Things Worth Remembering

At the tender age of 23 the concept of retirement has yet to develop as a sensible goal. However, when all Creoites were solicited to pick up a brochure regarding changes to our RRSP policy I wanted to know what they were doing with my canned prune fund.

I arrived at reception expecting little more than a three fold pamphlet that would uncomfortably stuff in my pant pocket. I was greeted by a glossy inch thick folder exploding with 5 odd pamphlets, a poster, a CD Rom, and a tree’s worth of financial analysis reports.

“Envision Your Retirement” captions a picture of a happy couple far to young to be retired holding hands as they stroll along the shore. In the foreground of the image sits a majestic sand castle glowing with the final rays of the setting sun. Now as I recall, the Bible offers wisdom about building things on sand (Mat 7:26-27). Perhaps they had never read it, maybe they thought nothing of the advice, or possibly they were asleep during that part of the sermon. Regardless, this poor couple had little more than an hour before the sun sets and the tide comes in, leaving them in the dark and homeless for the next 35 years of their lives.

Later that evening, I decided to pop open the fancy Velcro folder and see what my future had in store. Flipping through the pages I found little informative information. The reports were lofty and vague all projecting long term growth -- like anyone would invest in the fund that projected heavy losses. The CD-Rom asked me 4 questions before spitting out fictitious numbers predicting my future wealth of poverty. The only thing of use is the poster which will mysteriously appear in Giesbrecht’s room or in Decker’s kitchen cupboard.

The collection was undoubtedly the pride of the marketing department. They believed whole heartedly in ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’. All the classics were there: smiling couples in Europe with dentures whitened by the transfiguration, the old man lecturing his grandson on how to catch a fish, the grandma reading with the grand-daughter about her recent facelift procedure and the young coffee drinking couple excited about making financial decisions with their golden retriever. Hey, that is all the info I need to pick the right RRSP.

Investing is easy -- the important thing is to diversify. Don’t put it all in the denture fund. Making contributions to the golden retriever, European view and flying a kite funds will help balance your portfolio. And remember, harnessing the power of your dreams, dollar cost averaging will compound your interest growing assets and sheltering you from volatile risk environments.

I haven’t quite figured out where I am heading with this but something about this propaganda is unsettling. This shallow glossy paper shines to glorify the king of Freudian desires, ‘Easy Living’. Preying on our insecurities, Easy lures us in with an oversimplified plan and a snappy catch phrase. Soon all reason agrees with the notion that you live to retire and the quality of your retirement is based on your savings. A seemingly harmless trap amongst many bottomless pits the world has to offer* but, obliviously building life on such a skewed foundation leaves too many people wondering why their pictures won’t hang straight.

I beg you to know that the challenge of investing in your character, family and friendships will play a much larger part in the ‘success’ of life. Bitter people are bitter whether they have money or not. Rich or poor, self-centered individuals will find themselves by themselves. And, you can ask Trump and J-Lo how their money has helped mend marriages and develop strong family bonds.

I spent my Remembrance Day at work by myself doing some mindless testing. This provided me with ample time to reflect on the sacrifices made my Men younger than I. My thoughts boiled down to this. The generation in which a 1/3 is now living in poverty spent their youth investing in us.

Where would we be if they had invested in the white denture fund? -- undoubtedly a question well worth remembering.

Therefore in closing, ‘Won’t you please take me off your list easy living’** I want to envision better things for my life and retirement.

* I had not yet finished this post when I was reminded of a much larger investment pit which Big Easy had dug, the ‘Investment in Me Now Fund’. Sooner or later I will probably rant about it as this post only applies to people who have survived that field of marketing mines.

** Jon Foreman, Beautiful Letdown

Mortal Minds (a sequel)

The contemporary melodies of modern adult pop appeared in yet another one of my whacked out dream sequences. I was about to accept John Mayer as part of my dreamscape when Eager, the unpopular lobe of my Brain, suggested it was time to wake up.

"6:30Am on a Saturday?!?" Lazy cried.

