Showing posts from August, 2018


I don’t profess to be a retirement expert. However, I have been successful in retirement and come from a family with a deep legacy of successful retirements.  This is the first of a series of my thoughts and insights on retirement. My goal is that my experiences might be helpful to you. $1 million is often touted as the magic number to retire with. The reality is that only 8.5% or less than 2 people in 20 reach that magic number. If you take the more stringent measurement of just investible assets (cash) versus entire net worth, those figures drop to less than 5% of population or 1 in 20.  If you are on track to reach that magic $1.0 million, great. For the other 80%, alternative thinking is needed.  My parents hold the record in our family for years spent in retirement. They retired at age 56 and had a wonderful retirement of over 30 years.  They did this with far less that the magic threshold above. How did they do this? They planned, saved what they could, took a hard


It stood there still proud, with a certain beauty of being near the end. The demolition equipment parked across the field stared at it. The sign read Avenue Demolition.  Stripped in places to the brick and mortar that once made it strong. Still wearing swatches of paint from what life it held. A simple building. It’s once purpose giving it the beauty left. Will the giant machines and shovels pause for a moment to honor it before taking their last bites? I hoped so, as I gazed on its remaining gem… David Young


Windows “Let there be many windows to your soul, that all the glory of the world may beautify it”  Ella Wheeler Wilcox Windows let us look at the soul of the city. Through some you look out at the city in its purest, seemingly apart and untouched by reality. In others, you look in at the lives of people. Some working, some reflecting, some happy and some angry. Dealmakers, makers of food, readers of life, those waiting for something, dreams that are gone. All behind the windows we pass. We catch our reflections in windows leaving us to think about how we might change our lives or make ourselves more beautiful. We only get quick glimpses, held in the black and white lines we write silently to ourselves about what we think we see.  The closed shop with covered windows holding the broken dreams of someone. Or the closed window hiding what we only imagine.  We never have the full story.  We move on held apart by the windows, but touched by the reflections we see… David Young


It was a simple add in the Backpages. Just three lines, "Model Available. Long dark hair, petite, young. Text Ashley 728.392.4847. She lived on First Hill in an old five story apartment. The halls were worn. The lobby still showed the old mail boxes with apartment numbers underneath, some scratched out and written over with clever names like Buzz or Artist. Ashley thought about marking writer under her box number, but truth was she remained unpublished. Despite its age, the apartment building had a warmth and mystery about it framed by the wood panel molding that ran throughout it. Only one window let light into Ashley's apartment. Papers filled with writing scattered about made it seem even smaller than it was. She used to work as a barista and attend Seattle U, but she really wanted to be a writer. A writer more than anything else. She quit her job and the university to write full time.  She had done some modeling for a photographer and liked it. An easy arty way t