The Artist in All of Us: Why This Time Is Not Our Undoing

I know it is easy to look around right now and feel the world coming apart. The news is relentless. The arguments never end. The ground that felt solid yesterday seems to shift beneath us today. And if you are over sixty, you have seen versions of this before, different details, same unease.

But here is what I want you to hear, especially if cynicism has become your blanket or depression your unwanted companion.

You are not a sinking ship. You are a swimming rat.

Let me explain.

Chaos Is Not the End. It Is the Beginning of Something New.

Think about ice. Solid. Predictable. You know exactly what it will do.

Now add heat. The ice cracks. It softens. It becomes something else entirely. For a moment, it looks like it is falling apart. But that chaos is not destruction. It is transformation. The ice is becoming water, and water can flow where ice never could.

We are living in that messy middle. The old ways are melting. The new ways have not fully arrived. And yes, it is uncomfortable. But here is the truth the cynics forget: every stable thing you have ever loved was once chaos being shaped into order.

The peace you enjoy. The rights you hold. The community you cherish. None of it appeared fully formed. It was built by people who refused to believe that the mess was the end of the story.

When the world feels unstable, we tend to look for engineers people who will bolt things down and make them rigid again. But that is not what holds a civilization together.

What holds us together is the creative spirit.

The artist. The storyteller. The gardener who plants seeds in broken soil. The grandparent who tells a child, "I have seen worse, and we got through it." The volunteer who notices an empty chair and makes a phone call. The neighbour who bakes bread and shares it.

These are artists too. They are making something where nothing was. They are imposing order on chaos with the simplest tools: attention, care, and the stubborn belief that beauty still matters.

Toni Morrison once said that this is precisely the time when artists go to work. Not when things are calm. When they are falling apart. Because art clarifies. Art nourishes. Art reminds us that we are still here, still thinking, still feeling, still capable of imagining something better.

Here is what the depressed mind forgets. You cannot control the news. You cannot control the economy or the politicians or the algorithms. But you can control:

·         Whether you get out of bed this morning

·         Whether you call someone who might be lonely

·         Whether you write down one thought that matters to you

·         Whether you plant something, fix something, or simply show up somewhere

Those small acts are not trivial. They are the bubbles being blown in the chaos. They are the webs being spun. They are the lighthouses sweeping the thankless seas.

And they matter more than you know.

Younger people are looking at this moment with fresh eyes. Many of them have never seen instability like this. They are frightened. They are angry. They are looking for someone who has been through a hard season and come out the other side.

That someone is you.

You have lived through recessions. You have lived through wars and threats of war. You have lost people you loved. You have rebuilt. You have adapted. You have learned that the sun rises even after the darkest night.

You do not need to be a professional artist to be an artist of living. Every time you choose hope over despair, you are creating something. Every time you refuse to pass your cynicism to a younger person, you are legislating a better future. Every time you show up to a coffee, to a board meeting, to a grandchild's recital you are building a vantage ground in the chaos.

The writer E.M. Forster once said that when the ships are sinking, he would rather be a swimming rat than a sinking ship. It is not dignified, perhaps. But you can look around longer. You can see things the officials missed. And you can find other rats swimming beside you, hearing each other's calls through the impenetrable wood.

That is what we are. Not dignified. Not certain. Not in control of the whole storm.

But swimming. Looking. Calling out to one another.

And that is enough. That has always been enough.

So, this week, make something. A meal. A phone call. A garden. A joke. A quiet hour of sitting still and breathing. It does not have to be grand. It just has to be yours.

Because the world does not need more cynics. It has plenty.

It needs the artist in you.

And that artist is still very much alive.

How Much You Need to Retire in Canada at Age 65.4

You are eligible for Old Age Security (OAS) immediately, and your Canada Pension Plan (CPP) payments are no longer penalized for early withdrawal.

Annual Expenses Remain the Same

The average Canadian retiree still spends approximately $41,000 per year on living expenses .

How Much Help Do You Get from the Government at 65.4?

Federal Programs

A) Canada Pension Plan (CPP)

• Starting at 65.4 years: You avoid the early-retirement penalty. If you wait until age 65 (or slightly beyond), you receive the full base amount.
• Maximum monthly amount (age 65): $1,507.65
• Average monthly amount: Approximately 900 for most retirees.

