This is my view from the back deck. Beautiful, isn’t it? Enjoying it with me on most evenings at happy hour is the woman I have lived with for over fifty years — and played with for almost fifty-three. Mother and extraordinary grandmother, she’s been a partner in all my important adventures. We’re seventy-two now, and life, mostly, is good.

The road to here wasn’t always easy, and nobody who knows us either personally or professionally would question whether we earned this view. We did. Both of us worked extremely demanding corporate jobs, and early in our lives when our kids were young, I flew carrier-based Navy aircraft on nights and weekends in the reserves to augment our household finances. To maintain a reliable income, I moved our family three times to different areas of the country. Neither my wife nor I hit the big-time with extravagant corporate salaries or lucrative stock-option buy-outs—but here we are, ensconced in one of the most beautiful locations on the planet. Neither of us would change a moment of our past if it meant the possibility of not ending up here—where we are, geographically, financially, and emotionally.

I have friends who gained greater wealth and more recognition in their lifetimes. I doubt any of these are more fulfilled—or happier than me. Money can’t buy loyal friends, loving families, or incredible memories. You work hard for these on your own, and if you do—for a long time—you can end up with a view like mine on the banks of the Shenandoah River, entertaining loyal friends, and loving family—and making fresh memories.