Too Many Degrees for Comfort: Why Fahrenheit Matters More in Retirement
What aging teaches us about heat, housing, and letting go
Note to readers:
This is a longer piece, but an important one. As the climate changes around us, I believe we all need to reflect on what aging might look like—and where we’ll be able to do it well.
I’ve spent much of my life choosing where to live, guided by work, money, or simply a desire for change. But the landscape looks different now. As I prepare to relocate, the list of possible places is growing shorter. And the reasons are no longer about preference. They are about survival. This isn’t just my story. It’s becoming a shared reality for many of us who are trying to comfortably grow older in a world that’s changing faster than we imagined.
We’ve targeted June 2026 as our relocation date from the area we currently live in.
“Where are you moving to?” people always ask, quickly followed by, “Do you know where you’re going?”
I don’t know. Or should I say—we don’t know.
In 1988, ten years before climate scientists were warning Congress, I had already moved maybe ten times—mostly between Wyoming, New York, Florida, and Nevada. Back then, work, school, and sometimes semi-retiring for a few months at a time shaped my choices.
Climate and weather? They never factored in, not really.
It was about work, money, and fun.
Not anymore.
Now, as I age, I pay closer attention to what affects cognition, mobility, and overall well-being. I look for places that offer access to (swimmable) saltwater, hiking trails, decent healthcare, and maybe a nearby city for cultural or educational opportunities. Many of these are wants, not needs. Oh, and an airport. I like being able to leave when I want to, without a three-hour drive just to catch a flight.
We live in a big, beautiful country. There are so many places to consider.
But many of the beautiful ones, the ones with nature, safety, and comfort, are becoming harder to access. Skyrocketing costs, climate catastrophes, and a steady push from wealthier buyers are closing off places that once felt possible.
Take Powder Mountain in Northern Utah. Netflix billionaire Reed Hastings bought it up to create a private billionaire-only community, complete with mega-mansions and ski runs.
In Jackson Hole, Wyoming, billionaires like the Mars family and the Walmart heirs have bought up vast amounts of land, pushing longtime residents out of the valley.
It’s no longer enough to be a millionaire, you need more.
It’s just the beginning.
Places that once felt possible
These weren’t just daydreams. These were places I had seriously considered—towns I’d walked through, researched, and tried on in my imagination. Places I thought I might live out the next chapter of life. But now, that sense of possibility is shifted.
Surrey, Maine – A quiet magic that’s slipping away
I thought Surrey might be the one. The one.
There was a moment, standing near the water, when the scent hit me: salt air and ancient pines, mingling in a way I had never experienced before. It felt sacred, like the land itself was offering me a grounding I didn’t know I needed.
And the food. Fresh lobster, lobster rolls so delicate and sweet, they needed nothing more than a soft bun, and wild blueberry pie that actually tasted like summer. That kind of simplicity made the idea of living there feel visceral to the bone.
With mountains to hike in one direction and the Atlantic in the other, it had everything I could’ve asked for. But when I looked deeper, I saw that the homes weren’t available for us. They were priced for visitors, not those hoping to stay.
Surrey still holds its quiet appeal. But like so many beautiful places, it’s slowly slipping out of my reach.
The Pacific Northwest – a dream that faded
The night my mother died, I watched Twilight. Not for the vampires, but for the backdrop: trees, fog, and that sense of wildness pressed up against small towns. After years of Florida’s flat sameness, the Pacific Northwest became a quiet obsession. I dreamed of mist, moss, tall pines, and a fresh start somewhere far from everything I had known.
I researched towns like Spokane and Grants Pass. They offered nature, a bit of culture, and even a casino to keep some thread of familiarity. Not too big, not too remote.
But home prices had surged. Places that once welcomed retirees were now marketed to remote tech workers and second-home buyers. The charm was still there, but the affordability, and the sense of being able to belong, was gone.
The trees and fog remain. But the room for someone like me—retired, not wealthy, simply hoping to live quietly, is vanishing.
Solvang, California – just about perfect, until it wasn’t
For a long time, I thought Solvang might be the answer.
The weather was close to perfect. Medical care was excellent. Mountains, vineyards, and the ocean were all nearby. I rode my bike past llamas and through vineyards, had breakfast at Paula’s Pancake House, and drove to Santa Barbara with the windows down to eat seafood by the water. I even biked ten miles to Lompoc (almost daily) to walk the empty beaches and listen to the waves crash. The Chumash Casino was close, too—a small comfort from a familiar life.
It was a place I could return to and settle into.
But things shifted. The weather has become less predictable. Fires, floods, and sky-high insurance are part of the equation now. Taxes are steep, and even modest homes are priced for the Oprah kind of buyer.
Solvang still holds its charm and gifts I so desire. But now, that charm belongs to the über-wealthy.
Now, it's not just about affordability anymore—it's about survivability.
“For people over 60, whose bodies are even more vulnerable to extreme heat, that danger zone will span about 35 percent of Earth's landmass—a steep incline from the 21 percent that's off-limits to them today. It's something we might need to prepare for, especially because these projections lie at the milder end of global warming scenarios.”—Science Alert
This isn’t decades away. It’s starting now.
Where we choose to age has never mattered more—not just for comfort, but for our health, safety, and even longevity.