B) Old Age Security (OAS)

• Available immediately at age 65.4
• Maximum monthly amount (April–June 2026): $743.05
• Claw back threshold: OAS begins to be reduced if your individual net income exceeds approximately $90,000 per year

C) Guaranteed Income Supplement (GIS)

• Available to low-income seniors receiving OAS
• Maximum monthly amount: Roughly $1,108.74 on top of OAS
• Crucial note: RRSP/RRIF withdrawals count as income and reduce GIS; TFSA withdrawals do not.

Provincial Programs

Provincial support generally begins at age 65, so you now qualify immediately:

• BC Homeowner Grant (Seniors): Up to $845 off property taxes in Metro Vancouver/Fraser Valley
• Ontario GAINS: Additional income top-up for low-income seniors
• Quebec Shelter Allowance: 170/month for low-income renters aged 50+

The Updated Numbers: A Clearer Picture

Assuming you have average CPP (743/month) at 65.4:

Source	Monthly Amount	Annual Amount
CPP (Average)	$850	$10,200
OAS (Max)	$743	$8,916
Subtotal (Government Only)	$1,593	$19,116
Estimated Annual Spending Need	,	$41,000
The Gap (Needed from Savings)	,	$21,884 per year

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How Much Personal Savings Do You Need?

Using the 4% withdrawal rule (a commonly accepted guideline for sustainable retirement income):

Annual Gap	Savings Needed
$20,000	$500,000
$21,884 (your gap)	$547,000
$25,000	$625,000
$30,000	$750,000

Conclusion: At age 65.4, with average government benefits, you likely need a personal nest egg of approximately 550,000 to generate the additional income required for a comfortable retirement.

If you want a more comfortable lifestyle (60,000 annually), target 1,000,000 in personal savings.

Waiting pays off. Delaying retirement to the average age of 65.4 reduces your personal savings requirement by roughly 250,000.

OAS is a gamechanger. Those extra 8,916 per year) significantly close the gap between government support and living expenses.

Know your numbers. If you have a workplace pension or a spouse with additional income, your required savings may be lower.

TFSA is your friend. Unlike RRSP withdrawals, TFSA money does not count as income, so it will not claw back OAS or GIS benefits.

The average Canadian now retires at 65.4 not because they want to, but because the math works better. If you can afford to work those extra years, or even partially retire with part-time income, you will likely enter retirement with more security, less stress, and a much smaller burden on your personal savings.

As always, speak with a financial advisor to tailor these numbers to your specific situation, CPP contributions, and retirement goals.

The Average Retirement Age in Canada

 I retired at officially at age 60. I worked or unretired for another 8 years and finally retired at age 68,

So,  I was curious as to hat the retirement age was in 2025. The numbers surprised me. As of 2025, the average retirement age in Canada hit a record high of 65.4 years . The most recent data from Statistics Canada places the average at 65.1 years as of 2023, up from a low of 60.9 in 1998 .

Here is how the numbers break down:

Group	Average Retirement Age
Overall Average	65.1 - 65.4 years
Men	65.9 years
Women	64.2 years
Public Sector Employees	63.1 years
Private Sector Employees	65.4 years
Self-Employed	68.0 years

 Over the past two decades, the average retirement age has risen by over four years. In 2003, the average Canadian retired at 61.7; today, they work until well past 65 .

Three main factors are driving this shift:

1. Canadians Are Living and Working Longer
The labour force participation rate for seniors aged 65 and older reached 15.2% in 2025, the highest since tracking began in 1976. That's nearly 1.2 million seniors still in the workforce . More older adults are choosing to work for pay, up from just 6.6% in 1994 .

2. Financial Pressures Are Real
Many Canadians are delaying retirement because of inflation, higher living costs, and concerns about having enough savings . The retirement period (the time between stopping work and passing away) peaked in 2012 at 22.7 years. By 2025, that period had shrunk to 20.5 years as people retire later .

3. The Rise of "Unretirement"
Many older adults who thought they had retired have returned to the workforce, often in part-time or contract roles. They stay connected to the labour market for financial reasons, personal fulfillment, or both. This "unretirement" trend is contributing significantly to the rising average age.

What This Means for You

If you are planning to retire early, you would be retiring earlier than the current average. This means:

• You will need more personal savings since you will not yet qualify for Old Age Security (age 65 minimum) and your Canada Pension Plan payments will be permanently reduced if taken early
• You are part of a minority but not alone, many Canadians do retire earlier due to health reasons or personal choice

As one analysis notes, after falling to a low of 60.9 in the late 1990s, "the average age at retirement then reversed course and has since steadily increased to its current high" . The trend shows no sign of changing.

