Until my mother and I started chatting last summer with a woman at Los Tios Grill, I’d only known of Jimmy Buffett, who died recently, as a singer, not the proprietor of retirement communities inspired by his music and lifestyle.
But the woman, a self-described “parrothead” (diehard Buffett fan), said that she was visiting from Florida where she lived in one of three Buffett communities for the “55-and-better” crowd. The more she described the place, the more everything inside of me recoiled:
True to its Margaritaville name, it was all about partying, partying and more partying.
Now, I can party when I want to but it would hurt my soul to live in a perpetual party zone not only devoid of kids but also the elderly, from the sounds of it.
Would you want to grow old in Margaritaville?
Would it even be possible if you did?
What is possible is to have kindly feelings about Buffett while not liking his Margaritaville brand, which is a pastel-colored paradise—which appears to clash with the likes of home care—built on the four pillars of “food, fun, music and escapism.”
I’m here for food, fun and music but pastels and escapism aren’t my thing.
If you signed up for the Tiny Village Project, you may have seen my welcome message introducing one Rev. Gordon Cosby, who I learned about when my mother gave me a copy of his obituary from The Washington Post.
Why would she give me an obituary of a man unknown to me?
Because she knew that Cosby’s “brand”—engagism, if that’s a word—would speak to me.
By the time he died, members of Cosby’s church had created affordable housing as well as dozens of organizations, including a bookstore, arts center and medical facility for the homeless—the place where Cosby himself died, by design.
Your perfect place to live, and later die, may not be in a house.
Or be the same place over time.
Cosby’s obituary called him a “rebel pastor” and said, “While much of American religion…focused on building more and larger churches, Rev. Cosby focused on creating a network of tiny communities that cared only about concrete social change.”
Perhaps I’ll one day be called a rebel and have an obituary that reads like Cosby’s:
While much of American village making focused on “aging in place,” Harmon declined that narrative and focused instead on “prospering together” aka “feeling more alive in community.”
If village making is to spread, I think it needs a different draw than “aging in place.”
To be clear: I’m not against “aging in place” as a concept, which in much of American village making seems to mean homeowners aging in their houses. If that’s what people want and have access to the resources, services and supports to do so, they should go for it.
My concern is people thinking that village making is only about supporting older adults.
It’s also about folks latching onto aging in their homes as the ideal, and endeavoring to do so without asking the right questions. Skipping that process could lead to folks “successfully” aging in place in isolation and without transportation. It could also look like elders spending large sums to modify or maintain a house, including parts that they can’t physically access.
When my parents returned to the States after almost 20 years abroad, they didn’t buy a house. This worked to their advantage: they weren’t tied to an unfit property they couldn’t sell and could move with relative ease to the best place for their situation at any time.
In my father’s case, this flexibility allowed him to spend his final years surrounded by family, and to take his last breath as my niece read him poetry in a comfortable setting:
A rental apartment.
Your perfect place to live, and later die, may be waiting on you to create.
Fueled by helping my father to pass away peacefully at home, and perhaps subconsciously by Rev. Cosby, I once told my niece that my village work was my attempt to create / inspire the kinds of places where I’d like to live and die, eventually.
Not only isn’t thinking about where I’d like to die morbid, it’s a joy to imagine!
And being in my mid 50s without many assets besides my brain (as of now), pondering where I’d like to die feels more secure than winging the future, especially because I don’t have kids who could help care for me (assuming they’d be willing and able).
Though I next want to live in a rental house and gain experience making a village in a spread out area, I’m imagining the bulk of my future engaging with neighbors of all ages in a vertical village, which I think of like a residential community center with medical support.
Are you imagining anything for yourself down the road?
Elizabeth White is imagining NUUage Coliving.
The author of “55, Underemployed, and Faking Normal: Your Guide to a Better Retirement Life” (a title that’s bound to resonate with many under- or unpaid caregivers), White—who’s nearing 70—just launched NUUage as an affordable housing solution for millions in their 50s, 60s and up who find themselves aging alone with smaller nest eggs than expected.
Along with caregivers and mothers of young kids, these are the folks I most want to serve as well, but well-designed vertical villages can also work for wealthier folks currently being failed by Continuing Care Retirement Communities (CCRCs).*
Alright friends, next time I’ll share some questions and resources to help you ponder the perfect place for you to live in the future.
“See” you then.
*FROM WIKIPEDIA:
“A continuing care retirement community (CCRC), sometimes known as a life plan community, is a type of retirement community in the U.S. where a continuum of aging care needs—from independent living, assisted living, and skilled nursing care—can all be met within the community. These various levels of shelter and care may be housed on different floors or wings of a single high-rise building or in physically adjacent buildings, such as garden apartments, cottages, duplexes, mid- and low-rise buildings, or spread out in a campus setting. The emphasis of the CCRC model is to enable residents to avoid having to move, except to another level of care within the community, if their needs change.”
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