Jonathan Clements's Blog, page 61

Playing Ball

MY SON IS A FRESHMAN in high school, and I’m beginning to be more purposeful about his baseball aspirations. But after dropping $85 on a one-hour pitching lesson, I was wondering, was my money well spent?

My search for an answer began with the Netflix series Receiver. I tuned in to see football player George Kittle, a former University of Iowa Hawkeye and bigtime professional wrestling fan. Kittle was kind enough to send autographed memorabilia for a softball fundraiser we had a few years ago. He’s now a star for the San Francisco 49ers.

I learned about Kittle through a mutual friend, Steve Manders, who was a walk-on for the Hawkeyes for three years before he began professional wrestling. During my wrestling career, I tagged with Steve for a period of time, and learned a lot about hard work, grit and perseverance from being around him.

While I watched Receiver to learn more about Kittle, the Netflix series was also my introduction to Detroit Lions wide receiver Amon-Ra St. Brown. What caught my eye was his dad, John Brown, a former Mr. Universe. I subsequently listened to the father’s podcast and interviews. It became clear he had strong opinions about parenting, including how parents need to take charge of the direction of their children's lives.

It was eye-opening. I always like to have my beliefs questioned. And when someone has results, I’ll listen with an open mind. And oh my, does the older Brown have opinions:

“If your kid’s not doing something, it’s the parents’ fault, it’s not the kid’s fault.”
“I raised my boys to dominate. We’re not having fun. We’re not competing. We're here to dominate.”
“No coach can prepare you to be the top in the world. They don't have the time. They have 30 kids, 40 kids on the team. You need personal trainers. That costs a lot of money. Well, that’s where you come in. That’s mom and dad.”

I remember hearing World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) Hall of Fame broadcaster Jim Ross speak. He said that, if all you do is the standard amount of practice or work, you're going to get the standard amount of success. When I heard that, I immediately thought of my formative years in wrestling, when I was attending wrestling school in Dallas.

Alex Pourteau was the guy who got into the ring and trained with us. He showed us physically how to do the moves and execute them. One day, a male stripper came in and trained with us. He wasn’t part of our class. But he worked out with us and, when he walked out the door, he handed Alex some money and said, “Thank you, brother.”

I thought nothing of that moment until I heard Jim Ross’s speech. We only went to wrestling school on Wednesday for an hour or two. I did the minimum. I was struggling to gain traction, to get my first match. I was stuck and couldn't think of a way to get better. After hearing Ross speak, it was crystal clear how I could have improved, how I could have gotten in more practice.

I could have taken an extra $50 or $75, and asked Pourteau if we could train on Monday and Thursday evening as well. Just me and him. Money was tight, but I could have got a second job and come up with the extra cash.

Pourteau was signed by the WWE a few years later and was an excellent young wrestler. I would have improved immensely by working out with him one-on-one. But my mind wasn't there at that time, it didn't get creative when it ran into obstacles. I was struggling. It was the first time in my life I was pursuing something that I really cared about but where I wasn't succeeding. I didn’t know how to handle that.

As I’ve spoken to other parents about the price of travel baseball, clinics and lessons, all I get is a shrug of the shoulders—an attitude that it’s the price to be paid if you want to support your kids. When folks ask me how I handle the bad tenants who inevitably come along and trash a unit or don’t pay their rent, I give them the same look I get from these parents. It’s the cost of doing business. It can’t be escaped and it’ll happen at some point, no matter what precautions you take.

Many parents say that, if you travel any distance for a game, you're easily looking at several hundred dollars for a weekend once you factor in gas, meals, hotels and tournament fees. It’s understandable why they have little sympathy for me and the $85 I spent on a quality one-on-one session with a Triple-A baseball pitcher, one who played for four years at a Division 1 college. It’s the price you pay for excellent coaching.

And besides the technical skills my son learned, how much access does a typical high school freshman get to a world-class athlete? What are the intangibles that kids get from spending time with those who have worked hard at their craft, excelled in a difficult endeavor and graduated with a degree from a first-class university? My son’s trainer is a great young man: positive, encouraging, a tremendous work ethic and well mannered. My son has played with a few players who were the opposite: arrogant, not helpful to the young guys, lazy and entitled.

I’ve been around some of the greats in pro wrestling, along with many other wrestling pros. I’ve come to learn that these interactions provide valuable lessons.

So, I’ll continue to spend money on my son’s baseball lessons. I’m going to keep listening to John Brown and his message of tough love: “There’s no such thing as lazy kids, only lazy parents.” There are moments when I’m listening to him that it feels like he’s talking directly to me and the lazy parenting I’ve been guilty of in the past.

I often simply dropped off my son at practice, and expected the coach to transform my son and his teammates into solid ball players. But that’s a lot to ask from one or two coaches. Now, I’m doing what I can, such as hitting the weights with him, cooking better meals, and getting in extra reps on the weekends at the batting cages and ball diamonds. And opening up the wallet as well.

Juan Fourneau’s goal is to retire at age 55. When he isn't at his manufacturing job, he enjoys reading and writing about personal finance, investing and other interests. Juan, who is married with two children, retired from the ring after wrestling on the independent circuit for more than 25 years. He wrestled as a Mexican Luchador under the name Latin Thunder . Follow Juan on Twitter @LatinThunder1, visit his website and check out his previous articles.

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Kicking Myself

THERE ARE TWO TYPES of mistake I make: those that are unintentional and those where I should have known what would happen.

After an unintentional mistake, I’m perplexed by what went wrong. I might say to myself “I’ll never do that again” or perhaps “what the heck just happened?” These are genuine mistakes, and I try to learn from them.

By contrast, stupid mistakes are those that I should have known would occur. No matter how many college degrees we have or how many years on the job, we all make stupid mistakes. What counts as a stupid mistake? We know we’re doing something wrong, and yet we still go ahead. A stupid mistake happens when we don’t pay enough attention to what we’re doing.

