LAST MONTH MARKED two years since I leapt into the unknown and left the security of the corporate world to begin a second act as an independent writer. How’s it gone? Have things panned out as I hoped, financially and otherwise?  Let’s be clear upfront that this move was never about making money. It was about taking a shot at my long-held dream of being an author. I’d put that dream on the back burner for three decades as I did what was necessary to support my family. Now, with my kids out of college and some savings in my pocket, I wanted to take a chance on myself before I ran out of time. I didn’t want to get to the end of my life and find I’d never taken a shot at living life on my own terms.  Two years later, I’ve achieved things that money can’t buy: Seeing my first book in print and my blog gain a dedicated following Going to book signings and readings, and interacting with readers and followers Spending my days pursuing my passions rather than managing emails and responding to the latest corporate fire drill Having the chance to travel and spend precious time with my kids, including camping for an entire month under the big skies of Colorado, where my middle son lives. It’s safe to say I wouldn’t have been able to do any of these things if I was still running 12 hours a day on the corporate hamster wheel. But I’d be fooling myself if I said that all these things didn’t come at a price. I haven’t made a penny on my book, which is still earning back its upfront costs for the publisher, or on my blog, which is ad- and subscription-free.  My current writing project is a multigenerational novel about a Pennsylvania lumbering family that’s facing an existential crisis following the death of its patriarch. I’ve spent two years researching and writing the book, and I’ve loved every minute of it. I can’t wait to get up in the morning, sit down at my desk, and see how the story and the characters unfold.  Still, I harbor no illusions that I’ll ever see a financial payback for all the time I’ve spent on this crazy project. Even if I’m fortunate enough to find an agent and a publisher for the book, the odds of making any money on it are about as long as winning the lottery.  The fact is, everything we do has a price, and that price is our time. As I write in my debut novel, The Long Walk Home, time is our most precious resource, and every choice we make about how to spend our time has an opportunity cost—an alternative road not taken. My own opportunity cost for the past two years has been missing out on earning a six-figure salary and all the things I could have done with that money, including investing in the financial markets at depressed prices. I made that choice willingly because I had something burning inside me that demanded attention, but I’m well aware of what I lost whenever I glance at my portfolio and see what could have been, had I continued to earn money and invest over the past two years.  And it’s not just the money that I’ve lost when I made the decision to exit the corporate world. I miss my old teammates. I miss the camaraderie of being part of a team and an organization with a shared mission. I miss the feeling of accomplishment that comes from seeing my efforts make a difference for a big, publicly traded company.   Would I make the same decision again if I had to? Yes, yes—a thousand times, yes. There’s nothing more fulfilling, I’ve found, than being able to spend my time doing what I love. To gain that freedom was well worth the opportunities I lost.  At the same time, I’ve gained a greater appreciation of the things I took for granted while working: the money, the friendships, the camaraderie. My advice: Whether you’re considering jumping into retirement or taking a shot at a second-act career, be clear not just about what you’ll be gaining with the move, but also what you’ll be losing. Quantify them if at all possible. Ask yourself what your time is worth and how best to utilize it in pursuit of your goals. Think through the different uses for your time. Life’s journey is inevitably uncertain—but carefully weighing the alternatives should help you make the best decision possible. James Kerr led global communications, public relations and social media for a number of Fortune 500 technology firms before leaving the corporate world to pursue his passion for writing and storytelling. His debut book, “The Long Walk Home: How I Lost My Job as a Corporate Remora Fish and Rediscovered My Life’s Purpose,” was published in 2022 by Blydyn Square Books. Jim blogs at PeaceableMan.com. Follow him on Twitter @JamesBKerr and check out his previous articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

