Beyond Money Symbols: Redefining Wealth for My Retirement Years

When I was younger, I made a quiet promise to myself: accumulate enough wealth to leave my sons a substantial inheritance. It felt like the ultimate expression of love—a financial testament that would outlast me. But what if the symbols for money we carry in our minds aren’t actually symbols for love at all? That question became central to rethinking everything I thought I knew about retirement planning.

For decades, my husband and I scrimped and saved. Like roughly 42% of Americans, we had virtually no emergency fund in our early years. A flat tire or a flooded basement felt like a financial catastrophe. We put ourselves through college on our own dime, living paycheck to paycheck as teenagers trying to build a future. The habit of accumulation became ingrained—not just out of necessity, but out of a deep belief that hoarding money was the greatest gift we could eventually give.

What Money Really Means—Breaking Free from Old Assumptions

The turning point came unexpectedly through a book: Die with Zero by Bill Perkins. The title alone provoked me enough to open it. The premise—that we might spend our retirement savings down to nearly nothing before we pass—felt almost shocking. But as I read further, something shifted in how I understood the symbols for money I’d been using to measure my worth as a parent.

Perkins argues that money isn’t a scorecard or a final exam grade. It’s a tool. Specifically, it’s a tool for creating experiences and memories that compound in value over time. He calls this concept “memory dividends”—the idea that meaningful experiences keep paying us back in memories and meaning that last a lifetime. A trip with grandchildren. A dinner that brings the family together. A sabbatical that recharges the soul. These aren’t expenses; they’re investments in a different kind of wealth.

I didn’t suddenly adopt every suggestion in the book. But I found myself wrestling with what I actually wanted my money to represent. Was it truly a symbol of parental love? Or had I conflated financial security with emotional devotion?

My Family’s Surprising Take on Inheritance

Here’s what happened when I mentioned this book to our sons: they both said they’d be relieved if we left them little to nothing. One pointed out—with the kind of bluntness only adult children can manage—that they’re both educated and financially stable. They don’t need their parents to sacrifice their own retirement security to fund an inheritance. That would be the opposite of loving, they suggested.

Our daughters-in-law reinforced the message independently. They reminded us how much it matters to them that we enjoy our lives as we age. They’re managing their own retirement. They don’t expect to be our financial beneficiaries. More importantly, they don’t equate our spending with our love. In fact, they see our willingness to enjoy life as a healthier model for what their own retirement might look like.

The dream of leaving them a substantial bundle was mine alone. My children never asked for it. They never expected it. The symbols for money I’d been building meant something entirely different in their world than in mine.

Rewriting the Definition of Leaving Something Behind

For years, I calculated how much we could safely spend while preserving most of our retirement savings. I treated those untouched funds like a final love letter, imagining our sons thinking of our devotion every time they inherited money they didn’t need and didn’t ask for.

But I finally allowed myself to ask a harder question: If we’d never built a retirement account due to circumstances beyond our control, would our children love us less? If we lost everything tomorrow, would they interpret that loss as proof we didn’t care about them? The answer, obviously, is no.

What children need—at any age—is to know they’re completely, unconditionally loved and accepted. No amount of money can convey that message better than our presence, our choices, and our actions while we’re still here. If anything, using money to buy comfort and joy in our later years sends a clearer message: you’re worth it. Life is worth it. Love is worth living fully.

A Different Kind of Legacy

We’re adjusting our withdrawal strategy now. We’ll take more from our retirement accounts than we initially planned. We won’t be extravagant, but we’ll be more comfortable than I’d allowed myself to imagine. It feels strange—even slightly transgressive—but intellectually and emotionally, it’s the right choice.

The inheritance that truly matters isn’t the money sitting in an account after we’re gone. It’s the memories we create by traveling while we still can. It’s the financial freedom to say yes to dinners, to grandchildren’s events, to experiences that make life feel full. It’s modeling for our children and grandchildren that wealth means something beyond accumulation.

The symbols for money we choose to honor reveal what we really believe about life itself. For me, that revelation has been worth far more than any financial bequest could ever be.