“Why Don’t You Move?” (Or, Don’t Suffer Just Because It’s Familiar)

I know, I know. The idea of moving at our age sounds like climbing Everest with a folding walker and a box of cat meds. You’ve been in that place for decades. You know which floorboard creaks, which cabinet sticks, and which neighbor always steals your Sunday paper. It’s home—or at least, it was.

But let me ask you something, and don’t swat me for it: Is it still working for you?

Let’s look at the facts, friend. You live alone. Most of your friends have either moved away, moved in with their kids, or moved into the Great Beyond. The rent’s bleeding you dry. Your doctor’s a two-hour bus ride away, and the hospital closer to you shut down when Carter was still president. You’re not near a grocery store, the sidewalks are cracked, and you haven’t felt safe walking out at night since the Bush administration—the first one.

So let me say what others won’t: maybe it’s time to treat your life like a project. Something to upgrade, not just endure.

There are places in this country where a senior can live decently on less. Cities and towns with real buses, clinics that still pick up the phone, and neighbors who remember your name. Places where you can afford the rent and the prescriptions, and still have something left over for a decent sandwich.

Some states have better senior services, lower cost of living, and actual support for folks like us. You’d be shocked how many communities are quietly building themselves around older residents. They don’t advertise it with neon signs, but they’re out there—often in places you never thought to look. Mid-size cities in the Midwest. College towns in the South. Even a few corners of New England, if you don’t mind winter and people who talk like lobster fishermen.

Moving doesn’t have to be a tragedy. It can be a strategy. You’re not fleeing your life—you’re upgrading it. You can choose proximity to a hospital over loyalty to a crumbling duplex. You can move somewhere walkable, near a senior center, maybe even with a porch and some actual people around. Remember people?

I’m not saying pack tonight. I’m saying plan. Make it your project for the season. Research. Call places. Find out what your Social Security and pension would stretch to in another ZIP code. You can still live alone—but maybe you don’t have to be lonely, broke, and stuck to do it.

And if anyone tries to guilt you about “leaving home,” remind them: your home is wherever your peace is. Wherever you can take a deep breath and not worry about freezing, starving, or being forgotten.

So don’t suffer just because you’re used to it. You deserve better. And better might just be a bus ride—or one bold decision—away.