I threw myself a retirement party at 64, convinced I’d timed everything perfectly. Three months later, my financial adviser—the one I’d finally hired—looked at my numbers and went quiet. “You could have retired at 62,” she said. “Maybe even 61.” I’d worked two unnecessary years. Missed two years of travel, two years with grandkids, two years of freedom I’ll never get back. Not because I didn’t…
Source link