When I take a cookie sheet out of a hot oven without bothering to put on oven mitts, that’s a stupid mistake. I might grab the tray one-handed using a dish towel. Too often the result is singed fingers on my ungloved hand.

Another example of a stupid mistake—which fortunately hasn’t happened to me—is glancing down at a text on your cellphone while driving. The scenery changes pretty fast at 60 mph. In an instant, you can be in trouble.

An error that I make regularly is forgetting to save all documents before shutting down my computer. I should know better by now. Forgetting my wedding anniversary is another stupid mistake. After all, it falls on the same date every year.

To be sure, intentionally doing something that results in a less-than-satisfactory outcome isn’t always a stupid mistake. For instance, making an investment decision that doesn’t work out can be classified as risk-taking, not stupidity. We knew it might not work in our favor, but we decided to “take a chance” in the hope of a gain. Those are deliberate decisions with unfavorable outcomes, not stupid mistakes.

For me, it’s the stupid mistakes that prompt the most self-criticism. Like assembling Ikea furniture without reading the directions, and then realizing I’ve installed the wrong length screws at step No. 2.

If you’re distracted and not “in the moment,” it’s easy to make a careless error. That’s why Thomas J. Watson, the man behind IBM, hung signs that proclaimed “THINK” throughout the workplace. In a talk to employees, Watson said, “The trouble with every one of us is that we don’t think enough,” according to an IBM history. Watson also said, “‘I didn’t think’ has cost the world millions of dollars.” It’s in those moments when the “think” light goes off that the the stupid mistakes get made.

We bring these moments on ourselves. We’re rushing through a project or we start thinking about something else. To repeat a phrase I heard many times during my education, “Give me your undivided attention.” If we do that, the results are likely to be far better.

Attitude of Gratitude

I'M A FIRM BELIEVER in counting my blessings. I didn’t always feel this way. When I was younger, I was hung up on what I didn’t have. It wasn’t money that I lacked, but all the important things of youth that help boost self-esteem.

Once I began to count my blessings, I felt more successful. I was still aware of my failures, but I also saw my wins more clearly.

I describe this approach to life as an “attitude of gratitude.” The more time I spend thinking about what’s going well, the less my failures bother me. It gives me the strength to overcome my problems.

If I do focus on my problems, I try to remember how I’ve successfully faced similar obstacles in the past. That makes me feel certain I can overcome my current woes.

When I was a Dale Carnegie instructor, each member of my class would give a two-minute talk. At the end, instructors were required to make a positive comment. If we couldn’t, we were told that was the instructor’s fault, not a student’s shortcoming.

I developed a trick to find positive things to say. As I started the class’s applause and began to walk to the front of the room, I’d ask myself, “Why did I like what I just heard?” That set my mind toward praise. It always worked. I was never at a loss for words.

I do the same thing now over my morning coffee. What did I like about the previous day? Sometimes the blessings I recall are major. More often, they’re minor. That’s okay. The longer my list of blessings, the happier I feel.

We all experience hardship. We all have failures. Try not to dwell on them. Pain lies in that direction. If I stumble, I try to remember how I’ve overcome similar obstacles before and the many successes I’ve enjoyed.

Anyone can count their blessings. The trick is to remember all the good things in our life. The more blessings we can count, the happier we become.

David Gartland was born and raised on Long Island, New York, and has lived in central New Jersey since 1987. He earned a bachelor’s degree in math from the State University of New York at Cortland and holds various professional insurance designations. Dave’s property and casualty insurance career with different companies lasted 42 years. He’s been married 36 years, and has a son with special needs. Dave has identified three areas of interest that he focuses on to enjoy retirement: exploring, learning and accomplishing. Pursuing any one of these leads to contentment. Check out Dave's earlier articles.

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Self Defense

ONE SPRING DAY IN 2022, an elderly woman entered Paris’s Picasso Museum to see a new exhibit. Among the items on display was a decorative blue jacket, which was positioned on a wall next to a portrait of Picasso.

The woman liked the look of the jacket, so she took it down from its hook, put it in her bag and quietly walked out the front door. Only later did the museum discover the theft, which was made even more embarrassing by the fact that it had been robbed several years earlier and had—so it thought—upgraded its security.

What lesson might we draw from this odd event?

Some might see it as a reminder that the world is full of risks, and that risk can materialize when and where we least expect it. If even a well-guarded museum can be outsmarted so easily, then maybe we all need to look for ways to harden our financial defenses. That would be one conclusion.

Another, perhaps opposite, conclusion would be to acknowledge that the risks present in the world today are actually too numerous and too varied for any of us to adequately guard against. In light of that reality, maybe the rational thing to do is to worry less. In other words, we shouldn’t spend our days trying to harden our defenses, since it’s an illusion to think that we could ever really succeed.

Another reasonable way to look at the museum theft would be to recognize it as an outlier. Since the risk of oddball incidents like this is so small, we really shouldn’t let it affect our thinking one way or the other. Oddball events shouldn’t cause us to spend our days battening down the hatches and, at the same time, they shouldn’t lead us to simply throw caution to the wind. We shouldn’t draw any conclusion from them.

Instead, we should put risks like this in the same category as other extreme events, like earthquakes or volcanic eruptions. Yes, we can acknowledge that they carry non-zero probabilities, but also recognize that they’re so rare that it doesn’t make sense to factor them into our thinking.

Which of these approaches to risk management makes the most sense? I’m not sure there’s an easy answer. That’s because risk management, in my view, is one of the toughest concepts in personal finance. For example, a recent article in The Wall Street Journal was titled “Even Rich Retirees Fear Outliving Their Money.” It describes a paradox that economists refer to as the “consumption puzzle.” Studies have found that retirees are happier when they spend more, and yet—on average—retirees appear to spend much less than they could afford to.

The article references a new paper in which retirement researcher David Blanchett quantifies this phenomenon. Using the 4% rule as a benchmark for a reasonable portfolio spending rate, Blanchett found that retirees spend, on average, just 2.1%. The upshot: They could afford to double their spending without materially jeopardizing their plans.

