I’m 71 Years Old; I’m Not Dead
I’m moving to Mexico in the next week. I’ve been planning this for three years. The reactions that I’ve gotten from people are interesting:
Sister-in-Law: You shouldn’t be doing this at your age. You’ve never lived in another country.
Me: I’m not dead yet. There’s a first time for everything.
Youngest son: You’re putting your family in jeopardy. The cartel will kidnap you and hold you for ransom. After we pay it, they’ll kill you anyway.
Me: Don’t pay it. (Aside) You know you are loved when your children are willing to pay ransom to get you back.
Friend: Be careful.
Me: I plan to be careful just like I do here in the U.S. where there’s no crime.
Facebook friends: Be careful, be careful, be careful, be careful…
Me: Do you watch the news in your own country?
Several people: This is so wonderful! You’re finally fulfilling your dream.
Me: This is not my dream.
Daughter-in-law: You’re so brave to do this at your age.
Me: Bravery is staying here at my age.
Youngest son after realizing I’m really going: Be sure to let me know where you are at all times so I’ll know where to send the Cartel money.
Me: That kid loves me a lot.
Just to let everyone know, this is not my long-held dream. I prefer to stay in my native California with my children and grandchildren. I’m leaving because, as a retired person, I can’t afford to live here anymore. I’m not willing to pay $1300 for a 450 sq. ft. studio apartment. You’ll pay double that in L.A. and triple that in San Francisco.
Retirees from Canada and the U.S. are leaving in droves for Mexico. They welcome us because we’re fueling their economy. We’re also driving prices up for the locals. Not good.
I love you, California. I grew up in paradise, but you’ve turned into a shit hole, as Donald Trump would put it, so I’m out of here.