Logic then reasoned, "Eager has a point, we must have set it for good reason."

" -- To remind us we have another 4 hours to sleep" Lazy retorted (ironically quite sharp and active for this time in the morning)

"Remember no class this week" added Procrastination, pushing my arm out to hit snooze.

Memory, often slow to rise, then sauntered into consciousness, made a few confirmations and promptly took control of the situation.... A couple hours later, I find myself standing in a crowd wearing shorts, three shirts and a knee brace wondering if I have enough time to pee.

It is race day, first one in 7.5 years. Taking a quick glance up the road, I decided to make a dash for it. Careful not to drop my keys conveniently laced into my shorts, I found a bush which would offer adequate shelter.

Returning to the crowd, I am relieved and relieved to find my teammate has yet to appear. The next 30mins were spent standing in a cold communal 'keep your clothes on' shower, performing some kind of new age dance in a poor attempt of defrosting my body.

Lazy and Comfort had now begun a full on campaign against signing-up for anymore relay races. However, before they have finished their convincing appeal, a small speedy lady in a blue shirt rounded the bend. "Number 90" a voice chimes, stepping out of the crowd I tear the wrist strap out of Cynthia's cold hands and my legs subconsciously whisk me away on a 15km journey to Mission's Town Hall.

The first obstacle was a set of switch backs which scaled 150ft in a matter of a 0.5km. Adjusting my determination touque and lowering my head, Lazy took a seat in the back of my mind waiting for an more appropriate time to make an appeal. In his own interest, Competitive suggested the hill was an ideal time to select a runner to pace with.

As I began searching the field in front, I heard approaching footsteps on my tail. A few seconds later, I had found my man. An older man, tall, experienced and wearing shorts over his tights. When you will be spending the next hour staring at the guys butt, Instinct believed the shorts were arguably the most important factor.

The next 30mins I remember little but following a speedy bum up hills and past many small clusters of slower bums. However, Endurance soon piped-up and reminded me that I had missed 2.5 weeks of training* and thus my body could not continue this intense pace for another 30mins. Easing off the throttle, I soon found myself by myself. I was tired, thirsty and some crazy distance from my finish line. Generally not a good thing.

But, thank goodness for teammates who care. Just as Lazy stood up to make a motion for a light jog, a small lady stepped out of a black BMW to cheer me on and hand me a drink. Up to this time, Hope was expecting only to get the water that I could catch while running with my mouth open.

It was like the Dam at Stave Lake had sprung a leak, the wall of doubt began to crumble. "Water is good" the delusional Logic reasoned, "People you know are watching" Added Pride. Soon most other lobes joined in the chorus restoring my spirit. As the water hit my lips, my body soon followed suit.

This same cycle repeated itself a couple times, Cynthia was there each time to kick my butt in gear. Finally, I rounded the bend revealing the second of two course markers -- "1 Mile To Go" -- I'd been running for 8.5 Miles to see that sign. I don't remember much that occurred over the next 7 odd mins. But, I do recall every muscle nerve fiber was making its plea for a hot shower and an hour long massage.

As I entered the exchange, I felt my cold wet hands pass on more than just a timing chip. A feeling of freedom and release engulfed my mind, I had served my sentence. ** After receiving the congratulations of my peers, I slowly regained consciousness and I had a tired man's celebration; I made my way home to fulfill at least of one my muscles requests. ***

The duration of my day was spent eating, drinking, and stretching between my feeble attempts at finishing the week's homework. I did end up getting it all done. Although, I'll hate to review my work tomorrow because I was never able to focus. I couldn't stop wondering why my Mortal Mind has already decided to sign-up this Mortal body for next year's race.



Notes:
* ---- See previous post Mortal Bodies
** --- point of interest Mission municipal Hall is right beside a GVRD correction institution with its own private goold course.
*** --- Mike's muscles have yet to receive a massage and are still requesting one.

For those who care Race Results are at http://www.bcathletics.org/H2H/results04.htm
(Mike ran Leg 3 for the Creo-s-printers)