Postcards From Across the Pond

This morning, my Vivofit Activity Tracker, which I use primarily as a watch, wished me a happy birthday. This was doubly surprising: first of all, up until then, I hadn’t realized it was my birthday, and secondly, I had already opened my Smartphone, and that had NOT wished me a happy birthday. You’d think my Smartphone would be smarter than my watch, especially as it is so smug about being smart that it includes Smart in its name.

The third thing I did this morning was read an article informing me that the minuscule percentage of people in the world who are billionaires own two thirds of all the wealth. And that made me a bit sad.

I felt so bad for those people, those billionaires, holding the wealth of the world in their hands; what power they possess: to end world hunger, eradicate poverty, research disease, improve the lives of billions, yet the only thing those men (it’s almost always men*) can conceive of doing is grasp their lucre in both hands, like a pre-Christmas-Ghosts Scrooge, and strive to accrue even more (the occasional penis-shaped rocket notwithstanding). What sad, empty lives they must have; all that potential, and yet they achieve so little. It must be a dismal existence.

There but for the grace of God go I.

I genuinely do consider myself fortunate. First of all, I’m having a birthday (my 68th; I know you’re wondering) and not everyone has that privileged. I live in a lovely town in a part of the world where, for most of the time, simply being outside won’t kill you. I’ve been retired now for more than ten years, and I can’t recall what having a job was like (although I assume it must be awful). My wife and I do volunteering, pursue our hobbies, travel, and enjoy a modest, but comfortable life.

(If you are wondering how to retire comfortably, here’s the way to do it: live a hedonistic life of profligate spending until your mid-forties, then marry a fiscally responsible woman. Follow me for more financial advice.)

The other good thing is, age isn’t what it used to be. According to the WHO, I am simply middle-aged. (I liked it better when they considered me still “young” but that only lasted until I was 66.) Both my maternal grandparents, and my paternal grandmother, were long gone by my current age. And of all the eras of the past 10,000 years I might have been born into, my timing was ideal.

I was born twenty-five years after the discovery of penicillin, and was the first generation in my family that could take electric lights, automobiles, and indoor plumbing for granted. I grew up in a time and a place where I was free to do pretty much as I pleased. Common sense wasn’t taught; learning to do the right thing came with experience, which often meant doing the wrong thing. Back then, stupid hurt, and it was a good teacher.

I came of age along with technology, and accidentally got caught in the IT wave, which led to a productive career. And I remain grateful that I had no access to a Smartphone when I was 16, although I would probably be out on good behaviour by now.

And so, as I enter my 69th year, I am content with who I am, where I am, and what I am doing. I have a good life, and my wife and I have something that the billionaires, no matter how diligently they seek to accrue more wealth, can have: enough.

*In 2021 there were 3,311 billionaires, of which 12.9% (or 430ish) were women, and 45% of them inherited their wealth.