After many years of schooling, I got my first job at twenty-nine. And I left my last job at fifty-seven. Actually, I arranged for my early retirement when I was fifty-five, and the last couple of years at my last job were not very exacting. So, I worked for twenty-eight years minus a couple. I am not of retirement age yet, but I have already enjoyed seven years of full retirement. Although no-one can tell how many more years of idleness lie ahead, I am likely to stay around for another twenty years at least. That is to say, I will have been retired for about as long as I have worked for a living. Besides, my work used to be rather easy on me. Much of it was quite a pleasure, too. The academia is still a boon for all concerned, albeit an ever less attractive one. Now, how many people have been so lucky over the generations? Very few, to be sure. All things considered, I belong to the lucky few. One in a million, say. The last aristocracy, as it were. And aristocracy of old used to be burdened with many duties, including the collection of taxes and the conduct of war. Knowing all this, how do I feel? Pretty smug, I must admit. Belonging to the lucky few entitles me to a stray feeling or two, and smugness is surely the least troublesome among vices. Hey, is smugness a vice at all?

Addendum (October 30, 2016)

One in a million? Silly old git. How about one in a billion instead? The last aristocracy, to be sure. As for my smugness, I am not embarrassed by it. Not in the least. If it is a species of pride, which is definitely a vice among Christians, so be it. The babyboomers will go down in history as the luckiest generation of all, and I am in their vanguard. The luckiest of vanguards, to be sure. After thirteen years of full retirement, another fifteen are almost sure to lie ahead. The bliss. One in a million, my ass.