When you become a grownup at five, your big questions are different than the issues interesting to chronological adults.

You wonder why the 30 other kids in your kindergarten class listen to the one teacher. (And as you age and share that wonder with your peers, you’re puzzled to discover that they never even had the question).

You want to know who created God. (You ask that one so persistently it gets you invited to leave Sunday School in another three years).

You are still puzzled about why people treat your brother differently than they do you. You know he pees through other anatomy than yours, but that’s the only substantive variation between you. You seem to have equivalent interests and abilities.

But the question that is most mysterious to you is about the shape of future life as it’s being presented by your culture. It makes no sense to you.

You understand that everyone has to work. You’re even able to appreciate the idea that without work, play wouldn’t be so happy. An infinite supply of candy would not be sweet the right way. But you cannot make sense of the proposed schedule.

You see that you’ll be expected to work at least five days out of every seven. At least 48 weeks out of every 52. Most of your daylight hours. After going through all the growing-up grief, you’re supposed to work hard from about age 20 to 65, and then retire once you’re too old to enjoy anything.

Well I wasn’t having any of it. And the people engaged in it were accusing me of lacking common sense.

To make a 55 year story short, I’ve changed my mind about a number of subjects but not this one. Every decision, about job, house, where I live, when I relax: every choice is made with the goal of having some vacation each day, and with the plan of never retiring from it all.

When one of Katie’s friends visited our house some years ago, she marveled. “Wow,” she said to my daughter. “Your mom’s so lucky, to live in a neighborhood where a car isn’t necessary.”

That cracked us up. If only she knew how many test-walks were taken, before I bought the place.