The Inner Monologue

Oh, the sweet, sweet lie of averages. You’ve heard it before: “The average life expectancy is 72!” Cue the violins, the existential dread, and the reckless spending sprees because, hey, what’s the point? You’ll be dead before the credit card bill comes due, right?

Wrong.

That number is a dirty, rotten trick—a statistical mirage. It’s dragged down by every tragic early exit, every infant mortality, every unlucky soul who never made it to where you are right now, scrolling through this blog post in relative comfort. But you did. And if you’ve made it this far, the odds say you’re going to keep going… and going… and going. Like a bad movie sequel nobody asked for.

The Cold, Hard Math of Not Dying

Here’s the fun part: once you survive childhood, adolescence, and whatever questionable decisions you made in your 20s, your life expectancy shoots up. That “average age of death” stat is about as useful as a chocolate teapot. What you should care about is the mortality rate for someone your age, health, and lifestyle. And guess what? If you’re reading this, you’re probably not in the high-risk “will die tomorrow” category.

Insurance companies (bless their cold, actuarial hearts) have entire departments dedicated to predicting when you’ll kick the bucket. And their calculators? They’re optimistic. Like, “Congrats, you’ll probably live to 90, hope you like ramen and cat food!” optimistic.

Plan for 100 or Suffer the Consequences

The easiest way to avoid a miserable old age? Assume you’ll live to 100.

• Debt? Compound interest doesn’t retire when you do.
• No savings? Hope you enjoy working retail at 85.
• Treating your body like a rental with no deposit? Surprise! Chronic pain doesn’t care about your excuses.

If you overestimate and die early, who cares? You’re dead. But if you underestimate and outlive your money/health/plan? Oh boy. You’re in for a “Golden Girls, but with way less dignity” kind of retirement.

A New Birthday Tradition

Instead of putting your age in candles on your next birthday cake, try this: Subtract your age from 100 and light that many. Now your goal is simple—clear the damn cake.

Because the real joke isn’t that you might die young. It’s that you probably won’t. And if you don’t get your act together now, future you is going to be pissed.

So go ahead. Keep ignoring your finances, your health, your future. Or… maybe start planning for the long, long haul. Your 90-year-old self will either thank you—or haunt you. Choose wisely.