Medicare is calling me. More precisely, I’m receiving mail almost every day with letters and slick brochures from insurance companies offering to enhance my Medicare options—while they extract profits by denying me services, I presume—as I approach the Age of Signup.
How do they know my age? Who is giving them that information? I have never done business with many of these companies, so how do they know?
I want my adventure to be of my own making!
Sharing is good—and it can enhance the journey—but I don’t want to share someone else’s adventure so much as to create my own.
In a few months, I’ll celebrate my 65th birthday. That’s when Medicare will begin for me—on the first of that month, actually. That’s what I’m told.
My children have their own adventures. I love them, and I love watching the adventures of their lives (most of the time). But the adventure I’m seeking can’t just be watching—and maybe even participating in—their adventures. I need my own.
I figure I have ten years of really good adventure in me before I start to slow down. Then I can look back and enjoy the memories of those great adventures. I’ll still enjoy smaller adventures, of course. But there’s time for something bigger in the next decade than I’ll likely feel like after that. So I figure.
All the while—during this adventurous age and after—I’ll be helped by Medicare. It’s a great thing, or so I hear. But I don’t want anything more to do with insurance companies if I can help it. I’ve had my fill of them. I’ll find another option … a supplement, I think is the right term.
I don’t want to seem selfish, but I feel that so much of my life has been spent for the benefit of something besides myself—my family, my career, my obligations—that I deserve to spend the best years of the rest of my life on myself. Is that too much to ask?
I want my life to be an adventure!
Now where do I start?