Why are these folks spending so little—and why, on the other hand, do some people spend so much more than they can afford? My guess is it’s because risk is intangible and it’s complicated. It takes many forms and, as a result, it’s hard to quantify and thus hard to manage. The result: When we ponder risk, we tend to lean on emotion, instinct or rules of thumb. But there is, I think, a better way.

When I was in grade school, I had a friend named Gene. He was first-generation American, his parents having come from Italy. One summer, his parents let me tag along when they traveled back to Italy to see family. Two observations from that summer have stuck with me and, over the years, have formed the basis for how I think about risk. Let’s look at each in turn.

Gene’s family lived in a small mountainside town, but before we could make our way up there, we stayed for a night with a cousin who lived in downtown Naples. Especially then, Naples was known for its tougher neighborhoods, which I learned when our host locked up for the night. First came the usual chain and dead bolt. Then, from the opposite wall, he lowered a metal bar, which he wedged up against the front door to form a sort of barricade. Finally, he pulled down a bar from another wall and wedged that into place against the door as well.

Was this fellow a worrywart? I don’t think so. My sense is that he simply knew his neighborhood and was being rational. That provides us with the first pillar of risk management, which is to recognize that risk is personal—that we all face different risks. For Gene’s cousin, personal safety was most important, and so that’s where he focused his efforts. For others, risk takes different forms. The key is to assess the risks that might be most relevant to you and then to load up on protection in those areas.

In many cases, that protection will take the form of insurance. If you’re a young parent, life insurance is likely the highest priority, and my advice is to err on the side of over-insuring. Similarly, if you rely on a single income, it’s vital to carry disability coverage, expensive as it is. What if you serve on corporate or nonprofit boards? Be sure you’re covered by directors and officers insurance. If you have a Porsche or a pool—or teenage boys, as in my case—you might consider extra umbrella coverage. But these are just examples. The most important thing is to avoid generic approaches, and instead to identify and manage the things that pose the greatest risk to you.

What’s the second ingredient for managing risk? Later that summer with Gene’s family, we went on a day trip with another relative. What I noticed was that the driver initially wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. But as soon as she got on the highway, she buckled up and made sure everyone else did too. I didn’t ask questions, but my guess is she did that because she perceived the highway as being more dangerous. In fairness, that was a long time ago, but data show that this risk assessment was inaccurate. City streets actually pose a greater risk. That brings us to the second key pillar in risk management.

When deciding which risks to protect against, it’s important first to have a clear picture of those risks. To be sure, this isn’t always easy. Indeed, insurance companies have departments full of actuaries, and even they sometimes make mistakes. The key, though, is to avoid intuition, and instead to look objectively and think systematically.

As we move into the new year, my recommendation for financial housekeeping would be to conduct an assessment of the risks that might matter most to you. Could you afford to loosen your belt in some areas? Is some tightening in order? Is there anything you’re overlooking? Like changing the batteries in your smoke detector, a risk audit like this is worth a periodic review.

And what about the Picasso Museum? It lucked out. About a week after the theft, the same elderly woman walked back through the doors. It turns out that her memory was slipping, and she didn’t realize what she had done. Police were able to locate the coat at her home, and she had no problem returning it. The only issue: She’d found it too big and during the time that she’d borrowed it, she had it tailored.

Adam M. Grossman is the founder of Mayport, a fixed-fee wealth management firm. Sign up for Adam's Daily Ideas email, follow him on X @AdamMGrossman and check out his earlier articles.

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Why We Struggle

I'VE SPENT MUCH OF MY life trying to better understand the world, especially the financial world. But I wonder whether I should have spent more of that time trying to better understand myself.

Why do some financial situations scare us, while others leave us unperturbed? Why do we spend time and money in ways we later regret? Why do we find our bad habits so difficult to change? Why do we admire some folks, while being jealous of others?

These questions are better directed to a psychologist than some aging, ink-stained wretch. Still, it’s questions like these that have fascinated me in recent years. I can’t claim to have the answers—but I have some sense for why they’re difficult to answer.

It takes years to know ourselves. It’s embarrassing to think back on the self-confidence of my 20-something self. I was so sure I knew what I wanted and that my way was the right one.

The decades that followed have highlighted how wrong I was. For instance, my instinct is to assume that others have good intentions. While that’s usually the case, it isn’t always. One consequence: I’ve occasionally been taken advantage of by folks I considered friends. Fortunately, while the emotional toll has sometimes been large, the financial cost has been modest.

But perhaps the big danger isn’t the personality traits about which we have some inkling, but rather aspects of our personality that we’re completely clueless about. Others might be able to fill us in on our shortcomings—if we’re humble enough to let them.

So much of who we are is innate, and much of the rest reflects early life experiences. There’s plenty of advice on what we can do to boost our happiness. But even if we followed all this advice, the impact would likely be modest. Why? We all have a happiness set point—an innate predisposition to be more or less happy—and that has a far bigger impact on whether we tend to be happy or not.

Layered on top of our innate personality traits are our life experiences, especially those from early in our lives. In my 20s, when I was raising two children on a junior reporter’s salary and money was in short supply, I remember my panic whenever I was faced with a car or home repair bill. Today, I can easily handle such bills, and yet a major expense can still bring back memories of those panicked moments from four decades ago.

We’re bad at figuring out what will make us happy. Why do we often waste money on things that bring us little happiness? Why are our closets and basements full of possessions we regret buying?  We think we know what will make us happy, and yet we’re frequently wrong. My hunch: We go astray because we often spend money based on the influence of others, both past and present.

Bad habits are extraordinarily hard to break. It’s said that good and bad habits compound, and I believe it. My good habits—the discipline to exercise every day and to block out distractions so I can focus on the work I need to get done—have become so much a part of me that I can’t imagine changing.

