Your 12 Good Years

The healthy, active years you have left are shorter than you think

Here’s a number that should change how you think about retirement: 12.

Not 30. Not 25. Not even 20.

12.

That’s how long the average healthy 60-year-old has before their mobility, energy, and independence start to significantly decline. Not before they die… before life gets noticeably harder.

You might live to 90. You might even make it to 100. But the version of you that can hike the Inca Trail, chase grandchildren around a park, travel independently, or even just get through a full day without fatigue? That version has a shelf life.

And it’s shorter than you think.

The Data Nobody Wants to Hear

I want you to be clear about what I’m talking about here. This isn’t about morbidity or scaring you into action. This is about healthy life expectancy, the years you have before chronic illness, disability, or physical limitation becomes a daily reality.

In the UK, a 60-year-old man can expect to live, on average, to around 84. A 60-year-old woman to around 87. Those are the headline numbers. The ones that make retirement planning calculators tell you to prepare for 25-30 years.

But those numbers don’t tell you that most of those later years aren’t healthy years.

Data from the Office for National Statistics shows that healthy life expectancy (the years lived in good health without limiting illness or disability) ends much earlier. For someone who is 60 today, you’re looking at roughly 12-15 more years before health limitations start to intrude in meaningful ways.

That doesn’t mean you drop dead at 75. It means that by your early to mid-70s, things start to shift. Energy declines. Recovery from illness takes longer. Long-haul flights become less appealing. All-day adventures turn into half-day outings. The body you’ve been living in for six decades starts sending you clearer signals about what it will and won’t tolerate.

Research on retirement spending patterns backs this up. The Institute for Fiscal Studies found that retirees’ spending on travel and leisure increases through their 60s, peaks around age 75, and then declines, not because people run out of money, but because they run out of the physical capacity to do the things that money would buy.

You have more time than you have energy. More years than you have vitality. And if you don’t understand that distinction, you’ll waste the good years preparing for the declining ones.

What “Good Years” Actually Means

Let me be specific about what changes.

In your 60s and early 70s, if you’re reasonably healthy, you’re still you. You can travel. You can be spontaneous. You can handle long days. You can manage your own life without help. You have the energy to start new projects, learn new skills, and take on challenges.

You’re not invincible (you’re not 30), but you’re still fundamentally capable.

By your mid 70s and into your 80s, things shift. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But gradually, consistently, undeniably.

You might still travel, but not as far or as often. You might still be active, but you need more recovery time. You might still be independent, but you start needing help with things that used to be trivial, like changing a lightbulb, carrying heavy shopping, and navigating airports.

The things you do become smaller. More local. More cautious. Not because you’ve lost your spirit, but because your body has started setting the terms.

And this isn’t pessimism… it’s just biology. Muscle mass declines. Bone density decreases. Balance becomes less reliable. Chronic conditions accumulate. The resilience you took for granted starts to fray.

None of this means your later years are worthless or joyless. Many people find deep satisfaction and peace in their 80s and beyond. But they’re different years. Quieter. More reflective. Less physically expansive.

The good years, the ones where you still have the physical capacity to do most of what you want, are finite. And they’re shorter than the total lifespan numbers suggest.

The Spending and Activity Decline

Here’s where this gets practical.

One of the most robust findings in retirement research describes how retirees’ spending patterns change over time.

Spending is relatively high in the first few years of retirement, the “go-go years.” You’re active, you’re travelling, you’re finally doing all the things you deferred while working. Then it declines through the middle years, the “slow-go years”, as energy and interest naturally wane. And then it potentially rises a bit again in very late life, the “no-go years”, as healthcare and care costs may come into the equation.

But here’s what that misses… the decline in spending isn’t driven by frugality. It’s driven by physical limitation.

People in their late 70s and 80s aren’t spending less on holidays because they’ve suddenly become careful with money. They’re spending less because long-haul flights are exhausting. Because hotels without lifts are a problem. Because they don’t have the stamina for full days of sightseeing anymore.

The spending decline tracks the activity decline. And the activity decline tracks the erosion of those 12 good years.

The Trap of Deferral

The cruel irony is that most people spend the first decade of retirement living as they did in the last decade of work—carefully.

