I'm 38 and live in a retirement village. My rent is cheap, and my neighbors have taught me how to be a better friend.
My aunt suggested moving to her retirement village, and they accepted my application despite my age.
I love living here. My neighbors have changed my perspective on aging.
I get mixed reactions every time I tell people I live in a retirement village. Some people just laugh it off because they don't understand how I came to that decision. Some ask, "Isn't that depressing?" while some family members initially thought I was way too young to live around seniors.
I get it — it's not typical to find a 30-something in a retirement village. But every Wednesday morning when I join my silver-haired neighbors for a game of bingo, I realize it's the best decision I've ever made.
I'm a 38-year-old woman who's independent by all means. My ex and I previously shared a home, but after our long-term relationship ended, it made sense to move out and start fresh.
While looking for an apartment that had everything I was looking for that I could afford, I had been living in an Airbnb for two months, which was becoming costly.
Then one weekend, I visited one of my favorite aunts in her retirement village and casually explained that I was househunting. She told me that a unit a few minutes from her place had opened up and was actively seeking a tenant.
I didn't see how I could get into the retirement village when there was an age stipulation, but she assured me they had made exceptions before. She was confident, and told me the village's homeowners' association reviewed applications on a case-by-case basis.
And while I desperately needed an apartment, I thought I would feel out of place in the village. I wasn't sure how I would relate to older neighbors or rules like time limits on guest visitations and quiet hours, as I've never really been a stickler for rules. Still, after a lot of convincing, I submitted the application, which included a short letter explaining my situation, rental history, proof of income, credit report, photo ID, and my aunt's recommendation. Then, we waited to hear back.
Six weeks later, I got a call saying I had been approved for the unit. I'm not sure what tipped the scales in my favor; maybe it was my aunt's glowing recommendation, or the fact that I expressed how I desperately needed community after a heartache. Either way, I signed the lease and was a resident.
The actual move was surreal, especially because rent for my two-bedroom apartment is 500 Australian dollars, inclusive of service fee. That's a fraction of the going rate for most apartments of the same size in Melbourne, where a two-bedroom typically goes for AU$2800 to AU$3200. As I moved in, the neighbors introduced themselves, and I particularly remember a retired school principal and an Army vet who were kind enough to set up my bed and TV frame and make sure my cabinets could lock.
My days often start the same way. I'm woken up by the faint sound of my neighbor's golden oldies. I drink coffee while reading the newspaper, enjoy a walk, and watch the occasional cat sunbathing. As members of the village strive to stay fit and have fun, I've joined chair yoga classes, cycled now and then, attended bingo at the clubhouse every Wednesday, and spent my afternoons freelancing.
Evenings are also simple. I walk to the nearby grocery store or diner, bake, or sit on the porch and go down memory lane in unending conversations. These are things I always look forward to, and they are surprisingly peaceful.
I've been living in the retirement village for a little over a year. I've stopped considering it a stepping stone to a better place, and I now see it as my home. I've never felt out of place, and living around people who are not in a rush to live life or consumed by tech has been great for my mental health. It's a kind of haven.
My neighbors talk about their life experiences, the books they've read, the jobs they miss, and offer unsolicited yet meaningful advice. I meet their friends and family, making new friends along the way. Last week, my neighbor Anna taught me to make lemon bars, and I can't get enough of her chicken noodle soup.
My new home has reshaped my life ambitions and the way I view aging. I've found immense peace here, and it's my definition of a wonderful life. It's comforting to know that the 70s and 80s aren't so bad after all. As I've learned from those around me, you can still have agency, volunteer, make friends, and start new hobbies, no matter your age.
My experience has taught me how to be a better friend and neighbor. There's always a bowl of soup, apple pie, or a bottle of ginger ale on my front porch because everyone cares. In turn, I help run errands for others when I can, and even better, live only 10 minutes from my aunt.
So, the next time you pass by your local retirement village, don't be shy to ask for an opening; you never know where it will take you.
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