What about my bad habits? That’s another matter entirely. For instance, at a restaurant, I’ll order an entrée simply because it comes with French fries, even if there’s another entrée I prefer—and even though I know I shouldn’t be eating fries. I’m especially susceptible to ordering the wrong thing if I’ve had a rough day and my “willpower budget” is at a low ebb. The good news: At home, Elaine largely dictates what we eat, and her inclinations are far healthier than mine.

Of course, eating isn’t our only outlet if we’re at a low ebb. Plenty of folks find other damaging ways to cheer themselves up, whether it’s spending too much, having a few drinks, buying lottery tickets or even making a few trades in their portfolio.

Life’s randomness is hard to accept. Why do some folks struggle financially their entire life, while others fly up the corporate ladder at fast-growing companies with booming share prices? Often, it’s easy to see the role of luck in the suffering and successes of others, so we’d be wise to assume that we, too, aren’t fully in control of our own fate.

Focusing on luck may help us to cope with one of life’s least admirable emotions: jealousy. When we think about our successes—financial, career and otherwise—we tend to think not in absolute terms, but about how we’ve done relative to contemporaries, including school friends, neighbors, colleagues and siblings. We’re not bothered by Warren Buffett’s billions. But we’re a little jealous about the college friend who ended up as CEO. Perhaps, however, our friend just had better luck than we did.

Today’s worries are almost always a waste of time, and yet we worry constantly. Many readers will be aware of the hedonic treadmill—our tendency to quickly grow dissatisfied with our latest accomplishment or purchase, and to start striving after something new, confident that this new goal will deliver lasting happiness.

We can think about our worries in the same vein. We finally put our latest fear to rest, only to start fretting about something else. It seems we’re hard-wired to worry, and the moments when we’re completely free of concern are few and far between. This, I assume, was a trait that helped our nomadic ancestors to survive—but I’m not sure it does much for us today, except increasing our unhappiness.

Jonathan Clements is the founder and editor of HumbleDollar. Follow him on X @ClementsMoney and on Facebook, and check out his earlier articles.

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Share the Power

LIKE OTHER FOLLOWERS of HumbleDollar, I look forward to Jonathan’s Saturday articles. I have to admit that my interest has been heightened by his cancer diagnosis. Not many folks would have the courage to write about what's going through their mind when they’re fighting for their life. We don’t often get this kind of insight into someone’s life.

Jonathan has probably received a lot of advice about treatment plans and the doctors he should see. I’m sure most of it is out of love and respect for him. I’m not going to offer an opinion on how he should deal with his illness. But I do have one piece of advice: Make sure you have a power of attorney for health care, not just for your own sake, but also for the sake of loved ones. Why is that so important? We don’t know how our life is going to end and how it’s going to affect those around us.

Unfortunately, most of us are so focused on the financial aspect of retirement that a health-care power of attorney is often overlooked. I didn’t realize how important it was until my father started his cancer treatment.

He battled cancer for almost three years. His journey had a profound effect not only on him, but also on our family. After my father started chemotherapy, we noticed his behavior changed. He would easily get angry and rattled. We had to take his car keys away because we feared he’d experience road rage.

My mother would sometimes phone, and ask if I’d come over and see if I could calm him down. He’d get verbally abusive. My dad would tell my mom that he didn’t need her, and that she should leave and not come back. I started spending more time at my parents’ home, because there were times when my mother didn’t want to be alone with my father. This was not the father I’d known.

We told the doctor about my dad’s volatile temper, but he didn’t take us seriously and thought we were overreacting. He even made light of it. “Oh, you’re asking for a happy pill.” Then, one day, I told the doctor that we’d removed my father’s gun from the house because we were afraid of what he might do when he got angry. The doctor finally prescribed medication, but it didn’t help.

Meanwhile, the doctor became increasingly difficult to work with and showed little sympathy. During his medical training, he must have skipped the class on bedside manner. My mother and I would catch hell not only from my father’s outbursts at home, but also from his doctor during office visits.

One day, we told the doctor that my father was complaining about his back bothering him. After examining him, he saw he had shingles. The doctor started berating my mother, telling her she needed to do a better job taking care of her husband. The problem was, my father wasn’t a good patient. He wouldn’t let us touch him.

We tried changing doctors. But two doctors we contacted wouldn’t take him. The third one, we felt, was located too far away. Also, my dad didn’t want to leave his current doctor, so we stayed.

Finally, the doctor told us he couldn’t cure my father, but he could try to extend his life if we wanted to continue treatment. If it was left up to me, I would have said no. My dad’s quality of life was already poor, and I was concerned about my mother’s well-being. But it wasn’t up to me.

The only one who could stop treatment was my mother. She had power of attorney over my father’s health care and it was her decision to make, because my dad couldn’t fully comprehend what was going on.

My mother wanted to continue. She wasn’t ready to let go of him. The doctor prescribed an expensive drug that wasn’t covered under my father’s prescription drug plan. Luckily, because my parents’ income was low, we were able to get financial help from a charitable organization.

Unfortunately, the drug caused my dad to become incontinent. My mother decided it was time to stop treatment and my father entered hospice care.

A few weeks later, we received a letter from my father’s doctor. He was informing all his patients he was closing his office. We heard his practice was in financial trouble because of some bad business decisions. Maybe that’s why he treated us the way he did.

During hospice care, the softer side of my father started to reappear. He was no longer the angry person that he’d been during his treatment. The drugs he was given must have worked their way out of his system.

During my father’s ordeal, I learned that you have to take into consideration how your treatment for a life-threatening illness is affecting the loved ones who are taking care of you. When there’s no hope for survival and my quality of life is poor, I don’t want to burden my wife. I hope that I’m of sound mind and that I’ll know when it’s time for me to go. If not, I want my wife—who holds my power of attorney for health care—to step in and make that decision for me.

Dennis Friedman retired from Boeing Satellite Systems after a 30-year career in manufacturing. Born in Ohio, Dennis is a California transplant with a bachelor's degree in history and an MBA. A self-described "humble investor," he likes reading historical novels and about personal finance. Follow Dennis on X @DMFrie and check out his earlier articles.

