You like when the money and goodies just magically roll into your pocket, right? You wanna pet it, crinkle it, and whisper sweet nothings to your invisible stack of bills.
This isn't about blind faith. In this grand experiment, every participant really can affect the outcome. And the result isn't some dreamy world where everyone holds hands and dances around laughing like lunatics (though honestly, I wouldn't mind doing a little polka… or pole dance).
Nope. It's much simpler: it's about the primal desire not to become a corpse.
A totally normal, kinda boring desire—which, if ignored, can turn into a stench so strong you could smell it from miles away if all those corpses pile up somewhere like, say, a battlefield.
And I fully expect readers to start mentally screaming: "Well, duh, everyone thinks about that!"
Yeah, maybe they do.
But those thoughts, and I really have to underline this—NEVER, I repeat, NEVER, actually turn into action.
Everything is neatly sorted and shelved in the supermarket of the brain:
Live a little — and then, blessed Retirement!
When's it finally coming?! Come on, damn it! Let's speed this up!
Given my line of work — traveling a lot to crypto conferences — I've visited a ton of countries. And meeting all sorts of people along the way, I realized it's not just movie cops who utter that sacred phrase:
"I'm too tired for this shit. I've got twenty-four seconds till retirement, so I'm not getting mixed up in this mess!"
Wherever the author of these and future lines has found herself—be it democracies, dictatorships, crypto-utopias or sand-swept islands—she's always heard the same thing: people dreaming of quitting their jobs ASAP to finally bask in the glorious freedom of doing absolutely nothing while feasting on the fruits of their long-suffered labor.
And hey, it would make sense—if these dreams came from folks with brutally demanding jobs. Say, a coal-stained miner swinging his pickaxe in the dark, wiping off the sweat of exhaustion, thinking he's earned a few years of peace after all that digging.
But no.
It's everyone. Everyone's talking about retirement like it's a spa retreat. White collars, artists, freelancers, influencers, baristas—everyone. And they all picture themselves lounging on a deck chair, sipping espresso, fishing at a sleepy pond, or traveling the world like I'm doing right now. They all forget one teeny, tiny, seemingly insignificant detail.
It may sound like a trivial nuance—hardly worth mentioning—but screw that. I'm gonna mention it.
These people picture themselves as they are now.
In all their pension-fueled fantasies, they remain their current selves—not older, not slower, not missing half their original superpowers. And let's be honest: life's imperfections don't exactly stop at the golden gates of retirement. In fact, that's where some of the worst crap starts rolling in.
Now let's make this clear before someone throws a social justice tantrum: any form of discrimination is vile.
I mean, it sucks that the word discrimination even has to exist. The world could've done just fine without it. But—and forgive me for this tired metaphor—the rose-colored glasses are better left on stock images for online marketplaces.
So, where are we?
At most major sports stadiums, banners scream: "Say No to Racism". Campaigns rage on against racism, sexism, homophobia, and every other -ism you can imagine. But ageism? Ageism is that dusty book no one's reading. At best, society gives it a lazy side-eye. More often? Not even that.
And unfortunately, when you start to age, the feelings society throws at you fall into a spectrum no one really wants to bask in.
We're talking condescension, disgust, and worst of all — revulsion.
Even when people do show care, it's often soaked in this "Well, someone's gotta look after this half-zombie" kind of vibe. Like: "Poor thing, can barely walk, but hey—bless their heart!"
Okay, that's not a direct quote. But that's the subtext. That's the emotional sludge leaking through the cracks in their "concerned" smile.
Not because people are evil. No. Just because they don't know how to deal with the things that scare them.
Aging scares them.