LIKE MILLIONS OF other Americans, I’m experiencing serious sticker shock when I gas up the car. Last week, I was filling up my 2019 Ford F-150 and, for the first time ever, the bill topped $100. That was 21 gallons of regular unleaded at $4.85 a gallon. Shelling out that kind of cash for a tankful of gas is hard enough for working folks. But for those of us who are retired and living on a set income, sky-high gas prices—along with the soaring cost of groceries, electricity and other necessities—are causing us to revisit our budget and make painful spending cuts. The economic term for this is demand destruction. Just like it sounds, it means people buy less of something that’s become too expensive. I’m seeing it play out in my own budgeting. Before I retired from the corporate world last year at age 61 to pursue a second act career as an author and storyteller, I created a detailed, line-by-line spreadsheet of my expenses for the next few years until I start taking Social Security. The goal was—and still is—to live off a modest pot of taxable savings without dipping into my retirement funds. I intend to stretch out those savings for as long as possible. But my best-laid plans have run into the hard realities of rampant inflation. The calculus on the transportation line of my budget is particularly ugly. I own a cabin in the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania, just south of the Elk Mountain ski area. I regularly make the drive there from my girlfriend’s house two hours to the south, near Harleysville, Pennsylvania. It’s a 120-mile drive one way, and I average between 18 and 20 miles per gallon in my 2.7L EcoBoost F-150—meaning I burn about six and a half gallons of fuel each way. At $4.85 per gallon, that amounts to roughly $30 each way, or $60 roundtrip. I typically make the trip once a week, so we’re talking about $250 per month in fuel costs just to go back and forth to the cabin. Add in the other local driving I do, and I’m spending about $400 on gas in a typical month. My retirement budget—put together at a time when gas prices were two-thirds of what they are now—called for spending about $250 a month on fuel. So right there, I’m over budget by about $150 a month. The pain of higher gas prices also extends to the entertainment line of my retirement budget. Last year, I bought a 30-foot Keystone ultra-lite travel trailer for the traveling that Rachael and I plan to do in this new phase of our lives. When I have that trailer attached to the truck, my gas mileage plummets to a horrid 10 miles per gallon. [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] We typically drive about 200 miles roundtrip on a given camping trip, except for trips out west, when the calculus changes dramatically. At nearly $5 a gallon, an average 200-mile roundtrip drive with the trailer attached will cost me upwards of $100. If we take two trips a month during the summer, as we’d planned, we’re talking $200 a month just to tow the trailer back and forth from camping spots. That’s compared to the $120 per month I’d budgeted for vacation-related gas purchases when I built the spreadsheet. At that time, gas cost about $3 per gallon. Between everyday driving and fuel for the trailer, I’m at least $230 over my monthly budget because of higher gas prices. That may not sound like much, but when you’re on a fixed income and also paying dramatically higher food and utility costs—not to mention your medical insurance—it makes it that much harder to stick to the plan. What’s an early retiree to do? It’s a zero-sum game, after all. There’s only so much to go around. The options, as I see them, are to dip more into my savings, or go back to work in some fashion, or further cut expenses in a budget that’s already trimmed to the bone. I really don’t like the first two options, so I’m going the belt-tightening route. Practically speaking, this means: Making fewer trips in the truck and staying longer each time I go somewhere. For instance, when I go up to the cabin, I’ll stay an entire week rather than just a few days. That way, I’ll end up making the 120-mile trip twice a month rather than three or four times. Reducing the number of camping vacations, and going to campgrounds closer to the house. Cutting back further on dining out, clothing and other frills. Taking on more side jobs in my communications consulting business. Last month, for example, I wrote stump speeches for the president of a large technology company. It was fun doing it, and it enabled me to replenish my taxable savings after overspending in recent months. Is this not demand destruction at work? If millions of others are doing the same, it must eventually cool the economy, and inflation along with it. The question is, will it cause the economy to tip into a recession? That’s the big issue the financial markets are grappling with these days. No one knows. But I suspect the answer lies with the collective spending decisions of consumers like you and me. James Kerr led global communications, public relations and social media for a number of Fortune 500 technology firms before leaving the corporate world to pursue his passion for writing and storytelling. His debut book, “The Long Walk Home: How I Lost My Job as a Corporate Remora Fish and Rediscovered My Life’s Purpose,” was published in 2022 by Blydyn Square Books. Jim blogs at PeaceableMan.com. Follow him on Twitter @JamesBKerr and check out his previous articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