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Retirement on the Road

WE'VE BEEN TAKING stock of our nomadic life. We’re quite happy living as we are. But we’re also conscious that things could change at any time for multiple reasons, and we’re ready to shift gears if needed.

We aren’t exactly “living the dream”—because being nomadic was never our dream. We hadn’t even thought about it until a few months before we started our travels. We officially uprooted ourselves—meaning we sold our Houston home—after we’d been away from the place for most of the first year of my retirement. We didn’t want to stay where we were, but we also didn’t have a place we wanted to move. Now, as we enter our third year as nomads, we’re thinking of making at least a few smaller changes to our itinerant lifestyle.

Complaints? I have a few. But then again… (sorry, Mr. Sinatra).

I miss my kettlebells, and it’s hard to maintain my certified instructor standards without heavier ones, which you can’t find in most gyms. My wife is an amazing cook and enjoys it, but it’s less enjoyable when a kitchen has crummy pans and knives, plus she has her own fitness goals that are difficult to achieve when bouncing among whatever gyms are available, if any. It’s also a challenge for us to eat properly when dealing with different kitchens and different stores, especially so when you throw in certain dietary requirements.

To be fair, we’ve been able to enjoy some impressive kitchens and gyms. Still, inconsistent eating and fitness are our biggest day-to-day concerns. I realize these will strike some as minor issues, but people are different and, for us, such things are important. We’ll often go out of our way and pay more than usual for short-term access to a good gym or for the food that we need or want.

We rent a storage unit in Texas that we haven’t seen since we filled it, and it’s become a subject of frequent discussions. Hurricane Beryl nudged us toward action when it caused our storage facility to lose power for an extended period. When we go back to the U.S. in early 2025 to see our parents, we’ll grudgingly make time to go to the storage unit… and do something.

Our options range from further downsizing to a full or partial move of our belongings to Virginia, near where we store our car. On the other hand, we might soon find we’ve wasted time and money moving things we must move again or, alternatively, that we got rid of things we wish we still had. This used to be a mental obstacle to action, but we’ve gotten over it. Whatever we decide won’t be perfect, but it’ll hopefully improve the situation and we’ll stop talking about the storage unit for a while.

So far, these things aren’t enough to make us settle down. But we have been thinking about being in one location for a longer period. Since we started this journey in late 2022, we haven’t been in one place longer than five weeks. Let me tell you that, even if you only have a carry-on and a backpack, unpacking for five weeks is quite a treat, and three to six months has some real attraction.

It would be nice to be somewhere long enough to become part of a community and develop a routine that’ll last for a little while, even if it’s not necessarily where we plan to spend years. Would we move some of our things out of storage? Who knows? But for a several months’ stay, we wouldn’t be beyond buying things we need and donating them when it’s time to move on.

Where would we go? This is another frequent topic of discussion. We like England a lot and can stay in the UK for up to six months on a tourist visa. I’m partial to Italy and speak the language, but a tourist visa there will only get us three months. We haven’t found that many places in the U.S. where we’re excited to stay a long time, but that’s partially because so much of our travel has been out of the country. For no particular reason, some places in the U.S. that were once on the short list for our future home don’t hold the same appeal they once did.

We sometimes think about buying property, possibly to use as a base for a couple of months each year and possibly just as an investment. That said, we don’t keep a lot of cash or bonds in our taxable accounts, waiting for a home purchase that may never happen. Buying would almost certainly entail selling stocks in those accounts. We’d be ready to do this, even if the market were down, as we could offset this with a shift into stocks in our tax-protected accounts. This could apply not only to buying property, but also to any other eventuality that suddenly required us to spend significant cash.

Because of the inherent uncertainty in our lives, we value flexibility in our finances. Our next few months of travel and expenses are usually predictable, even though locations are changing, but we don’t know what we don’t know. A medical emergency or a serious health diagnosis could mean a move at short notice to get care.

It would be a place that isn’t home, nor necessarily a town we know or where we have a circle of friends. More likely than not, we’d initially deal with the situation outside the U.S. Likewise, a serious family situation might provoke a similar sudden move. With both of us around age 60, living in unfamiliar surroundings, and with four parents in their 80s, this is not an insignificant consideration.

We’re thankful that, as we consider possible changes, our current motivation to make those changes isn’t health, family or financial problems, or because there’s some necessity we’re missing. Rather, it’s the desire for more of certain things that aren’t necessities, but which are important to us.

That said, we also enjoy novelty and exploration. If we were to settle into a routine and a community, even if we enjoyed it, I suspect we’d want to shake up our lives occasionally. We like our lifestyle and we’re happy, and we recognize that the ability to enjoy it is a gift.

Michael Perry is a former career Army officer and external affairs executive for a Fortune 100 company. In addition to personal finance and investing, his interests include reading, traveling, being outdoors, strength training and coaching, and cocktails. Check out his earlier articles.

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Why I Don’t Drink

HUMANS HAVE ALWAYS celebrated the good times in their lives. These can be massive occasions, such as New Year’s Eve in New York City’s Times Square, or small and personal, such as birthdays. Celebrating is good. But what happens when it’s not?

Adults tend to celebrate with alcohol. For people like me, who lean toward shyness, alcohol can allow us to let loose. It feels good. We smile. People smile back. All is good. Until the morning after.

I have had many of those "mornings after" in my adult life. I normally recovered nicely and moved on. Until my final morning after.

It was 1986. I had a date with my then-girlfriend, now my wife, when she was the hostess at her company’s office party. She suggested that I wait in a side room while the party was going on. To help me relax, she suggested I have some wine until the party was over. We would then go out afterward.

That was great until I got a buzz on. At this point, the office party was over and we were invited to continue the party at a bar at South Street Seaport in lower Manhattan. Following that, we ate out on the company’s dime at a steak restaurant, where the wine continued to flow.

