The 50/50 Plan
Maria smiled. “Now you’re kidding me,” she said. “You’re too young to retire.”
“Well, it’s not really retirement,” I said. “More like an extended sabbatical. I agreed not to ever go back to work, provided my boss agreed never to call me at home.”
“And how’s that working out?” Maria asked and poured the ground coffee beans into a French Press.
“Fine and dandy,” I said. “You never really grasp how good life can be until you figure out how to live without a job.”
“You lost me there,” Maria said. “Without this job, my daughter doesn’t eat, and the rent doesn’t get paid.”
I nodded my head in retreat. “You’re right, Maria. Work is important. And by the way, you make great coffee.”
There is nothing on earth as powerful as a man or woman’s beliefs about money and how it is earned. Like my parents and grandparents before me, I grew up believing in the sanctity of hard work. As a child I was taught to work hard in school, in the military I was taught to follow orders, and later in life I was taught the best way to avoid being fired was to show up on time, work hard, and never rock the boat.
By the time I turned 30 I was well on my way to completing what I later realized was a 50/50 life plan. Simply put, most of us spend the first 20 years of our lives preparing to get a job. We then devote 50 years of our life to working various jobs, with the intention of one day retiring to live off 50% of what we used to make.
It’s an incredibly negative and depressing image of life, but for most people that’s the reality of it, and you can’t sugar coat the truth.
In the fall of 2008 I realized I could no longer follow the 50/50 plan. And although it took another 2 years for me to learn how to change my future, the turning point came the day I decided to break the rules and step outside the confines of my upbringing and misguided beliefs about money…
…and thanks to the encouragement and tutelage of my friend Tom, I knew financial success was possible.
“You want another log on the fire?” Maria asked as she sat my coffee on the table.
“I’m good,” I said, my mind a million miles away. “Thanks.”
