It’s got nothing to do with global contagion, and everything to do with the everyday realities of making your money last as long as you do. So what’s the answer?
I wish I knew when I was going to die. No, not for any existential reasons. Simply because it would really help with my financial planning!
Part of the problem of planning for retirement is that I have no idea how long I am planning for. The women in my family live long, long lives. The grannies on both sides of my family, GG (Great Grandmother) and Gogo, lived to their late 90s. And it looks like my mother, who is healthier at almost 70 than most of her children, is going the same way.
This genetic longevity has me thinking two thoughts. One, I could live a super, super long time and two, I can forget about inheriting anything. (This isn’t to say I am not delighted to be hanging with my mom for the next 20+ years. I am #JustSayin…it’s something to think about. And plan for.)
If am cynical, I think about having some health issues that stop me working in my 60s and then see me spending many years grumbling about ‘kids today!’ and fretting about pensioner discounts.
Either way, that’s a lot of living I have ahead of me. And lots of living means loads of cash. Cash, which in spite of some dedicated monthly savings, I don’t seem to have enough of.
I sat in front of my financial guy, lets’ call him Greg (because that is his name) as he showed me graphs of how much I will need by 70 to retire. The graphs are pretty with bright, positive colours and medians, averages, bars, and steep curves to the right with a lot of maths about ‘age correlations and projections’ or something.
I never get much out of them except the certain knowledge that either I need to start living out of my car now so I can save enough, or I will end up living out of my car then because I haven’t.
It’s a terrifying thought and while I can keep it out of my head during the day with my school lifts, emails and trips to the vet, it wakes me up at night and consumes me. What happens if I don’t have enough? What happens if I run out in the last few years of my life?
What if all this living that I am doing every day, and for years to come, ends with me in the spare room of my kid’s home? What if I end being a total burden? The ‘what ifs’ spin round and round and round in my head.
And that is the thing with retirement. It’s a ‘what if’ game where the variables of work (will this job that I do still be relevant in 30 years’ time?), health (ageing is not for sissies and lots can and often does go wrong), and the markets (investments don’t always grow.)
And the grand assumption that I don’t just die before I hit retirement age. Which would be so annoying! The sleepless nights? My squirrelling away instead of splurging on glittery pink cowboy boots, nougat and iPhones? An early death would not only be terribly inconvenient, but also a total disappointment!
I want to go out like GG. The wrinkly, sparkly-faced woman who was bumming cigarettes off us kids well into her 80s. My plan is to be a straight-talking, gin swigging, raunchy book reading, laughing force of nature until well after retirement has started.
I have a lot of living, ageing and growing to do. And that means doing some of the prep work now. So best I take up smoking, buy a second-hand copy of 50 Shades and up my investments.
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