One thing I have in common with the famous philosopher of science Paul Feyerabend is that as children we both gave the same answer to the question of what we wanted to become when we grew up: “I want to retire.” It seemed patently obvious that retired people were living the good life, sitting on benches and doing very little indeed, just enjoying themselves, whereas working people were in such a hurry and did not seem nearly as privileged. It was a great disappointment to be told that I actually had to work for many years before I could retire. Towards the end of his autobiography Killing Time, Feyerabend writes, “And so, at long last, my childish wish became reality: I was a retired person” (1995: 168). Yet there is a sense of regret, as he laments not having much direction in life any more and wonders about what to do with his newfound freedom. I am twenty-five years away from the age when I am supposed to retire, and that is such a long time that I have no clear idea about what retired life would be like. There are of course days when I return to the dream of not having to work another day in my entire life, but I guess that I would quickly become bored.