Three Things I've Happily Retired From at Age 35 (That Made My Life 35x Better)

WARNING: This email will make your life better too.

I’m not a wealthy man.

Sure, I survived leukemia and that perspective is priceless.

But landlords don’t accept perspective. You can’t order a Big Mac at McDonald’s and pay with perspective. It doesn’t work like that. And the perspective to USD exchange rate? Forget about it.

Financially speaking, I’m on track to work until *roughly* the age of 96, then die on the job, shining the aluminium shoes of our terrifying robot overlords.

Thankfully, it’s not all doom, gloom and robot apocalypses.

There are some things I can retire from — and I’m making the leap right now. I’ve reached the point in my life where it’s time to move on.

If you’re on the fence about making a change in your life — whether it’s something small or scary big — be inspired by the three things I retired from at 35 that made my life 35x better (rough estimate).

See if you’re ready to retire from these things too, and make it to the end for a surprise lesson. 🎁

Me and the gals at the retirement village.

I Have Retired From… Mosh Pits, Front Rows and Loud Live Music

‘I’ve literally been dying to see this band’.

I was standing two rows from the front, waiting for Taking Back Sunday to play at Sydney’s Metro Theatre, when I overheard this.

I wondered if this was a classic misuse of the word literally or if the girl in front of me was at the concert as some sort of Make-A-Wish Foundation send-off before she died.

That should have been my first clue that I was about to hit retirement age.

Nothing makes you realize you’re old like going to a concert surrounded by actual young people.

So many of the younger crowd wore Mad Max-style clothing like they’d just emerged from a nuclear bunker. When did that happen? Did I miss a cultural shift?

I hadn’t seen so much skin on show since the last Naked and Afraid marathon on the Discovery Channel.

The name of this show accurately describes 87% of my life

Speaking of watching things, you’re not really there to see live music.

You’re there to see a waving sea of smartphones held in the air, blocking your view and recording blurry, shaking footage that no one will ever look at again.

“Hey, let’s watch the footage from the concert you filmed sideways on your phone. Yeah, the one where the audio sounds like a baby seal being clubbed” - No one ever.

💡 PRO TIP: Don’t worry about heading to the bar to grab an expensive beer in a plastic cup. Someone will throw one at you at some point during the night, so that’s a money-saver.

And look, this isn’t a shot at anyone who loves the live music scene.

I like a tune as much as the next guy. It’s just that I’m ready to migrate to the seated section. I can no longer stand on my feet for 2+ hours. I don’t stand up for myself when someone sits in my assigned seat in the cinema. What makes you think I can stand up for 2+ hours?!

If I’m being harsh on the experience of mosh pits and front rows, it’s only because it made me realize I’m not as young as I once was.

So, I’m happy to leave the front rows, mosh pits, and screaming scene to the next generation.

My head will literally explode if I don’t.

I Have Retired From… Getting Massages “Cold Turkey”

If you’re into boner-shaming, this is not the place for you.

As far as I know, the boner-shamers club meets at 7pm, down the hall. Easy mistake to make.

What I’m trying to say is that I masturbate before massages.

Whoa, hold on there, bucko* (*I’m sorry to use such forceful language).

Before you judge me, hear me out...

I’m not some sort of sex offender and I’m certainly not on any sex offender list (they’d have to catch me first). This isn’t some sort of kink that requires hot stones and a yoga Spotify playlist. I just can’t enjoy a massage unless I give myself a rub down before I get a rub down.

Think of it as a pre-emptive strike.

Like someone frantically cleaning their apartment before the hired help arrives. They know it’s illogical to do the work instead of the professional cleaner. But god forbid anyone sees the filth they choose to live in.

Using the same logic, I don’t want my masseuse to have to awkwardly work on the knots in my upper thigh while I’m pitching the type of tent that would safely protect an entire troop of Boy Scouts from a storm.

At first, I suspected my pre-massage ritual had to do with pornography.

I’ve seen a movie or two (thousand) where an average Alex Joe goes in for a massage and some overdue bodywork. It’s been a long week. He’s been doing overtime. The wife has been nagging him non-stop to fix that broken pipe under the sink.

Suddenly, a stray hand. A trailing finger. Now the masseuse is showing interest in his pipe. Next thing you know, it’s all over, and I’m left lying in bed wondering where the previous 75 minutes went and why I’m feeling such a great sense of shame.

