My Facebook feed is filling up with photos posted by retired friends who seem to be on perpetual vacations.
One high school classmate appears to live on a cruise ship. Another stopped by to see me on his way home in upper East Tennessee from a midweek Braves game earlier this month.
For context, I turned 65 this year, so a lot of my peers, who were also born in the late 1950s, have begun retiring.
Suddenly, I’m feeling a little pickleball envy.
I guess you could say I’ve started taking baby steps toward retirement. I’m signed up for Medicare — which, by the way, has more complex moving parts than a rich man’s Rolex.