The next morning, I woke up in my future wife’s Manhattan apartment with the worst hangover of my life. I had to drive to my job in New Jersey, where I endured eight hours of agony. To make matters worse, I was scheduled to teach my Dale Carnegie class that night, so I couldn’t head home to recover.

As apparent punishment for my night out, the subject of my class that night was enthusiasm. I didn’t feel qualified to teach the topic in my hungover state, but I did it anyway.

After my recovery, I assessed the situation and realized I was a binge drinker. I didn’t have a strong urge to drink. But once I got a buzz on, I just wanted to get drunk. This was not a good practice in New Jersey at the time, since it had newly enforced DUI laws.

I was driving to work back then. I made the decision that I needed to give up drinking—cold turkey. I haven’t had a drink since, not even at my wedding. The fun of celebrating isn’t worth the price if it can cost you your job, your driver’s license or your marriage.

I’m not against drinking. We have alcohol in my house because my wife and our friends drink. I simply abstain. As a binge drinker, I don’t have a strong urge to drink that first cocktail. I’m lucky that way.

Still, I’ve paid a price for not drinking. Companies expect you to drink at company functions. By not drinking, I was my usual shy, quiet self, surrounded by rowdy, loud, happy people. This put me in an even more isolated state. The more they drank, the louder they got, until the jokes they were telling were lost on me. At that point, I usually headed for the exit.

As with all things in life, balance is important. Knowing who you are and how to handle yourself in various situations will help you navigate your social and professional life. Being at the party is different from being the life of the party. Be sure you know the difference.

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Worth Repeating

IN THE FINANCIAL world, some topics are serious, others not so much. Since it’s the holiday season, it seems appropriate to look back at some of the past year’s lighter moments.

No joke. In 2019, artist Maurizio Cattelan unveiled a collection he called Comedian. The item that received the most attention: a sculpture that consisted only of a banana duct-taped to a wall. The banana gained fame when it sold at a Miami auction for $120,000.

But that wasn’t the end of the story. Just before Thanksgiving this year, Sotheby’s auctioned another of Cattelan’s bananas. Perhaps owing to inflation, it sold for quite a bit more. A crypto entrepreneur and billionaire named Justin Sun beat out competitors with a bid of $6.2 million.

Shortly after winning, Sun had a thought. “Eating it at a press conference can also become a part of the artwork’s history,” Sun said. That’s exactly what he did. Later, Sun commented on the taste: “To be honest, for a banana with such a back story, the taste is naturally different from an ordinary one.”

Eye of the beholder. If a banana is taped to a wall, does that make it art? That’s debatable, but I don’t think it compares to the work of Italian artist Salvatore Garau. In 2021, he unveiled what he called an “immaterial sculpture.” It was literally invisible. But as Garau explained it, immaterial doesn’t mean that the sculpture doesn’t exist. In fact, the sculpture is delivered with a certificate of authenticity certifying that the sculpture exists in the artist’s mind.

The first “immaterial” sculpture sold for about $18,000, so naturally Garau chose to build on this success. He later unveiled another invisible work in front of the New York Stock Exchange building. This installation was backed by the Italian Cultural Institute, which sent representatives to the unveiling ceremony. It was as if The Emperor’s New Clothes had come to life.

In the years since, Garau has added to his immaterial series. He unveiled “Buddha in Contemplation” in the Piazza Della Scala in Milan. Because the sculpture was invisible, a white square on the ground let observers know where it was. And earlier this year, Garau presented "Invisible Buddha.”

How does Garau justify his invisible works? “My sculptures are carved from air and spirit,” he says. Does that make any sense? It’s unclear—but he’s certainly a good salesman.

On principle. In June 2019, a Pennsylvania woman named Jennifer Montgomery purchased two bottles of Perrier water from her local Sheetz convenience store. For the purchase, Montgomery was charged 24 cents in sales tax.

This might not sound newsworthy. But to Montgomery, the sales tax she was charged was an injustice—because Pennsylvania taxes soft drinks but not water. Montgomery filed a request for a refund with the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue, but her request was denied.

Montgomery then filed suit against the state. In Montgomery vs. Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, she sought a refund of her 24 cents. Among the points she made: Perrier is naturally sparkling when it comes out of the ground, so it shouldn’t be put in the same category as artificially carbonated drinks like soda.

The court disagreed. Earlier this year, after a five-year battle, the court affirmed the Department of Revenue’s position that Perrier is indeed a soft drink and should be subject to tax. Though Perrier is just water, the court said, it is nonetheless carbonated, and that makes it subject to tax.

Poorly executed. When it comes to the lottery, disputes and malfeasance are common. But a Florida couple made news this year with an unusual effort to defraud their state lottery. Kira Enders and her boyfriend, Dakota Jones, decided to tape together two losing tickets in such a way that it appeared they had the winning numbers for a $1 million jackpot. But when Enders showed up at the lottery office in Pensacola, officials were suspicious, so they decided to question Enders and Jones separately.

When asked why the ticket was taped together, Enders explained that the ticket had fallen out of her car on a rainy day and gotten wet. Then, before letting it dry, she had tried scratching it, and that’s what caused it to come apart. That’s the reason, she said, that it was taped together.

It might have been a plausible explanation, but when he was questioned, Jones told a different story. The couple had been out for a walk on a country road in DeFuniak Springs, he said, when they happened upon a severed ticket lying in the road. They decided to tape the pieces together, and that’s when they realized it had the winning numbers.

The Escambia County sheriff was not impressed: “It was clear to the lottery officials, and obviously clear to us, that she had taken two tickets with different, you know, one side had one serial number, the other side had the other serial number on it…. If you're gonna try to claim a million dollars, you've got to do a lot better than this,” he said. They now face prosecution.

Policy proposal. Nothing in personal finance seems to generate as much disagreement as cryptocurrency. The late Charlie Munger called it “rat poison,” while others see it as the future. Some even see it as the solution to our national debt.

