There is another level of night, only known to those who have lived through a bleak west coast storm. The rain started somewhere just west of Terrace. It was a dark, lonely drive traffic-wise. On our right, a series of train tracks and rock bluffs kept me alert, while on our left flowed the mighty Skeena, growing ever wider as it gulped up smaller gushing rivers, which drained the rain-soaked coastal mountains near the port of Prince Rupert.
Suddenly a massive single headlight from an oncoming train nearly blinded us - seeming to approach us head-on in run-a-way fashion, but veering along its track a few short feet in front of us as if in some sort of cruel spook-ally gag. It couldn?t be helped. The track and road shared the narrow space that wasn?t either mountain or river.
Our three-month old daughter screamed, not just at that moment when the train came. She screamed in general, bawling at pretty much every waking moment on the entire seventeen-hour journey from Burnaby to Prince Rupert. Her little pipes were vicious. Decibels amplified inside our little car like tiny knife-wielding banshees, piercing my eardrums. I drove with a finger in one ear, alternating the pain in my skull from one side to the other periodically so I could keep a hand on the wheel. Driving with my knees was not an option at this moment.
I announced our arrival gently to my wife as we pulled up to our hotel late that evening. She had fallen asleep and woke up to darkness and more rain. Just as I turned off the car and opened the door, a fight broke out between two drunks near the front entrance of our hotel. Her first greeting to me in our new home city was spoken sternly, like only a vulnerable young wife and mother could utter. Without a trace of humour she hissed: ?Where on earth have you taken us??
But all of this was a step ahead - the price we paid to escape the urban jungle. Instead of two-and-a-half hours commuting every day through the megalopolis of Vancouver, we were five minutes from everything in little town in Prince Rupert. Our apartment in Burnaby was within a stone?s throw of the freeway; our home in the North Coast was within a stone?s throw of world-class fishing.
We soon began remodeling out little dwelling and began building fond memories in the north. We were graced with abundant fresh fish to eat, and friendly families to rub shoulders with.
When I hear these sorts of stories from my clients, and juxtapose them with the relative peace and plenty we each enjoy now, it speaks to the sacrifice people make to get ahead. Such joy is reaped in climbing out of despair and living on to peacefully prosper!
Here is where I wish to highlight a contrast between two types of retirement behaviour: saving and cleaving. In retrospect, most retirees likely enjoyed the contest more than the prize. That is common, and perhaps a clich.
Savers had a goal in mind, and don?t seem to mind spending to attain it. The goal was never the money. They savor what they?ve saved like a good meal at the end of a hard day of work. They take holidays, start projects, go on hikes and spend time doing productive things. They believe that spending money on a trip to see the grandchildren is better than leaving the grandchildren money in a will.
Cleaving is a different sort of reward. The goal is the money - having it, not spending it. Having spent a lifetime winning at the game of frugality, they become captivated by the prudence rather than another reward. In short, they will never spend it. It is simply not in their nature to do so.
What they may not understand is that the principles they stand for will probably be breached by their descendants. If they cling to their money with a Charlton Hesston-like grip, after their lives have been lived, the money they have worked and fought for will spill out in to the laps of beneficiaries (and governments) to whom the story behind the money can only be an unopened book.
To be sure, there are still risks, even in abundance. Most of us don?t know the decade, never mind the year we will die. This means we need to plan for the risk of longevity. But like parenting adult children, finding peace in retirement is all in the art of letting go. Be prudent. Don?t throw caution to the wind, but it?s your money. Spend some on yourself!
Mark Ryan is an advisor with RBC Wealth Management, Dominion Securities (member CIPF) and can be reached at [email protected].
