I WAS FORTUNATE to find enough time during my working years to pursue various hobbies and other personal interests. My part-time work arrangement allowed me to have four-day weekends. I’d hoped that, after retirement, I would have even more time to take on personal projects.
But surprisingly, I found myself with less free time. Not only was I failing to start new projects, such as writing software for the website of the nonprofit I cofounded,

FOUR MONTHS AGO, I was told I might have just a year to live. It’s been a whirlwind ever since.
I’ve been inundated with messages from acquaintances and readers, gone to countless medical appointments, my diagnosis has received a surprising amount of media attention, I’ve been hustling to organize my financial affairs, and Elaine and I have taken two trips.
Where do things stand today? Here’s what’s been going on.
Medical update. After three radiation treatments to zap the 10 cancerous lesions on my brain and an intense opening round of infusion sessions,

BASIC ECONOMICS teaches us that scarce commodities are more precious. This holds true for metals, rocks, food—and time. Which brings me to today’s topic: Time spent with my daughter and only child has reached the rare and precious stage.
In summer 2023, scarcity was far from my mind. My daughter and I traveled to visit Grandmama—my mother—five hours’ drive south of our home. The visit itself was short and mundane, with just the usual catching up with my mother and tending to her business.

BY THE 1990s, New York City had been in decline for decades. What brought about the city’s recovery? It was, in part, the broken windows theory.
Picture a vacant building with one window broken. Most people wouldn’t think much of it. But this one broken window sends a signal—and, soon enough, others get broken. How do you reverse this decline? It’s easy: You get rid of the broken windows, and make sure things stay that way.

WE ALL HATE LOSING—and life, alas, is full of it.
I’m not just talking about investment losses. There are the career successes we never had, the relationships that didn’t pan out and the purchases that fell short of our expectations. Almost all of us, I suspect, can recall countless situations that turned out less gloriously than we’d initially hoped.
Yet, even though my failures pain me, they don’t stop me from getting up each day and trying again.

I’M RELUCTANT TO ADMIT that HumbleDollar is run using smoke and mirrors. But if someone said that, I’d be hard-pressed to disagree.
I’ve long believed that the principles of sound money management are pretty timeless. What you should be doing with your money this year isn’t a whole lot different from what you should have been doing last year, and the year before that, and the year before that.
This notion is baked into how much of the site operates.

MY RETIREMENT IN July 2020 came at a stressful time. I was recovering from knee replacement surgery and we were in the midst of the pandemic. Luckily, I had physical therapy goals to meet, and I’d already purchased a huge supply of reading material. TV, music and my laptop were also there to distract me. In addition, my wife had retired eight months before, so we had each other for company.
As the pandemic stretched on,

MY FIRST REACTION ON hearing my cancer diagnosis: I’m okay with this. My reaction a few hours later: I’m being self-centered.
My time is short, though how short remains an open question. Still, my truncated life expectancy makes something of a mockery of my pre-diagnosis comments about how we should view retirement not as the finish line, but rather as the beginning of a journey that might last two or three decades and perhaps account for almost half of our adult life.

I TOOK MY REQUIRED minimum distribution, or RMD, at the end of July. I was planning on taking it at the end of the year, but my allocation to stocks was more than five percentage points above my target of 40%. I thought selling some of my stocks would be a good way to rebalance my portfolio and fund my RMD, so I sold a portion of my overweight in Vanguard Total Stock Market ETF (symbol: VTI).

FIRST WAS THE VOICE of my father’s friend. Then a policeman came on the line. While riding his bicycle, my 75-year-old father had been struck and killed by a speeding driver.
That was 2009. There were no goodbyes. Instead, seared into my memory are the photograph I was shown at the hospital, so I could identify my father’s body, and the details in his final medical report, which I never should have read.
My death will be far different.

I HATED SCHOOL. There, I said it. From reading the bios of other HumbleDollar contributors, it appears most, if not all, enjoyed their academic experience. Many have gone on to acquire advanced degrees. I, too, went on to acquire post-college education, but only when my employer paid.
But the best education I received wasn’t found in the classroom, but in day-to-day life. It came from observing what others did or didn’t do.

WHEN I REACHED AGE 70, I felt a sense of accomplishment, a bit of weird pride. At 75, I had a similar feeling. But when I turned 80 last year, things felt different. It was like I was an overachiever. Suddenly, the future wasn’t as long.

For many years, I’d searched for a high school friend who’d been my navigator at sports car rallies, but with no luck. Then, recently, I stumbled across his obituary.

I BEGAN INVESTING in the stock market in 2007. Within a year, I’d lost 60%. My response was like that of almost any human: I stopped investing.
That’s what happens to most people who start investing at the height of a bubble. They invest in something when everybody else does. And when everything comes crashing down, the pain of loss is so bad they swear they’ll never invest again. 
While I missed out on huge returns in the years that followed the financial crisis,

TODAY’S FINANCIAL lesson: We can manage risk—but terrible stuff can still happen. This thought, of course, was prompted by my recent cancer diagnosis. But the notion is also all too relevant to money management.
But let’s start with health matters. In 1995, I began training for my first marathon, which I ran in May 1996 in Pittsburgh and finished in just under three hours. Ever since, I’ve been a bit of an exercise nut.

SOME PEOPLE ARE BORN clumsy. Tools never seem to fit their hands. Their hammer finds a thumb more often than a nail. For them, running looks and feels like an ungainly, uphill battle—even on level ground.
I don’t claim to be physically gifted. But my clumsiness shows up in a different way. I have a notable social deficiency: I’m naturally clumsy with people. Why is this important? It defined the first quarter-century of my life,