My retirement has been wonderful so far. Honestly, sometimes I have to stop and remind myself how lucky I am. Rachel and I have our health and enjoy each other's company, which is not always true when a couple retires. However, there are four things that concern me as I reach my mid-70s.

Feeling lonely. I tried calling Mark, my old high school friend, a couple of weeks ago, and I haven’t heard from him. I tried again and got a message that his mailbox was full. I texted him asking him to call me when he had time.

This isn’t like him. I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong. He has health issues, and when you’re my age, you think the worst.

I can’t keep track of all the people who were a part of my life who have passed away since I retired. Some of them I was extremely close to and will be terribly missed.

I never thought that when I retired, I would be more concerned about running out of friends than running out of money.

If I ever lost Rachel, and I keep losing friends, I think I’d need to move into a retirement community just to have more people around me. The silence would be too much.

Stock market bubble? Lately, it feels like the economy has been built for people like me — retirees who already own their homes and have money in the stock market. I never expected our net worth would jump this much these past couple of years. 

The rise in real estate prices and the AI-fueled market boom have nudged Rachel and me into spending more freely. We eat out more than we used to — not fancy places. We even booked business-class seats on our last trip, something I never imagined I’d do. And lately, I’ve been walking around the house noticing little projects and thinking: Why not? Let’s fix that.

But underneath all that comfort is a knot in my stomach. If this AI boom fizzles, the wealth effect that’s padded our lives could disappear just as quickly. Every time I read that Nvidia now makes up around 8% of the S&P 500 and the “Magnificent Seven” accounts for about 35% of the index, I feel a twinge of the same uneasiness I had during the dot-com era. I keep asking myself: Are we all betting too much on too few companies?

These few companies are spending billions of dollars on AI. The question on many investors’ minds is whether they will make enough money off AI to recoup their investments and turn a profit.

Still, I’m not changing my portfolio. Maybe it’s trust that things will settle. The market has risen so much that I’d probably be fine even if it slid. And unlike the dot-com days, these companies at least make real money.

Even so, something about this AI rush feels fragile. Like we’re all enjoying the party while quietly wondering when the music will stop.

The Economy for Others. What worries me even more is that this strong economy doesn’t seem to be helping everyone. It’s so hard for younger people to buy their first home — the median first-time buyer is 40 now. Airlines are struggling more with filling economy seats than business class ones. And one out of eight people in this country depends on SNAP just to buy food.

I’ve also been reading about how tough the job market is for recent college grads, partly because AI is reshaping entry-level work. I sometimes wonder whether my son-in-law will ever feel like he’s on the same financial footing we had at his age. He’s got a good job, but the economy doesn’t seem geared toward helping the younger generation or those who are struggling. 

All of this leaves me in a strange place emotionally. On one hand, I know I’ve benefited from this market boom — more than I probably deserve. On the other hand, I’m not blind to the fact that this same economy feels like a completely different world for people who aren’t retired homeowners with investments. I can enjoy the comfort it’s given Rachel and me, but I can’t ignore the uncomfortable thought that the system seems to be lifting some of us up while quietly letting others slip behind. 

Will I get the health care I need when I need it? One thing I never expected to worry about in my 70s is whether I’ll be able to see a doctor when I need one. My urologist — the same one who has always returned my calls and squeezed me in when something felt off  — is switching to a concierge practice. He says he wanted to offer “more personalized care.” Then he handed me a brochure with fees ranging from $1,200 a year for the basic level to $12,000 for the premier package. None of it’s covered by Medicare. These fees do not include the additional services listed in his contract agreement that go beyond what Medicare pays.

I sat there thinking: I just need a doctor who will see me when it matters. Even he admitted the new setup might not be a good fit for me and suggested I find another urologist. When I walked out of his office, I felt like losing another person I had depended on.

Now, I’m concerned that I won’t be able to find another doctor who will be there for me when I need care. It already takes seven months to see my geriatric doctor. My dermatologist is booked months out, too. Everyone keeps saying that older adults will need more medical care, but the system feels like it’s shrinking right when I’m finally entering the phase of life when I need it most.

I try not to dwell on it, but sometimes I imagine waking up one morning and seeing blood in my urine again and not knowing who to call. It’s an unsettling feeling —  the kind that lingers and makes you realize how much you took for granted when you were younger.

Although I have these concerns, I’m thankful every day for Rachel, for the life we’ve built, and for the good fortune we’ve had. But retirement isn’t the carefree stretch of leisure I once imagined. It’s a period of adjustment — to loss, to uncertainty, to an economy and a health-care system that feel less predictable than ever.

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