Cynthia Lummis is a senator from Wyoming who has proposed a “strategic bitcoin reserve” to be held by the federal government. She compares it to the government’s strategic petroleum reserve, but sees it as even more valuable. If bitcoin appreciates, as she expects it will, it could allow us to pay off the federal debt. “Put future Americans on a better footing, unencumbered by debt that they never supported or benefitted from,” she’s said.

Not everyone is convinced. In an exchange with Lummis on Twitter, hedge fund manager Cliff Asness has called the proposal “ridiculous” and “idiotic,” and challenges her to explain why we shouldn’t also have a “strategic Powerball reserve.”

Charitably inclined. The philosophical debate over cryptocurrency probably won’t be settled any time soon. But this year, there’s been one crypto story I suspect everyone can get behind.

Back in 2016, James Fickel was a 25-year-old software developer who also enjoyed trading stocks and cryptocurrencies on the side. In a well-timed bet, Fickel made a six-figure investment in the cryptocurrency Ethereum. At the time, it was trading for about 80 cents. Now, it’s over $3,000, making Fickel a billionaire. What he’s done with his winnings, though, is heartening. Fickel started a foundation and is giving away not just millions, but hundreds of millions, to support medical research.

Looking ahead. Is there anything we can learn from these stories to carry into the new year? In my view, there’s one common theme. Modern Portfolio Theory creator Harry Markowitz used to describe diversification as “the only free lunch” in finance. That’s because it doesn’t cost anything to diversify, but the benefits can be enormous.

The above group of stories, however, suggests there may be another free lunch available to investors, and that’s simplicity. A simple portfolio generally results in lower costs and lower taxes. It’s also easier to monitor and manage. Perhaps best of all, a simple approach can help us sidestep many of the financial hucksters and schemers out there—whether they’re promoting cryptocurrency, invisible sculptures or anything else.

Adam M. Grossman is the founder of Mayport, a fixed-fee wealth management firm. Sign up for Adam's Daily Ideas email, follow him on X @AdamMGrossman and check out his earlier articles.

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Four Questions

IT'S SEVEN MONTHS since I received my terminal diagnosis. Cancer is now the reality that looms over each day, and it's been a rocky road, though the latest abdomen scan suggests I'll be around for a while longer.

Where’s my head at? Here are four questions I’ve been asking myself—questions, I suspect, that might also be interesting to those who aren’t facing a terminal diagnosis.

1. Am I afraid of dying? No, but I am afraid of not living. In particular, there are two things I’ll miss.

First, I love the day to day—the blue sky, leaves dancing down the sidewalk, morning coffee, afternoon naps, an evening glass of wine, chatting about the day with Elaine. Words like mindful and intentional tend to hit my gag reflex—too touchy-feely for my taste. Still, that’s what I’m trying to do, to be mindful of all that’s around me and intentional about how I use my time. The world is an amazing place, and I hate the idea that I’ll no longer get to revel in its daily joys.

Second, it pains me that not only won't I get to grow old with Elaine, but also I won’t see what the years ahead hold for my children and grandchildren. Who will they become? What triumphs will they enjoy? How will they cope with the hardships thrown their way? Most of us get to the point where we focus less on our own life, and instead live more through the eyes of others. I was just starting to enjoy that new life phase, but now it’s about to get snatched away.

2. Am I using my time in the best way possible? Mostly, I’ve spent the past seven months doing what I’ve done for years, which is to sit at my laptop, writing and editing. Maybe this work doesn’t bring happiness in a laugh out loud kind of way, but it does give me a profound sense of satisfaction.

Are there other things I ought to be doing? Even before my diagnosis, Elaine and I had a travel wish list. Over the past seven months, we’ve managed three trips. But we’ve also canceled one because I landed in hospital—and we’re aware that, from now on, every plan we make is tentative. It feels like time is increasingly short, the world is getting smaller, venturing far from our Philadelphia home is more daunting, and perhaps our “bucket list” time could soon be over.

Am I upset? When you know time is running low, it makes you think hard about how you use your days and weeks. Would I be distraught if I never went to Europe again? Probably not. Instead, what I fear most is the moment when I no longer have the energy to make some small difference in the world, which is why you’ll find me sitting in front of my laptop tomorrow, and the day after, and—I hope—the day after that.

3. Why aren’t I angrier about my diagnosis? I consider myself fortunate. I’ve spent my career doing what I love and—despite some rough times—I’ve had a mostly happy life. What if it had been otherwise? If I’d been stuck in a job I hated, waiting for retirement to get my reward, I imagine I would indeed feel cheated, and I wouldn’t be nearly so sanguine about my diagnosis.

Do you hate your job? Are you in an unhappy relationship? Suppose that, like me, you were given a year to live. Would you regret the life you’ve led and, if so, should you take steps to change it now?

4. How can I prepare to be my future self? In an Oct. 25 Forum post, I wrote, “As best I can tell, my stage 4 cancer hasn’t had any impact on my physical abilities. Indeed, most days, I feel pretty good. I’d always thought death would be easier to accept because of the pain involved and the endless interactions with the medical establishment, which would slowly sap my will to live. But so far, it hasn’t been that way.”

Ironically, it was about then that I started feeling a whole lot worse, thanks to the back pain caused by the cancer spreading to my spine. Radiation earlier this month brought substantial relief. Nonetheless, I feel my illness has moved me fast forward into old age. It can be difficult to imagine who we’ll become—but, as I’ve discovered, there’s a risk we’ll become that person with extraordinary speed. How can we better prepare ourselves? In retrospect, I’m grateful for two lifelong habits.

First, before my diagnosis, I was in good physical shape, and that’s stood me in good stead over the past seven months. I’ve worked out pretty much every day for three decades, ever since I started training for my first marathon. Clearly, this didn’t stop one of my genes from going rogue and causing cancer. On the other hand, because I was in good shape when I got my diagnosis, it’s helped me to weather the treatment reasonably well and, I believe, bought me a little extra time.

