Bulls. Bears. Who Cares?
By Christina Laganopoulos
I must be growing up. Up until now, I was happily floating through life, unworried about my lack of financial planning - which, I'm told, is the responsible thing to do. I am surrounded by personal finance. It never actually enters my life, in the form of bonds or investments, it stays in the periphery, as lectures and greener grass. Everytime I turn on the tv or surf the web, I am assaulted with ads telling me how much I can save if I put so much money away every month. There are images of cool people flying planes, sailing boats, hugging their knees on the dock of their cottage property... all smiling smugly because they have almost a million dollars in investments. I am encouraged to get into the stock market. Stuart, that wild mail boy has more stock sense than I do for heaven's sake. Up until now, I had managed to avoid getting drawn into the hoopla, refusing to believe anything I heard. It's just another way for banks to make money, I told myself, creating nest egg panic. A phase, like the Rubik Cube, that will sweep by when it proves fruitless.
The recent stock market losses haven't made anyone slow down though, and instead of recognizing investing for the phase I have desperately wanted it to be, people are more money conscious than ever. Suddenly I am feeling the pinch. The need to settle matters. Maybe it has to do with the fact that every single person I know is entering the world of marriage, parenting and home ownership. In whatever scenario, they are all saving money. Investing. Getting more serious about RRSPs. It's very unnerving. Aside from the fact that I have no playmates anymore (people who are saving money and making mortgage payments don't do anything else) it's scaring me. Everytime we get together the conversation turns to money and debt and renovations and retirement and sometimes breast feeding - which has little to do with money but I can't relate to that either.
Several years ago, my radio alarm woke me with the news report, and I was sure I heard them say that a comet was going to hit earth in 35 years, destroying all life. I was momentarily alarmed. Then I realized I no longer had to worry about RRSPs. Honestly, that was my second, and calming, thought. I was tipped off to my groggy error when I commented to a friend that I was very impressed with the way everyone was handling the news - there was no looting and pillaging and rioting going on. Turned out the comet was a lot more than 35 years away, and I'm not even sure where it was headed. In any case, I learned two things about myself. One, I react very calmly to imminent death as long as I don't go alone. Two, I have a very, very bad attitude towards finances.
It started early. When I was little I was read the story of the ant and the grasshopper. For those of you unfamiliar with the tale, it depicts an ant working hard and collecting food for the winter, while the grasshopper jumps around and plays all day, pausing only to mock the industrious ant. When winter rolls around, the grasshopper becomes cold and hungry and knocks on the ant's door seeking food and shelter. The ant, nestled in its little abode eating off a table full of food, cruelly turns the grasshopper away telling him he should have looked ahead and worked instead of playing. The book ends with the ant napping by the fire with a full belly and the grasshopper frozen dead outside, his little ice-covered legs in the air. I was outraged. Even as a small child I recognized it for the work ethic propaganda it was. Everyone knows ants are slaves of the queen! Still, I had nightmares about the grasshopper's frozen body for days. Not that it did anything to set me on the straight and narrow. I grew into a grasshopper. I have always dated ants, attracted to them for what I lack, but they lose patience with me. A grasshopper would like me more. He'd understand my psychological financially stupid affliction. He'd say "you only live once" and give me a hug. Then we'd book ourselves tickets to France. No, we wouldn't, because neither of us would have the money. But we'd be in France in our hearts, and I wouldn't be feeling miserable now because my future holds only debts, a ratty old apartment, and used furniture.
I read somewhere that there are more millionaires living among us than we realize. They aren't noticeably rich. They bag lunch, they drive old cars, and live in very modest homes. In other words, they're crazy. Surely there is a fine line between living modestly to save money, and being a grasshopper. Perhaps one path to riches lies in spending money wisely, but after you've spent half your life saving every penny, can't you at least go on a nice vacation or something? Go wild and buy a nice car?
Saving is a very good thing, and one day, I will try it. I may even bag my lunch. But I will never ever forgive people who keep working after winning several millions in the lotto. If I ever get a windfall...there is a villa in Italy with name on it. In the meantime, as much as I resent the pressure to save, I will try to grab that financial bull by the horns and become a more responsible adult. Then again, I may just fall back on good old fashioned standards, and plan to be a burden on my children. We'll see.