SIX YEARS AGO, I made one of the worst investments of my life. I got a dog. Ignoring the age-old advice to never invest in anything that eats, I signed up for a purebred German shorthair pointer puppy. I thereby locked myself into an indefinite stream of future cash outflows in the form of dog food, treats, supplies, annual checkups, vaccinations, flea and tick treatments, heartworm pills, procedures and other expenses required for keeping man’s best friend healthy and happy. What can I say? We all have our moments of irrational exuberance. For the record, I’m also a holder of AT&T, a stock that I bought for its attractive dividend yield but which, alas, has proven to be a classic value trap. As for the dog, well, I spend a fair bit of time on my own and, as I got older, I wanted a companion that would match my active lifestyle. A neighbor was planning to breed her beautiful, sable-coated dog. I’d never had a pointer before and thought I’d try one. My life, and my pocketbook, have never been the same. Now, let me just say that I love my Cassie dearly and I wouldn’t give her up for the world. She’s sweet, smart, funny and loyal. She and I are stuck together like white on rice, and our bond only grows with each passing day. That doesn’t hide the fact that this dog is expensive, not to mention exhausting. Just feeding her costs me about $20 a week—all that energy of hers burns calories, after all. I knew going into the transaction that pointers were high-strung. But like that AT&T stock, you don’t really know what you’re getting into until you have it in your hand. I don’t think I’ve sat down for more than an hour at a time since I brought Cassie home. When I’m not taking her for walks—or more precisely, when Cassie isn’t taking me for a walk—I’m cleaning up the trail of destruction left behind by my 65-pound canine tornado. Zoomies are the worst. Watch out as the Cassie Express bounces from room to room, knocking over lamps and potted plants and anything else that’s in the way. Owning a purebred sporting dog is like having a thoroughbred horse in your house. If you hear galloping, you stand back and hope you don’t get run over. Cats, squirrels and doorbells put her into a frenzy. Recently, I replaced a front screen door that she busted through when the Amazon Prime truck came by to make a delivery. The poor guy was terrified. But once outside, Cassie just wanted to give him kisses. Even worse than the mishaps are all the medical emergencies that come with owning a high-energy dog. Like the time Cassie caught her ear on brambles while chasing bunnies through a briar patch and came back to the house bloodier than a pirate on the losing end of a mutiny. A dog’s ear, I discovered that day, is filled with tiny blood vessels which, if severed, bleed like a sieve. The vet had to knock poor Cassie out to stitch her up, all of which resulted in a $350 hit to my pocketbook. [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] These surprise bills weren’t so bad when I was working. But for an early retiree living on a fixed income, they can break the best-planned budget. And it never ends, that’s the thing. Every day, when you wake up, the bills and responsibilities lie in front of you: the feedings, the walks, cleaning her paws when she comes inside so she doesn’t dirty up the house, wiping up her drool after she drinks from the water bowl. Some days, you just want a break, but the only break comes when you go on vacation. Then you have to kennel her and that’s not cheap. Figure on paying at least $400, including tips, for that week of freedom. I found myself mulling all this over one evening last week while taking Cassie out for her 18th walk that day. I was in a bad mood because it was hot outside and the last thing I wanted to be doing was sweating up another shirt while Cassie pulled me around the neighborhood. Despite spending hundreds of dollars on training, I still haven’t broken her of the habit of pulling on her leash. Why do people do things like this, I wondered. Why do otherwise rational people commit themselves to taking care of living creatures that suck up their precious time and money? We do it for the companionship, yes—for the love and richness that a pet adds to our lives. But man, does it cost us in both money and time. I suppose the same could be said about having kids. According to recent research, it costs upward of $300,000 these days to raise a kid, not including college. At least the kid eventually goes off on his own and sends birthday cards—well, maybe. A dog is constant work and expense until death do us part. Back at the house after the walk, Cassie took a long drink from her water dish and collapsed onto the floor in a panting pile of dog. I felt bad for grouching at her during the walk and got down on the floor next to her. She squirmed and pawed at me for a few minutes before finally settling. Music was playing in the background. I stroked Cassie’s silky ears and rubbed her belly while telling her what a good girl she is. She just looked back at me with those piercing amber eyes that said—you’re my person, Dad, and always will be. Yeah, it’s worth it, I thought. Every penny. Now, as for that AT&T stock…. James Kerr led global communications, public relations and social media for a number of Fortune 500 technology firms before leaving the corporate world to pursue his passion for writing and storytelling. His debut book, “The Long Walk Home: How I Lost My Job as a Corporate Remora Fish and Rediscovered My Life’s Purpose,” was published in 2022 by Blydyn Square Books. Jim blogs at PeaceableMan.com. Follow him on Twitter @JamesBKerr and check out his previous articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