Picture this or Listen to this

You may have noticed that in many of my posts I lean on a familiar invitation: “picture this.” It slips in like an old friend, taps you on the shoulder, and says, “Come with me, I’ve got a scene to show you.” That habit didn’t come out of nowhere. It was shaped in a classroom, where I watched students lean forward when something looked clear, when ideas were laid out like a map instead of a maze.

Picture this (there I go again): a classroom buzzing just before lunch. One student is sketching a diagram so detailed it could hang in a gallery. Another is quietly rereading notes, tracing lines with a finger like they’re following a trail through the woods. These were the visual learners, at least, that’s what we called them. They seemed to grasp things best when they could see them, charts, graphs, diagrams, even well-organized paragraphs that didn’t wander off like a distracted storyteller.

So, when I started writing posts, I naturally leaned into that strength. I painted scenes. I built little word-pictures. I tried to make ideas visible. Not because I had a grand theory about it, but because it felt like handing someone a flashlight instead of asking them to walk in the dark.

But here’s where it gets interesting, and where, if I’m honest, I have to smile a bit at myself.

I could just as easily have written for the ear instead of the eye.

Instead of “picture this,” I might have said, “listen to this.”

Listen to this: the low hum of conversation in a coffee shop, cups clinking, a chair scraping softly across the floor. A voice rises just enough to tell a story, pauses for effect, then lands the point like a well-timed punchline. Some people remember that moment not because they saw it, but because they heard it. The rhythm, the tone, the little pauses that make meaning stick.

If I were writing with sound in mind, I might swap out my visual cues for something more like this:

Instead of saying, “picture a winding path through a forest,” I’d say, “hear the crunch of gravel under your feet as you walk a quiet trail, the wind moving through the trees like a soft whisper.”

Instead of “imagine a bright summer morning,” I’d go with “listen for the screen door slamming, kids laughing in the distance, and a lawn mower droning somewhere down the street.”

Same idea. Different doorway.

And here’s the twist in the tale, the part that gently pokes at all of us who spent years trying to match teaching styles to learning styles like we were pairing socks.

A lot of research has stepped in over the years and said, “You know what? This neat little system we’ve been using, visual, auditory, kinesthetic, it doesn’t quite hold up the way we thought.” In other words, teaching someone only in their preferred style doesn’t necessarily make them learn better or remember more.

That can feel a bit like discovering your favourite shortcut actually takes longer.

But before we throw out the paintbrushes and turn off the microphones, there’s something worth holding onto.

What does help people learn and remember is richness. Variety. Engagement.

It turns out the brain isn’t sitting there saying, “Sorry, I only accept information in visual format between the hours of 9 and 11.” It’s far more flexible, and far more interested in meaning, emotion, and connection.

So maybe the value in “picture this” was never just about visual learning.

Maybe it was about invitation.

It was a way of saying, “Step into this moment with me.”

And if I add a little sound, a little movement, maybe even a touch of humour, well, now we’re not just looking at an idea, we’re experiencing it.

Let me give you one more example, just for fun.

Visual version:
Picture yourself putting off a small task, say, fixing a squeaky brake. The calendar pages flip, the problem sits quietly in the corner, and then one day, bam, you’re looking at a repair bill that makes your eyebrows climb halfway up your forehead.

Auditory version:
Hear that faint squeal every time you tap the brakes? You turn up the radio to drown it out. A week later, it’s louder. Two weeks later, it’s practically singing a solo. And then comes the mechanic’s voice, calm, steady, and just a little too cheerful, telling you it’s no longer a “quick fix.”

Same story. Different sensory hook. Same lesson… with maybe a slightly more expensive ending.

If there’s a takeaway here, it’s not that we’ve been doing it wrong. It’s that we’ve been doing it partially. Like telling a story with only half the instruments in the band.

So, I’ll probably still say “picture this.” Old habits, after all, are loyal companions.

But I might start inviting you to listen more often too.

Because the real goal isn’t to match a style, it’s to make the message land, linger, and maybe even make you smile along the way.

And if I can do that while gently reminding myself that I don’t have to paint every scene like a landscape artist… well, that’s a lesson worth hearing, and seeing, at the same time.