I'm a little melancholic this morning.
Well, as melancholic as a dyed-in-the-wool optimist can be, anyway.
It's the last day of our getaway down the NSW South Coast – in a couple of hours, we'll be packed up and on our way.
It's been a really wonderful time with extended family and, as befits the modern world, I've been able to blend some R&R with a reduced workload since Christmas to make it happen.
We've been staying in our camper trailer in a caravan park in Huskisson – a really pretty little town with a wharf from which to fish and a plethora of swimming beaches. The weather has been pretty kind, with only a little rain, and only a couple of days during which the heat was stifling.
And, of course, the most important part has been spending that quality time with my family: As my mother reminded me yesterday, we only get eighteen summers with our kids, including nieces and nephews.
I'm very lucky to be able to blend work and leisure like this. I'm lucky to be able to afford the break. And to have a wonderful family to spend it with.
But walking along the beach this morning, between radio interviews for Sydney, Canberra and Brisbane, it was hard to escape that pack-up-morning melancholy.
Why am I sharing all of this?
Well, in part because it's a reminder to me, and I hope to you, that while I'm an investor, both by trade and as a financial strategy, there are many things that are more important than money.
"Money's made round to go 'round", as my old man used to say. (Kids, ask your parents about metal coins.)
I invest not so I can 'win' on some sort of internal or external scoreboard. I invest so that at some point I'll be able to afford to do the things I want to do.
But – and this is sacrilege in much of the financial advice space – I don't invest as much as I could. Instead, I invest as much as I should.
The difference?
I know, in my bones, how much compounding potential I give up every time I spend a dollar, rather than investing it. So, I try to be really careful with my spending.
But that doesn't mean I don't spend. I try to enjoy experiences, usually with family and friends, that are well and truly worth the compounding that I forego.
Those '18 summers' I mentioned earlier are worth far more than an expensive toy or trip I might be able to afford in 20 years, if I saved the money, instead.
The laughs, the memories, the connections… they're the good stuff, not the numbers in my portfolio.
Now, it's a balance. I don't want to retire penniless, of course. But nor do I want to Scrooge McDuck it, all by myself, with nothing to show, other than that pool full of gold coins.
Or maybe, speaking of Scrooge, it's just the Ghost of Christmas Future.
Bottom line?
I guess I'm talking about balance. About being thoughtful and deliberate with our finances.
And, as part of that, thinking about what's really important.
That starts with our spending.
There are some things that I just know I'll be glad I spent the money on, when I look back.
And other things that seemed like a good idea at the time, but were wasteful and not as satisfying.
Working out the difference allows me to save and invest, by cutting out the less important stuff, while still spending on the things that matter most.
And, of course, investing well (choosing my investments wisely, and developing the right temperament) means that I'm trying to get the absolute most out of every saved dollar.
I'm not perfect, of course. I might be a little more practiced at the investing thing, but I'm not immune from the impulse purchase or attacks of the 'I just want it' monster.
It's a process, and something that we'll never get perfectly right.
But, like everything, there's no point trying to navigate a path until you've chosen your destination – otherwise, how will you know if you're heading in the right direction?
I want to retire, some day. I want to finish working with enough financial firepower in my portfolio to do the things I want to do.
But I want to enjoy the journey, as well.
I want to do the things that matter – to me and to others – and to create memories that will last a lifetime, along the way.
That's my hope for you, too.
And now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to start packing up.
Fool on!