THEY SAY TIMING IS everything. That’s something I should know—because I’ve never been very good at it. The motto of Scotland’s Kerr clan is Sero Sed Serio, or Late, but in Earnest. That’s been my reputation since I was young. In high school, my basketball game blossomed at the end of my senior year, just in time to have one good game of double-digit scoring before I graduated. I’ve missed every fashion trend that’s come along. Anybody want an unworn pair of bell-bottom jeans? I didn’t publish my first book until I was age 62. And as for investing? Well, let’s just say I didn’t buy shares of Apple or Amazon before they took off for the moon. So, when it came to saving for retirement during my working career, I automated the process as much as possible. In addition to making monthly pretax payroll contributions to my 401(k) to take advantage of the company match, I had additional money pulled out of my bank account every month and invested in mutual funds held in a taxable account. Over time, the power of dollar-cost averaging made up for my own lack of investing prowess and enabled me to build a decent-sized nest egg. Alas, my miserable sense of timing came back to bite me when picking the date of my "retirement" from the corporate world. I opted for September 2021. Back then, all was blue skies in the financial markets. My portfolio was appropriately diversified for someone of my age, or so said my account advisor at Vanguard Group. As long as I didn’t change my spending levels or long-term income expectations, he was confident I could leave the workforce at 61 and be fine for the next few years, until I started taking Social Security and Medicare. Then came 2022, soaring inflation and interest rates, and a brutal year for stock and bond investors. Who could have predicted that in my first year without a steady paycheck, I’d be looking at double-digit losses on both the stock and bond sides of my portfolio? So much for the power of diversification in reducing portfolio risk. Even worse, right before interest rates took off, I rolled over my 401(k) balance from my former employer, which had been invested in small-cap funds, and put the money mostly into the bond side of my portfolio, with the goal of maintaining my targeted 60% stock-40% bond mix. Needless to say, those funds have gotten hammered in the bond selloff. Sero Sed Serio. But here I am, still standing. I haven’t (as yet) had to go back to fulltime work or draw on my retirement accounts. How am I riding out the storm? Four things have been key to staying afloat: 1. Low expenses, plus avoiding debt like the plague. Proper preparation goes a long way toward making up for lousy timing. For years before I stepped away from the corporate workplace, I was ruthlessly lowering my expenses. I downsized, paid off my credit cards and got rid of all debt except the loan on my new Keystone travel trailer. If I had a big mortgage to pay every month, there’s no way I could have ridden out this storm in the financial markets without going back to work. I own free and clear my mountain cabin and the land it sits on. My biggest monthly expense is buying my own medical insurance. That isn’t cheap, but I consider it the price of freedom. Unlike when I was working, I know I can’t buy anything I want. I have a budget and I work hard to stick to it. Every potential purchase gets weighed on a scale of what I would have to give up to buy it. The one exception is travel. This phase of my life is about experiences and adventures, so—if I can afford a trip—I’ll take it. For instance, the weekend before Thanksgiving, I went on a spur-of-the-moment trip to Breckenridge, Colorado, to see my son and his fiancée. 2. A sizable emergency fund and health savings account. Life is unpredictable. While budgets are great, they can’t take all contingencies into account. That’s why, before I stepped away from the corporate world, I made sure I had a substantial emergency fund to pull from when necessary. I tapped into it recently to help my son with a legal problem he was facing. I also used the fund to pay for a new set of tires for my truck. Without a rainy-day fund, I would be pulling out the credit card or going to the bank for a loan—and that would spell the end of my freedom. [xyz-ihs snippet="Holiday-Donate"] Before I retired, I also made sure I had a health savings account fund to draw on for out-of-pocket medical expenses. I built up the fund with pretax contributions while I was working, and have been pulling from it over the past 18 months to cover deductibles and insurance copayments. Having this fund was critical in paying the cost of my replacement left hip earlier this year. 3. A side gig to bring in extra income. Even with all my preparations, I knew going into early retirement that I’d have to continue making money to replenish my emergency fund, and to pay for travel and other adventures. Fortunately, I have a skill—writing—that I can make some money at without being chained to a corporation. In addition to writing freelance articles like this one, I’ve launched my own communications business, Boy Blue Communications, to take on select writing and communications projects for my former employer and other corporate clients. The beauty of having my own firm is that I can choose the clients and projects I take on and how many hours I want to work. My specialty is high-level financial and executive communications, speechwriting, and client case studies—all areas that interest me and that I can charge a healthy premium for. I enjoy keeping my finger in the corporate world. It keeps me mentally sharp, while bringing in a decent amount of income. 