Second, my financial affairs were fairly well-organized before my diagnosis. Since then, I’ve made a big push to simplify my finances even further, and to throw out old papers and unwanted possessions. The amount of work has been significant. Still, without my earlier efforts, it would have been far more onerous.

Jonathan Clements is the founder and editor of HumbleDollar. Follow him on X @ClementsMoney and on Facebook, and check out his earlier articles.

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A Lifetime of Loss

WE SUFFER LOSSES throughout our life. During our youth, we might leave old chums behind when our family starts fresh in a new town or when we go away to college. Later, a job loss or a divorce could leave us drained both financially and emotionally. But for most of us, our senior years are when loss hits hardest.

Our body is often the first casualty, especially the face we see in the mirror each morning. At some point, the dents and dings of time take their toll on that image. My own visage is covered with sun-damaged skin and topped by silver hair. I’ve grown used to the view, but occasionally I’m startled by the realization I look old.

Achy joints and stiff muscles add another dimension to the picture. My complaints are minor, usually no more than a nuisance, but probably portend more serious problems down the road. Vision and hearing deficits have already arrived. The ophthalmologist is keeping an eye on my cataracts, and my wife says I’m overdue for hearing aids.

Meanwhile, gravity is beginning to win—again. We all start life held fast to the earth, staying put where we’re placed. As our strength grows, most of us commence to roll, then progress to sitting and crawling, until we eventually lift ourselves to our feet and begin to walk.

We may stay in motion for decades, never thinking of life without mobility. Young bodies generally do our bidding. They run all day until we drop into bed with exhaustion, then jump up at dawn to begin the race again. But one day, our strength begins to fade, or we’re laid low by injury or disease.

As a physical therapist, the core of my practice is helping folks either remain in motion or get moving again. Whether pain, weakness or some other ailment hinders movement, we join forces to combat whatever is stopping them or slowing them down. Often, we win, but many times the victory is incomplete, especially for older bodies. When that happens, we’re both forced to face the pain of loss.

As a therapist, I’m a spectator to this real-life drama. But for my patients, it can be a constant companion that haunts their waking hours and robs them of sleep.

Grappling with injury or illness is physically demanding. The cost in pain, money and time away from our lives is dear. Add to this the mental struggle, which can be even more severe, especially the realization that life afterward may never be the same. Even if we escape experiencing a single debilitating event during a long life, we may still be cognizant of the creeping loss of vigor that comes with age.

Many mourn the loss, but others seem to take the slowdown in stride. Consider a gentleman I met a few months back: He’s in his late 80s, with health issues beginning to curtail his once active lifestyle. From all appearances, he accepts his decline with grace. He’s cheerful, witty and expresses gratitude for his life. But I discovered that, underneath a veneer of contentment, he carries a different kind of burden.

When we first met, he told me of his first marriage, and of a daughter born with cognitive deficiency. He was a strong advocate for her and others like her, lobbying his state legislature for favorable laws and helping to found a special school. But she died in middle age, and his wife’s death followed several years later. He was resigned to spending his remaining years in solitude, but instead met and married a vibrant woman a few years his junior. With a beaming face, he told me, “I’m lucky I found her.” He seemed satisfied with his life.

At our last meeting, though, some of the façade fell away. He briefly recounted the family history I’d heard before. This time, however, as he brushed over memories of the past, instead of a smile, his eyes welled up with tears. I was mostly mute as he told me, in halting words, how he still grieves for his deceased wife and daughter. What words could I offer as salve for such a painful recollection?

More recently, at a chance reunion with an old acquaintance, another loss that often comes with age came up in the conversation. This man is a retired physician, age 86. I ran into him, accompanied by his wife, during a checkup at my ophthalmologist’s office. I told his wife I had good memories of him as a respected physician in our hospital, as well as a disciplined physical therapy patient in my clinic.

I could see that the doctor was getting around well, and asked if he had visited his home in India. He confirmed that he had, but that airports are confusing. “It’s dementia,” he said matter-of-factly, and added that his waning cognition also keeps him from driving farther afield than our little town. I glanced at his wife, and saw the same stoic expression that her husband wore. Though I can’t be sure, I departed our meeting feeling they both accepted his decline as just the natural course of life.

Both of these men are more than two decades my senior, and I observed at least a part of my future in them. Even at 62, I already feel the inevitable downward pull of gravity on my body. Though I still have the hardiness to dig my garden and split firewood by hand, I’m slower getting it finished. And the last hour or two of my 10-hour workday is a little more taxing than it once was.

How do we equip ourselves for the losses that inevitably come our way? Prudent financial planning is part of the answer. Life insurance won’t take the sting out of a loved one’s death, but it can replace income that’s vital for the family that remains. Likewise, disability insurance can mitigate the financial pain of illness or injury. In the retirement years, a robust cushion of savings can remove worry and cover practical solutions for the challenges that come with aging.

But money can’t replace companionship. It also won’t buy a cure for the heartbreak that comes with dementia. And what about dealing with the reality of our own physical decline?

I’m no expert on the subject. As I indicated above, I'm a spectator to a drama, with my patients occupying the stage. Perhaps a more accurate metaphor is player-coach, sharing the same hazards and headwinds we all face as we try—usually unsuccessfully—to make it to the end of the game with all parts of our life intact.

Despite a picture that may seem bleak, there’s plenty of space for hope. When life is harsh, we humans seem to draw on a resilience that can handle all manner of misery. And those with religious faith know the comfort and strength it can offer. We don’t know what troubles tomorrow will bring, but there’s no profit in worrying about them today, though I sometimes do. That said, I pray we realize our turn will eventually come and that, when it does, we’re given the grace to face it.

Ed Marsh is a physical therapist who lives and works in a small community near Atlanta. He likes to spend time with his church, with his family and in his garden thinking about retirement. His favorite question to ask a young person is, "Are you saving for retirement?" Check out Ed's earlier articles.

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