Money as Symbols: Why I'm Redefining What Inheritance Really Means

For years, I’ve thought about money in a very specific way: as a numbers game. Save aggressively, invest wisely, and pass along a substantial nest egg to my sons. But a shift in how I view my retirement savings has made me question whether this traditional approach to inheritance actually reflects what I want to communicate to the people I love most.

The real issue isn’t about mathematics—it’s about what symbols for money represent in our lives, and whether a large bank balance truly captures the depth of our devotion to our children.

What Money Really Represents When We Look Beyond the Numbers

We’re often taught that financial security is the ultimate gift. Leave your kids with enough, and you’ve done right by them. But this narrative assumes money is primarily about comfort, when it’s often functioning as something far more symbolic—a scorecard of love, a measure of sacrifice, a proof of our worth.

I grew up in a household where financial scarcity felt catastrophic. My husband and I married young and lived paycheck to paycheck while working our way through college. Like roughly 42% of Americans, we had no emergency savings fund. A flat tire wasn’t just an inconvenience; it felt like a financial emergency. This experience embedded in us a deep fear of financial insufficiency, and perhaps a corresponding belief that if we could just accumulate enough, our children would feel secure and loved.

But here’s what I’ve recently realized: children don’t measure their parents’ love by the size of the inheritance they receive. They measure it by the presence, attention, and time their parents invest while still alive.

A Book That Changed How I See My Life Savings

Bill Perkins’ book, Die with Zero, forced me to confront my assumptions directly. The provocative title alarmed me at first—the idea of depleting retirement savings entirely seemed reckless. But Perkins makes a compelling case: money is fundamentally a tool for creating experiences, not an accounting metric to be preserved at all costs.

The central concept is what he calls “memory dividends”—the principle that meaningful experiences continue paying emotional returns for decades. A shared vacation, a spontaneous celebration, time spent together without the constant background anxiety of financial constraint—these leave imprints that a posthumous inheritance never will.

I started discussing the book with my sons. Their response surprised me. Both said they’d be relieved if my husband and I didn’t prioritize leaving them money. They’re both well-educated and financially independent. Their wives echoed the same sentiment: they want us to spend our retirement enjoying life, not sacrificing comfort to leave them a larger balance.

What struck me most was realizing that my dream of leaving them a bundle was entirely mine. It was never something they expected or wanted. Their message, delivered with genuine care, was: “Please enjoy your retirement. We’re fine.”

The Symbols That Matter Most to My Children

For years, I calculated our spending from retirement accounts using a restrictive formula: only touch interest and earnings, leave the principal untouched. I imagined this remaining balance as a final love letter—a reminder of our devotion every time they accessed those funds.

But this thinking contained a logical flaw. If we lost everything tomorrow, would our children love us less? If financial circumstances had prevented us from accumulating substantial savings, would our relationship be diminished? The answer is unambiguously no.

What children of any age truly need is the unwavering certainty that they are completely loved and fully accepted. Money cannot convey this message. Only our presence, our choices, and our willingness to show up authentically can do that.

Rethinking Legacy: What True Inheritance Looks Like

The shift in perspective has been surprisingly liberating. My husband and I have decided to withdraw more from our retirement accounts than we originally planned. We may not be wealthy in the traditional sense, but we’ll be more comfortable and less constrained than we expected to be.

It feels unconventional, even slightly uncomfortable at times. Yet I know, both intellectually and emotionally, that this is the right decision.

The inheritance that actually matters isn’t measured in dollars. It’s the memory of a parent who felt present and alive, not anxious and self-sacrificing. It’s the knowledge that we chose experiences over accumulation, presence over deferred pleasure, and genuine connection over symbolic financial gestures.

As I’ve reconsidered what symbols for money should represent in my family’s story, I’ve realized that the greatest gift isn’t what we leave behind in an account—it’s what we demonstrate through how we choose to live.

That’s the inheritance worth passing down.