I’m getting old(er). I mean, I’m old enough that I don’t actually want to type it. But do the math: I’ve been at The Trentonian since 1846. Wait, no, that’s incorrect. Stand by. I’ve been here since … holy crud, I’ve been here since 1999. I think the best way to realize how long that is would be to consider the fact Apple didn’t release the iPhone until 2007. OK fine I’m 53. Shut up. Anyway, as I’m getting older, I’m starting to think about retirement, and by “starting to think about retirement” I actually mean “I’m never going to retire.” How could I? I mean, my youngest is only 11. So let’s say she graduates college at 22, that means I’ve got to be earning until I’m at least 64 (gulp) and probably working for another 10 years after that (double gulp) before I can even consider the idea of “not working,” but that also assumes Elon Musk won’t have eaten Social Security and … Breathe. Breathe. Do I have a 401(k)? Yes. I do. However, I’m confident I’d be better off with a 401(ccf), which, for those of you not as financially astute as yours truly, is a retirement plan that consists of putting 401 cans of cat food in my basement each year so I can guarantee something to eat in my golden (silver?) (bronze?) (any metal?) years. Truth be told, I spend very little time actually thinking about retirement, mostly because — jokes aside, at least for one paragraph — I know I never will retire. Luckily for me, I don’t break bricks for a living, just words. They’ll always be a market for someone who can write. (That sound you just heard was generative AI chuckling.) All right. I’m screwed. But I have a feeling I’m not alone. And so, in what will be another in a long line of Edelstein Advice for the Masses, here’s my five-point plan to not die in the streets. Feel free to edit to your specifications. 1) Never, ever retire. This is the cornerstone of my plan. I’ll be found face-down on my keyboard, with my last typed word probably being “sdkjhpoas8e67rf9p7tgb j2.” My obituary should read: “He died doing what he loved: Complaining professionally.” 2) I’m investing in my children. Not emotionally — financially. They know all my love and support comes with strings attached. They better have guest houses, is all I’m saying. 3) I’m developing expensive hobbies now in order to give them up later and sell them off. Maybe I’ll buy some Shohei Ohtani baseball cards. What could go wrong? 4) Marry rich. What? I’m already married? With three kids? Well, OK, this one is more for my wife: After I’m gone, find someone rich for yourself. At minimum, someone who has their own cat food collection. And lastly … 5) I’m dramatically lowering my expectations from “three bedroom condo in Boca” to “cardboard box under an overpass.” This way, anything above “cardboard” will feel like a win. Smart, right? Look, the truth is none of us in our 50s with young kids and mediocre savings are riding off into the sunset on a gold-plated golf cart. The American Dream has been downgraded to “American You’re Screwed” for us Gen X’ers. But hey, at least we’ll be in good company. We can all gather (probably virtually) at the early-bird special in 2045 and reminisce about the good old days when newspapers were printed on actual paper, AI was just something from science fiction movies, and Baron Trump wasn’t president. ...read more read less