I've noticed that young(er) people enjoy talking about their 10-year plans. What a luxury this is. You have to grow old to appreciate it. We want to live in New York and then in Hawaii. I want to be living in Alaska in ten years. I'll be in a Ph.D. program. And so on.
My ten year plan is quite modest: I'd like to be alive. I'd like to have some hair and my teeth. I hope most of my friends are still alive. It would be great if I were in my right mind. I'd like to be walking well.
I'd like to live for a year, maybe more, on a warm beach, with clean air. After doing some research, I pick Mazatlan.
I would have a light, white linen, loose fitting, bathing suit cover-up that went to my ankles, so I could walk on the beach without causing projectile vomiting in others. I'd swim in the Sea of Cortez. I'd take my kayak with me. I'd learn enough Spanish to be a polite visitor. I'd eat lots of tacos and bean burritos. Like now, I'd read and draw and watch movies, and hang out with Tom.