You saved for 40 years. You delayed gratification. You were prudent, responsible, cautious. And that got you here. It built the nest egg. It secured your future.

But if you keep living that way, you’ll waste the very years you saved for.

I see this constantly. Clients in their early 60s, financially secure, agonising over whether they can “afford” a holiday. Whether it’s “sensible” to upgrade the car. Whether they should help their grandchildren with something meaningful.

They’re optimising for a 30-year retirement. Planning as if every year is equivalent. Treating their 60s the same as their 80s.

But they’re not the same.

Your 60s are not a rehearsal for your 80s. They’re the main event. And if you don’t spend (not recklessly, but intentionally) during the years when you can still fully enjoy it, you’ll reach 78 with a big bank balance and a long list of regrets.

The things you can do at 65, you often can’t do at 75. The trip that sounds ambitious but achievable today might be off the table in a decade. The time with grandchildren while they’re young and you’re energetic doesn’t come back.

Deferring experiences until “later in retirement” often means deferring them into the years when you no longer have the capacity to enjoy them.

The Front-Loading Argument

So what do you do with this information?

You front-load your retirement.

Not your spending, necessarily. But Your experiences. Your energy. Your ambition.

The first 10-12 years of retirement should be the richest, fullest, most intentional years of your life. Not the most cautious. Not the most careful. The most alive.

This is when you take the big trip. When you learn the language, start the business, write the book, build the workshop, volunteer intensively, and spend serious time with people you love.

This is when you say yes more than no. When you lean into the things that require energy, mobility, and health, because you still have those things, and you won’t forever.

I’m not saying blow all your money in your 60s and hope for the best. I’m saying recognise that the value of money changes over time. A pound spent at 65 on an experience you’ll remember for the rest of your life is worth more than a pound saved at 85 that you’re too frail to use.

Your financial plan should reflect this. It should be designed not to produce a flat income over 30 years, but to support a rich early retirement and a more modest later one, because that’s how you’ll actually live, whether you plan for it or not.

What This Looks Like in Practice

Let me make this concrete.

At 62: Book the three-week trip to New Zealand. Don’t wait. Don’t defer it until “next year” or “when we’re more settled.” You’re as settled as you’ll ever be, and you’re as physically capable as you’ll ever be. Go now.

At 65: Start the thing you’ve always wanted to try. The pottery class. The photography course. The volunteer role that requires training and commitment. Don’t talk yourself out of it because “I’m too old to start something new.” You’re not too old. But you will be.

At 68: Spend the money on making life better today, not theoretically safer in 15 years. Replace the uncomfortable sofa. Upgrade the kitchen if it’ll make cooking a joy again. Get the hearing aids. Pay for the gardener so you can enjoy the garden instead of being exhausted by it.

At 70: Be intentional about time with people. Your parents, if they’re still alive, are in their 90s, and you have limited time. Your grandchildren are growing up fast, and the window where they think you’re interesting is narrow. Your friends are ageing too, and the energy for big gatherings is fading. Prioritise the relationships that matter while everyone still has the capacity to show up.

At 72: Accept help earlier rather than later. Don’t martyr yourself to independence at the expense of safety and joy. The stairlift isn’t a defeat; it’s freedom to stay in your home. The cleaner isn’t laziness, it’s buying back energy for things that matter more.

This isn’t a checklist. It’s a mindset: spend your capacity while you have it.

The Deeper Question

But here’s the question this all raises, the one that makes people uncomfortable:

What are you actually saving for?

If you’re 60, healthy, and financially secure, and you’re still living like you’re preparing for some future catastrophe… what’s the plan? What’s the endgame?

Are you saving for the last 10 years of your life, when you’ll be less mobile, less energetic, and less able to enjoy what money can buy? Are you saving to leave a bigger inheritance, even though your kids would probably rather have more time with a happier, more adventurous version of you? Are you saving because saving is what you’ve always done, and you don’t know how to stop?

Or are you ready to admit that the money was never the point? That the point was freedom, security, and the ability to live fully, and that if you’re not doing that now, during your good years, then what was it all for?

The Math That Matters

Here’s the math that should actually guide your retirement planning:

You probably have 12-15 good years. Let’s say 12 to be conservative.

That’s 144 months.

624 weeks.

4,380 days.