4. The power of dividends. When the market was crashing at the beginning of the pandemic, I took advantage by picking up a bunch of quality dividend-paying stocks in my taxable account. A few of these stocks, such as Exxon, AbbVie and Blackstone, have more than doubled since I bought them. Only one, AT&T, has been a dud. But all of them have continued to pay dividends over the past few years, and a few of them have increased their payouts. The dividend stream isn’t much—less than $5,000 a year—but it has helped keep my savings account from dwindling and paid for a few trips over the past year and a half. The stock market will come back and eventually return to record highs. In the meantime, I’m holding my ground in the storm, while enjoying my newfound freedom to pursue my passions. Sero Sed Serio. James Kerr led global communications, public relations and social media for a number of Fortune 500 technology firms before leaving the corporate world to pursue his passion for writing and storytelling. His debut book, “The Long Walk Home: How I Lost My Job as a Corporate Remora Fish and Rediscovered My Life’s Purpose,” was published in 2022 by Blydyn Square Books. Jim blogs at PeaceableMan.com. Follow him on Twitter @JamesBKerr and check out his previous articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

YOU MIGHT WANT TO check your mailbox. Mr. Market has been sending around a book of discount coupons on some great index funds and individual stocks. Twenty-two percent off the S&P 500's closing high set earlier this year. Seventeen percent off the Dow Jones Industrial Average. How about a whopping 33% off the Nasdaq Composite? Still kicking yourself for not scooping up Amazon’s stock (symbol: AMZN) in early 2020 when it was—adjusted for the recent stock split—below $100? Well, it’s almost there now. How about some Apple stock (AAPL) at $132, nearly 28% off its 52-week high? Or PayPal (PYPL) below $74, a whopping 76% price cut from a year ago? Yes, it’s sale time in stock-land. We’re officially in a bear market and good stocks and index funds everywhere are selling at a discount, some even at fire-sale prices. We all knew it was coming. After all, markets don’t go in a straight line to Nirvana. We were overdue for a correction. These are the times that try the souls of market timers but make investors’ eyes light up. Who doesn’t love a good sale? When the sellers are running to the exits, long-term investors rush in, looking to put to work that cash they’ve been holding on the sidelines. As they like to say on Wall Street, bear markets are when stocks return to their rightful owners. Maybe you’ve been putting off getting into the market because it felt overbought. Maybe you didn’t buy during past market swoons and didn’t benefit from the sharp recoveries that followed, and you’ve always regretted it. Now is your opportunity. What better time than when stocks are selling at a discount? Oh, but this crash is different, you say. Today, we have out-of-control inflation. We have a war in Ukraine. We have major global supply chain issues. Biggest of all, we don’t have the Federal Reserve throwing near-free money into the markets to stoke demand and job growth. Here’s the thing: Every time the market crashes, it feels different, it feels unique, it feels like the world is coming to an end. Remember how it felt back in 2008 and 2009, when the subprime mortgage market collapsed and people were talking about the prospect of a global financial meltdown? Remember how it felt back in early 2020 when people around the world were locked in their houses, and it seemed like there was no way anyone would ever fly on an airline or take a cruise again? [xyz-ihs snippet="Mobile-Subscribe"] Guess what? The world didn’t melt down 14 years ago. Today, people are rushing to airports and taking cruises again. It’s part of our ancient lizard brain to always look for the worst. Sometimes, the lizard is right and the worst-case happens. Most times, it doesn’t. In between lies opportunity. In every market swoon over the past two decades—the popping of the dot-com bubble in 2000-02, the Great Recession of 2008-09, the pandemic-fueled crash of 2020—I put money to work. The reason I was able to leave the workforce last year and go off to pursue a second-act career is largely because I invested during those past downturns. Sure, it doesn’t feel good to be grabbing the knife of a falling market, not knowing where the floor is. But no risk, no reward. In the words of the great Warren Buffett, be fearful when others are greedy, and be greedy when others are fearful. Is a 22% discount on the S&P 500 not enough to entice you to buy? So what is the discount where you’re willing to jump in? Twenty-five percent? Thirty? It’s important to know your price. It’s also important to realize that, like an auctioneer, the market might give you your price—or it might not. Will you be kicking yourself if it doesn’t hit your 30% off discount price and takes off again to fresh record highs? Market timing is hard. In fact, it’s impossible. I don’t have a crystal ball and neither does anyone else. But there’s one thing I’d be willing to bet on: The market will see fresh highs again. When? I don’t know. But it will. I know this because I have faith in the markets, in capitalism, in the awe-inspiring ability of companies around the world to innovate and grow. If you don’t have that belief, you probably shouldn’t be in the stock market at all. But if you share my faith, check out those discount coupons in the mail. I’m going through my booklet right now and putting together a shopping list. James Kerr led global communications, public relations and social media for a number of Fortune 500 technology firms before leaving the corporate world to pursue his passion for writing and storytelling. His debut book, “The Long Walk Home: How I Lost My Job as a Corporate Remora Fish and Rediscovered My Life’s Purpose,” was published in 2022 by Blydyn Square Books. Jim blogs at PeaceableMan.com. Follow him on Twitter @JamesBKerr and check out his previous articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]

