My dad planned to retire at 55. He died at 52, and it changed how I live.

The author's dad died at 52. Courtesy of the author My dad worked a job he hated and planned to retire at 55. He died at 52, before he could enjoy the life he was saving for. That changed how I live — I stopped waiting and started taking risks. The image of my father that lives most clearly in my memory is this: a man in a suit, on a train platform, me, a child in my PJs, staring out the windows of our car as my mother picked him up. On reflection, I feel really sad that the standout memori...