This just in from the rose-colored glasses department: 82% of Baby Boomers Expect Their Retirement to Go As Planned (Charles Schwab survey).

Wait a second. Haven’t there been dozens of surveys that indicate a little more than 30% of baby boomers have $10,000 or less in savings for retirement.

So how the hell do 82% of boomers think retirement is going to work out okay for them.

I’ll tell you why, not how. Put simply, they are just overly optimistic. Maybe it’s genetic. We are products of the baby boom. The war was over, the world was okay, business was booming, homes were being built by the millions, the country was being paved with interstate highways, Ike was in the White House. We were born at the height of optimism, so of course we think everything is going to turn out just fine.

Plus, and it’s a big plus, it turns out that Schwab only surveyed boomers aged 55 to 75 with at least $100,000 worth of investable assets, including retirement accounts. Okay, that’s more like it. Of course 82% of them are optimistic.

What about the rest who have not been able to feather their nests? The average social security payment is $1,500 per month. If you don’t have savings to supplement that amount, the retirement picture is far from rosy. You could be more like Rosie the homeless lady that you see on the street with a shopping cart filled with bags of all her earthly belongings.

Many boomers have used up much if not all of their savings as a result of pandemic-related job losses. Natural disasters, steep medical expenses, funeral and college tuition costs have also eaten into retirement accounts. At a time when savings should be increasing in value, for many boomers, it’s the reverse.

We know that Covid will change almost everything. In many ways, it already has. But as 10,000 baby boomers retire every day, a reckoning is coming. Let’s hope we still live in a society that cares about its oldest citizens.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.

As I ride into the holiday season on a wave of grief and fear, mixed with a dash of hope, I have just one simple request: I’d like to see my grandkids open their presents. Five of them live in different parts of the country and we’ll do a zoom party of some sort and that will be fun. But I have one little guy who lives right here in New Mexico and I expected – at one time in the hazy past, back at the beginning of the year – that I would celebrate in person with him. As we always do.

But this year that won’t be possible unless we take some extraordinary measures. Like shivering outside in December. Or bringing heaters into the garage and keeping the door open. Now, granted, this is New Mexico and it rarely gets super cold during the day. But it could easily be too cold to enjoy unwrapping packages outside, let alone eating a meal. So it will probably have to be Zoom or Facetime with him, too. And here he is, seven years old and close enough to touch. Almost.

Still, I know I am lucky. For one thing, we have been able to spend many months together turning the playset in the backyard into a water slide, eating pre-wrapped snacks, playing board games with gloves on. And lucky in an even more important way. We are all well. In fact, though some people who are dear to me have tested positive or even fought a bout with Covid, everyone has survived and is thriving. And I hope that will remain the case for all my friends and family and neighbors. I wish it could be so for everyone. And some day, I know, it will.

But for now we have to get through the next few months with our health and sanity intact. I don’t mean to preach. I wouldn’t be any good at it anyway. So all I’ll say is be brave. Be careful. This is a season of candles and lights and lamps in all the different traditions of celebration. This year especially, it’s a time for reflection and thinking about what we might want to change or improve in our lives in the new year. The pandemic has provided us with a lot to think about. I hope to take advantage of this time to do some thinking. I hope we all do. Happy Holidays, however you celebrate!!

Norma Libman is a journalist and lecturer who has been collecting women’s stories for more than twenty years. You can read the first chapter of her award-winning book, Lonely River Village, at NormaLibman.com.

Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, my back hurts, right here, see? Where my hand is. I get up anyway, go downstairs and let Lilly the dog out, waiting inside the door for her and absent-mindedly pressing where it hurts. After she comes back in, I take my hand away from the pain long enough to pour my coffee and take a sip. Then, I notice my hand is back again pressing where it hurts.

My hands are now in dishwater, and I’m concentrating carefully on the comfort of warm water and the beautiful luster of my red glass dishes. My hands are now smoothing bed covers, and I’m careful to concentrate on brushing off all the dog hair and getting my pillows just right: red, pink, green and cream. I’m ready for my day, as they say, or at least I would be if it weren’t for this …

I realize I’m still clutching at myself, so I deliberately extend my right hand to draw back the curtains at my bedroom window. I make an effort to notice what’s going on outside. It’s a sunny day, so I say aloud, as my mother used to do, “It would be stupid to let this day go to waste.”

Oh dear! My mother was a wonderful woman, but do I think words like “stupid” and “waste” are going to help me now? I’ve got to stop this pain thing. It’s depressing.

Salvation comes in the warmth of early afternoon. I’m on the walking path next to the river. An impromptu band has coalesced in the open area next to the playground equipment, where kids are swinging and sliding and calling to each other.

A guitar goes plink plunk. A recorder ripples. I discover I’m moving along in time with the music, almost as fast as the breeze, legs pumping, arms free. Lilly on her lengthy leash is keeping an eye out for stupid squirrels. Great squirrel hunter, is my Silly Lilly–though she’s not once ever caught one. The children’s laughter now sounds like lace. The drum is becoming part of me.

I look up from under the broad brim of my sun hat and there’s a green tree against a blue sky with white clouds. And the river,… the river is like a liquid soul.

And the pain is gone.

Katharine Valentino is from Eugene, Oregon

As my retirement journey evolves, I don’t think aging badass describes me well, unlike The Widow Badass, who definitely owns it and wins the prize for best blog name ever. And then there’s cannabis. I like it and continue to use it recreationally and medicinally but not as much as I expected. It doesn’t seem worthy of such prominent placement.

I’ve come to embrace the term slacker, as in a person who avoids work. Because I am definitely done with that pesky job thing. I changed the tagline to read, “The continuing adventures of a full-time slacker.”

Sounded great to me, but as I started to share the news with you, I looked up the definition, which described people who shirk obligation, particularly military service. Well, that would not be me! Perhaps I am being too literal, but I deleted that tagline and left the space blank. Is blank best?

As for retirement, I seem to have landed in a happy place devoid of ambition. I do what needs to be done around the house and that sort of thing, but the rest of my energy is focused on activities that give me pleasure. I see myself as the face of resistance to over-engineering retirement, which isn’t a contest to see who accomplishes the most.

In retirement, there are no performance reviews.

I updated my About Me profile to read:

My full-time job is to take care of myself, be kind to others, enjoy simple pleasures and indulge in creative pursuits. I like to play golf, walk, swim, cook, read, write, watch TV, listen to music, make art and grow cannabis.

That pretty much sums it up. Maybe I don’t need a tagline.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.