THIS HAS BEEN A YEAR of living large in the Kerr household. I just finished adding up the numbers for 2024, and between my son’s wedding in Colorado in June, my own wedding in October, our honeymoon afterward, a vacation to Key West, a new car for my new wife, and various long-overdue repairs to Rachael’s townhouse, I spent upwards of $60,000 on items I hadn’t budgeted for in 2024. The tally doesn’t include the $9,000 I spent on a hot tub for the mountain house. That purchase was financed by the last of my restricted stock grants that I took with me when I retired from my former employer three years ago. Those are hefty expenses for a 65-year-old who is no longer employed full-time. All I can say is, thank goodness for my part-time gig as a writer for corporate executives. If I didn’t have that money coming in, I would have burned through most of my liquid cash and had to tap my retirement savings earlier than planned. As it stands, I was able to cover my financial splurges, while ending 2024 with roughly the same amount of cash as I started. More to the point, if I didn’t have the work income, I wouldn’t have done all the things I did over the past year. Rachael and I would have had a much simpler and less expensive wedding. We would have put down less and financed more of the cost of her new car. We would have skipped the Key West trip and put off the house repairs a little longer. But that’s why I continue to work part-time—to fund experiences and other discretionary items during the early part of my golden years, while I hold off drawing down my retirement savings. Those savings are sufficient (knock on wood) to provide a comfortable, albeit not cushy, income over the course of a 20- to 25-year retirement. I figure the longer I can delay tapping retirement savings, the longer they’ll last me in my later years. The same is true for Social Security benefits. While I could begin drawing benefits now, I’d take a hefty haircut compared to what I could get if I wait until my full retirement age of 66 years and 10 months. On top of that, I’d have to pay higher taxes on my Social Security benefits because of my earned income, and I might lose much or all of my benefit to the Social Security earnings test. So, why not wait another year and a half and thereby avoid the haircut? In the meantime, I’m acutely aware of time’s winged chariot at my back and I have no interest in postponing trips and experiences I’ve long wanted to do. As Jonathan’s recent cancer diagnosis has brought home to HumbleDollar readers, life is fragile and we best live it now.   That’s what I’m doing with my current income. I could try to sock some of it away. But frankly, I’m done with the accumulation phase of my life. As long as I can maintain a healthy emergency fund in my money market account, I intend to spend every after-tax penny I make on trips, gifts and, yes, occasional luxuries. I’ve worked hard all my life. Why not enjoy it while I can? Take our wedding celebration in mid-October. Yes, we could have made a trip to the courthouse and saved more than $15,000. But what an event it was. We had 90 relatives and friends from as far away as Hawaii and England. How often does that happen—other than at wakes and funerals?   Likewise on getting a hot tub. I’ve always wanted one, and soaking in that tub for 20 minutes does wonders for my aching neck and joints. Interestingly, retirement has taught me a few things about myself that I didn’t fully appreciate before. All my working life, I’ve avoided spending money on extravagances that others in my income bracket might have had no trouble with, such as going on expensive trips or shelling out tens of thousands of dollars for a country club membership. I told myself I was being responsible, thrifty, frugal. How could I spend on extravagances when I had three kids to put through college and a retirement fund to build? But you know what? I like the finer things in life as much as anyone else. To enjoy those luxuries, I just needed the psychological comfort of a solid financial cushion. Now, I’m there and I’m opening the valve on my spending. I am, I hope, doing it responsibly. Only time will tell. Author and blogger James Kerr is a former corporate public relations and investor relations officer who now runs his own agency, Boy Blue Communications. His debut book, “The Long Walk Home: How I Lost My Job as a Corporate Remora Fish and Rediscovered My Life’s Purpose,” was published in 2022 by Blydyn Square Books. Jim blogs at PeaceableMan.com. Follow him on Twitter @JamesBKerr and check out his previous articles. [xyz-ihs snippet="Donate"]