Where do we go from here?
Many of us are left navigating a narrowing path: where can we actually afford to live, grow older, and still feel safe?
We still want decent healthcare, walkable streets, and access to the things that matter. But more and more, we’re compromising—trading peace of mind for proximity, affordability for amenities. Let’s be honest. No one’s lining up to stampede Iowa or Oklahoma to live out their golden years.
And now, another factor rises to the top of the list. It’s no longer just about cost or comfort. It’s about survivability.
Where we choose to age has never been more critical. Climate change is no longer abstract. It’s already reshaping the world we thought we could retire in.
I’m not here to debate who’s to blame or what policies might fix it. I’m here to talk about something immediate: how we protect ourselves as seniors from physical and mental toll of extreme heat. Because it’s not just uncomfortable.
Heat accelerates aging.
Recent research shows that extreme heat can speed up cellular aging, increase inflammation, and reduce resilience in older bodies. It shortens our health span, and for some, our lifespans by two years or more.
I’ve spent hours researching overlooked towns, hidden coastal spots, rural communities that might still work. Alabama was near the top of the list—until 15 tornadoes ripped through the state last week. One of them touched down in Talladega County, the exact place I’d been looking at.
Then I checked the summer heat projections.
According to the Sierra Club's Alabama chapter, “seventy years from now, Alabama is likely to have 30 to 60 days with temperatures above 95°F, compared with about 15 days today.”
But I don’t believe we have to wait seventy years. I believe the shift is already happening, and accelerating.
And so, another place gets crossed off the list.
What can we do?
There’s no perfect answer. But there are a few things we can start thinking about now.
Look for cooler microclimates, not just cooler states
Within nearly every area, there are still pockets of mountain towns, shaded valleys, and breezy coastlines; where temperatures stay more manageable year-round. Instead of giving up on entire states, we can start looking for specific elevations, tree cover, or proximity to potable water and aquifers
Redefine what “a good place to retire” means
Forget the checklist of sunshine and low taxes. The new version of relocation asks harder questions:
Is the power grid reliable?
Are hospitals nearby?
Is there shade, walkability, social connection?
Can I age here without risking my safety during violent tornadoes, hurricanes, a heatwave or wildfire?
It may not be the fantasy we pictured. But it might be the reality that lets us live longer, and better.
Start planning for the long run, not just the move
Retirement isn’t just about where we land—it’s about how we live once we get there. That means thinking beyond the first few years and asking real questions: Will we still be able to drive? Will we need help with heat or mobility? Will our healthcare needs change?
Future-proofing might mean choosing a one-story home, a town with public transit, or a place where hospitals and grocery stores are close. It’s not glamorous, but it’s empowering.
Retirement isn’t just a destination. It’s a phase of life that deserves thoughtful design.
And as for Carl and me, we still believe we deserve to grow old with dignity, with beauty, and with options—even if we have to go farther than we ever imagined to find them.
There are countries—like Colombia, Panama, Italy, or parts of Ecuador—where the cost of living is lower, the climate is gentler, and the pace of life feels more human. Climate projections are still being researched. I haven’t made a decision yet. But I’m open. Open to finding a place that lets me exhale, that welcomes aging instead of struggling with it.
Because I still believe in starting over.
Still, it’s hard to accept that here, in the U.S. with all its stunning landscapes, opportunity, and promise, so many of us are being quietly pushed out. This is my home country. And yet, more and more, it feels like there’s no room left to grow old unless you’re wealthy, lucky, or willing to compromise on everything that once felt essential.
For most of my life, I’ve lived with the privilege of choosing where to go next. But now, I’m catching a glimpse of what others around the world have known far longer, and what it’s like to be displaced by forces bigger than you. Whether it’s war, poverty, dictatorship, or drought, millions of people have faced the pain of leaving behind what they love because staying became impossible.
I’m not claiming my experience is the same. But I’m beginning to understand it more. The empathy is no longer abstract. It lives in my bones now.
And maybe this is the beginning of a different kind of aging. Not just artful or intentional—but globally aware. Grounded in compassion. Creative enough to reimagine home—not as a fixed point, but as a place we carry, and recreate, wherever we go.
Have you found your happy place that still feels possible? Or are you, like me, beginning to wonder if the dream of where to grow old is being quietly rewritten?
Italy is a good destination when you become older. Switzerland is perfect, and you travel easily from Geneva to the whole world. Paris is perfect, but you need a lot of money. London, climate is quite well (sometimes rainy), pleasant and they speak English ! Of course, you have to manage one fact, in the eighteenth century, America was a colony... But it is a very old story ! About money. Paris is more and more expensive, and I was an old Parisian. I lived near Paris and I can afford to have a house with a garden right in the middle of Paris. But New York is one of the most exciting towns in the world, of course, a crazy one. You can stay in the states too.
We are one of the lucky ones having found a home in Rohnert Park California in 1996 when it was affordable. The weather is beautiful and it is near good health facilities, about an hour north of San Francisco. It is not perfect. There are wildfires and possible earthquakes. We recently got our fire insurance taken away but fortunately were able to find other coverage. We took advantage of a state program to brace and bolt our home in case of an earthquake. I am grateful we have found our spot for retirement.