How many of those days do you want to spend worrying about whether you can afford something you can clearly afford? How many do you want to spend waiting for the “right time” that keeps not arriving?

Every week you defer the trip, the project, the experience, the investment in joy, you’re not getting that week back. And the weird, painful truth is that the weeks you’re wasting now, in your good years, are worth more than the weeks you’re hoarding for later.

Time is not fungible in retirement. A day at 65 is not the same as a day at 85. A year in your 60s is not the same as a year in your 80s.

And if you spend your 12 good years preparing for the next 15 declining years, you’ll have made the worst trade of your life.

Permission to Live Now

Let me say this as clearly as I can: you have permission to spend your money and your energy now, during your good years, on things that bring you joy.

You don’t have to justify it. You don’t have to prove it’s “sensible.” You don’t have to wait for some arbitrary milestone or some future guarantee of security that will never come.

You’ve earned this. You saved for this. This is what the money was for.

And yes, you still need a financial plan. You still need to be responsible. You still need to make sure you won’t run out. But once you’ve done that, once you know the plan is solid, the question isn’t “Can we afford this?”

The question is: “If not now, when?”

Because “later in retirement” might mean “when I no longer have the health to enjoy it.” And that’s not a plan. That’s a tragedy.

The Uplifting Truth

Here’s what makes this message ultimately hopeful rather than depressing:

You still have time.

If you’re reading this in your 60s, you’re in the window. You still have your good years ahead of you. You haven’t missed it. But the window is finite, and it’s closing.

If you’re in your 50s, you have even more time, but you also have a chance to shift how you think about retirement before you get there. To plan not just financially, but experientially. To design a retirement that front-loads the living, not the saving.

And if you’re in your 70s? You’re not done. You might be past the peak of the good years, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still adventures, joys, and meaningful experiences ahead. It just means they’ll look different. Smaller, perhaps. More local. But no less valuable.

The point isn’t to panic. It’s to be intentional.

To stop drifting through retirement on autopilot, waiting for some imaginary “right time” to start living. To recognise that the clock is ticking, and that’s not morbid… it’s motivating.

What This Means for You

So here’s what I want you to do.

First: Look at your calendar for the next 12 months. What are you doing that you’ll actually remember in 10 years? What are you spending your good years on?

If the answer is “not much,” that’s a problem. Not a financial problem. A life problem.

Second: Make a list of the things you’ve been deferring. The trip. The project. The experience. The conversation. The thing you keep saying you’ll do “someday.”

Pick one. Not all of them. Just one. And do it this year. Not next year. This year. While you still can.

Third: Have an honest conversation with yourself (and your partner, if you have one) about what you’re optimising for. Are you trying to die with the biggest nest egg? Or are you trying to live the richest life?

Because those are different goals. And most people accidentally choose the first while claiming they want the second.

Fourth: Reframe how you think about spending. Money spent on experiences during your good years isn’t frivolous. It’s not wasteful. It’s not reckless.

It’s using your resources at the point of maximum return.

And finally: Give yourself permission to live like someone who knows their good years are finite.

Because they are. For all of us.

The Years You Can’t Get Back

I’ll leave you with this.

I’ve worked with hundreds of people navigating retirement. I’ve seen people get it right and people get it wrong.

The ones who get it wrong aren’t the ones who run out of money. Almost nobody runs out of money.

The ones who get it wrong are the ones who run out of time.

They’re the 78-year-olds sitting on £500,000, wishing they’d taken the trip to Japan when they still had the stamina. They’re the 82-year-olds who can’t remember the last time they did something genuinely new or challenging. They’re the couples who spent their 60s being careful and their 70s being regretful.

They saved their money and spent their good years. And by the time they were ready to spend the money, the good years were gone.

Don’t be them.

You have 12 good years. Maybe 15 if you’re lucky. Maybe only 10 if you’re not.

Use them.

Not someday. Not when things are more certain. Not when you’ve saved a bit more, or when the markets recover or when you feel more ready.

Now. While you still can. While the version of you that can fully live those experiences still exists.

Your 12 good years are the prize. Everything you did before was to earn them.

Don’t waste them preparing for the years that come after.

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What’s the one thing you’ve been deferring that you need to do in the next 12 months? What are you waiting for?