And you can forget about asking the internet for help.

One real suggestion to deal with a massage-related boner was to start whistling to distract yourself.

I can only imagine a masseuse’s horror when her client gets a silent erection and then he starts whistling. If that’s not the start of an episode of Law and Order: SVU, I’ll eat my hat.

Here’s the kicker…

I’ve never actually got an erection during a massage. Not even close. I don’t find them remotely sexual at all but that doesn’t mean it won’t somehow happen.

Just because you’ve never been hurled through your car's windscreen at 95 miles an hour doesn’t mean it won’t happen. That’s why you wear a seatbelt.

But life isn’t all erections and car accidents (thankfully).

I also have an erection in this car accident but you can’t tell

In trying to understand why I felt the need to punish the prince before a massage, I came across a quote from Cherie Sohnen Moe's book Ethics of Touch.

“Several realities shape female perceptions of erections. Many were raised with pervasive myths about erections: If you are with a man and he has an erection a) you have caused it and b) you are responsible for taking care of it.”

I’d like to take this moment to vehemently reject both assertions on behalf of any masseuse I encounter.

I will undoubtedly cause my own erection through the sheer power of stupidity and the only person responsible for taking care of it is me (a responsibility I take up often and with great vigour).

The idea of potentially making someone uncomfortable — even tacitly — is a driving factor behind my pre-massage ritual.

Oh, and also because I’d be super embarrassed and probably fart at the same time because my subconscious secretly hates me.

So, the next time you’re due for a massage, I recommend practising a little self-love first. This will remove any risk of making your masseuse uncomfortable, and you’ll leave yourself wonderfully relaxed and ready to enjoy the experience.

Win-Win.

I Have Retired From… Following Internet Trends, Fads & Crazes

This one hurts but I have to speak my truth.

My name is Alexander Porter and I was…a planker (not to be confused with wanker, though the overlap is razor close).

Back in 2010/11, I was so into planking that I did it everywhere—literally.

If you need a quick refresher, ‘planking’ was the viral craze that saw people lie face down on inanimate objects, in exotic places, and even in some truly dangerous spots (leading to a few deaths, which pretty much killed the fad for good).

Idiot on a boat.

Was it a creative trend? For roughly 16 seconds.

Then the trend got old FAST.

By that time, it was too late. I was on the bandwagon and didn’t realize it had peaked and become cringeworthy (it’s hard to see people exiting the bandwagon when you’re lying face down on it).

I have hundreds of photos from trips to New Zealand, Bali, Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia…all face down on the ground.

What a ducking fool

I have mates who send me photos of coasters balancing on their drinks and claim it’s a photo of me. I get annual reminders from Facebook of all the trips I wasted with my face in the dirt. And I have the lifelong shame of knowing I wasn’t just on the fringes of the ‘planking’ craze…

I was leading from the front, well… leading from face down on the ground.

Please don’t judge me, just know, I’ll never forgive myself.

I’d like one Big Mac and one “I have nothing but self-loathing for this period of my life” meal.

🎁 Surprise Lesson: It’s OK to change

Hell, that’s the entire point of life.

Maybe you’ve also retired from these three things. Or, maybe you love planking so much that this article is being read to you by a helpful stranger because you’ve been face down on the ground since 2011.

Whatever you’re into, it’s OK to say goodbye and try something else.

This could be a new hobby or side hustle. You might change your look, replace your entire wardrobe, and tweak your personality. Or, you might be considering bigger (maybe even scarier) changes in your relationship or career.

You don't need to verbalize those things to me — you already know what they are. Right now, you feel the desire to move forward, but you're struggling to make progress because the past doesn't want to let go.

This isn’t an invitation to make rash decisions. It’s not a recommendation to cut ties. And it isn’t a push to do anything that doesn’t feel right to you.

It’s a gentle, loving reminder that life’s current will pull you along. It pulls everyone along. There’s no way to stay stuck in the maelstrom and you’re wasting your time trying.

When you’re ready to move on — whatever it’s from and however difficult it is — just know it’s OK. It’s OK to feel scared, and it’s OK to do it anyway. More than that, it’s human.

Now, I’d go buy a gold watch to celebrate my retirement milestones, but do you know how much perspective it costs to get a gold Rolex?

It’s not worth it.

With love,

New World Porter

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