I mark the start of my journey toward Elderland as a spring day in 1996, just after my 46th birthday.

I had returned from New York City four years earlier. After months of dithering and denial, I had finally admitted to myself that I could no longer pay the rent. Or anything else, for that matter. A quite logical consequence of not earning any money. There was no way I could keep up rent payments that were in inverse proportion to the square footage.