As the carefree years of youthful indulgence fly by, who stops to give a thought to what lies on the other side of the great divide? One day, it hits you, and you realise that true happiness means having a plan for the smarter, brighter you
“What’s your retirement plan, Dave?” was a question sometimes thrown at me to which I always answered “To live fast, die young, and not need one!” I use humour to deflect the difficult questions.
But that really was how I lived in my twenties and thirties. For the moment. The memory. When my paycheque came in, it went out again almost instantly, frittered away on wild parties, lavish meals, or some deeply, deeply questionable shoes. Or a red convertible. A man needs his red convertible, after all. Very, very necessary, that.
Beyond the compulsory company retirement annuity I grudgingly surrendered the bare minimum to each month, I had no intention of investing in life insurance or retirement or any nonsense like that. My party budget and live-for-the-moment lifestyle simply would not allow for that. Retirement was a lifetime away.
I was 40 years old and had no retirement plan. I could barely make it out on my salary each month and that infamous second fridge I had at home that used to be filled to the brim with a smorgasbord of delicious cheeses had been empty for a long while.
The shiny red convertible was going on fewer and fewer road trips, and my credit card balance was a disturbing nightmare in red. There was no knight in shining armour coming to save me from myself and provide Woolies cold cuts and blue cheese wheels into perpetuity.
I was deeply, deeply unhappy and I only had myself to blame.
Correction. I only had myself to find the fix.
So I packed up my bags and shipped off to Dubai, land of sand, big paycheques and no tax. I got myself a financial advisor and I started investing and saving like my life depended on it, because frankly, dear reader – I felt truly like it did.
It took a few months to settle my debts back home and each month, I’d pour a huge chunk of my tax-free salary into investment, instead of cheese, car payments and Converse boots.
But here’s the thing – in true Dave over-the-top style, I overdid it. I went from being a social butterfly enjoying all that life had to offer, screw the cost, to a hermit, hoarding every penny and hiding away from life. No parties. No crazy boots. No lavish meals. And definitely no shiny red convertible to go on weekend road trips to Abu Dhabi with.
I was deeply, deeply unhappy. At least this time around, there was a stock portfolio building aggressively in the background.
Something had to give. And so, on top of my really good financial advisor, I got myself a really good therapist, to help me deal with the rising sense of futility and my lifetime of compulsive behaviours and extreme indulgences.
Every Friday, I’d dial in to Cape Town via a complicated VPN and Skype set up, and unpack McDonald’s binges, guilt trips, isolation, and money hoarding. I felt like I was having to relearn how to be an adult. But slowly-slowly, session by session, the most incredible thing happened: moderation! MODERATION! Me, being all even-keeled and moderate, with only the odd outbreak of chaos and drama.
Who knew such a thing was even possible? It meant that I started to build new friendships, do more, go out, and enjoy life. Good sushi happened again. The occasional pair of shoes. A holiday around South Africa. All things done on a budget, sensibly and all the while, still building my investments in the background so I could check into Shady Pines when I turn 65.
I don’t know that money can buy you happiness. Besides, contentment lasts longer than happiness, anyway. Happiness is fleeting, and not for sale. It can’t be bought. Certainly not with impulsive indulgences, and definitely not in some weird Ebenezer Scrooge sort of miserly life of hoarding.
But having a plan, and some expert guidance brought me something even more valuable: a sense of security, and contentment. And that is something you can take to the bank, dear reader!
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