My home has a mature garden and spacious rooms. It borders a regional park and is within walking distance of the small town I live in. There's a large hospital with a primary care facility nearby. As for curb appeal? Nothing fancy. But that lack of curb appeal let me pay 15% below the market rate for the area. Works for me. My car is parked in a driveway with space for maybe 4 cars. It's an 8-year-old SUV with 80,000 miles on the clock, well serviced and maintained. Nothing fancy. I bought it at one year old, saving on the big first year depreciation. If a passer-by ever spotted me regularly, they'd see me in shorts, a t-shirt, and scruffy sneakers. Once again, nothing fancy. Spending big bucks on designer clothing doesn't work for me. This phrase weaves through my life. The sports facility I belong to isn't an expensive members-only place—it's municipally owned and managed, open to everyone. Nothing fancy. Also at least $2000 cheaper every year. The ultimate expression of this outlook is my financial portfolio: a mix of low-cost Vanguard index funds, an annuity, a bond ladder, and some cash savings. Nothing fancy going on there. Doesn't seem right for me to pay 1% for active management. I won't pretend I'm not financially comfortable. But it's straightforward: I wouldn't be as comfortable if I hadn't been content with simplicity. If I hadn't been fine with nothing fancy. The appearance of wealth has never interested me. I'm sure flashier people might look at my life and shrug—"nothing fancy." They'd be right. And I'm perfectly fine with that. After all, there's nothing fancy going on here. True wealth is not the ability to buy expensive things, but the freedom gained from not needing to buy them. That really works for me.  

SOMETIMES WORLD events beyond your control create a hard reset point in your financial life. A before and after. For me, that point was the 2007 Great Financial Crisis (GFC). The psychological scars still reverberate into my current life.   Looking back, I was aware of something rumbling about in the financial landscape but didn't take much notice due to being deeply involved in running my business. Little did I realize the impact heading my way. At that point, we had finally reached a good place in life. It was ten years since founding my company and the memory of the first five tough, lean years were a fading thought in my mind. Meaningful cash was flowing into our personal accounts, and business was very profitable with dreams of life-changing expansion on my mind. Nothing seemed impossible. We were young and proud of our achievements. Mid-2008 saw banks in my country going under and the government stepping in to prop them up. My wife Suzie worked for a large UK-based international bank. I distinctly remember one Saturday morning chatting together about the crash in Suzie's employer's share price and whether we should take a big personal position. We both thought the company was fundamentally strong and a massive bargain. Any thoughts about investing went out the window by that Monday afternoon. My bankers called me to an urgent afternoon meeting. With little in the way of diplomacy, immediate repayment of loans and overdrafts was demanded within seven days. The final insult was informing me that a small, unused $100 overdraft on my personal account was withdrawn with immediate effect. Shell-shocked understates how I felt as I left the meeting. It’s a bit of a blur, and so were the next 18 months of fighting for survival. All of mine and Suzie's personal capital was poured into the business, and inventory was run down to the lowest possible level to generate cash flow. My suppliers had to wait for payment, and I purchased stock almost daily for over a year. Beyond the financial strain and exhausting work schedule, there was another weight I carried—guilt. My suppliers had to wait for payment, and that violated something fundamental in me. It was a matter of my honour and honesty. My conscience gave me no choice about paying them back; it's just what you have to do. But the delay itself felt like a breach of my word, a compromise of values I'd never imagined I'd make. The bitter irony wasn't lost on me: the banks who'd shown zero consideration in demanding immediate repayment had forced me into a position where I had to ask suppliers for the very grace my bankers refused to extend. Personally, the main anxiety I felt during the first year of our struggle was the thought of approaching the tax authorities. I was terrified of telling them I couldn't gather the capital to fully pay the corporation tax bill. Unbelievably they were the most understanding of all my creditors and accepted a three month delay without protest. It's hard to convey the unease and vulnerability we both felt. At least I had some agency trying to control our business. Suzie only saw our savings evaporate and me working 16 hour days seven days a week. We also had the worry that Suzie worked for one of the banks involved in the crisis. Our only dependable income could disappear with the snap of a corporate finger. We had no answers, but we had each other. Slowly our heads peeked above the black clouds of despair. I went from juggling cash flow on a daily basis, banking every check within an hour of receipt and praying it didn't bounce, because I wasn't sailing these stormy waters alone—my customers had issues also and they were stretching my credit terms to breaking point. One day, more than a year into the crisis, I realised there was enough in our business account. I didn't need to rush to lodge the check in my hand; one more day could pass…the beginning of a turnaround. By the middle of the third year, we had turned things around and managed to get a firm financial footing, with the business now operating on a cash-positive model. This enabled Suzie and me to start refilling our personal finances. Never again would I be dependent on credit in any manner. This reset point lasted until I sold my business earlier this year and still holds sway in my personal financial life. Undoubtedly, there was an opportunity cost to my fundamental and permanent management shift. Growth had to be slow and organic, not explosive and fueled by lending. My personal wealth would possibly be much larger if I had gone cap in hand to the banks. For me, it wasn't a hurdle I wanted to cross. A comfortable life was enough. I didn't need riches. While it was a traumatic experience, I feel it was an overall positive result. Debt changed from a way of business life to an unnecessary instrument that was also banished from our personal lives. Not much good came out of the GFC, but a dislike and avoidance of debt was the best result for our long-term peace of mind and future retirement. It wasn't a lesson I wanted or expected but it was one I certainly learned and took to heart. Have you ever reached a financial reset point in your life? Was it, like for Suzie and me, a nearly unbearable burden at the time? In hindsight, does it now seem like a worthwhile experience to overcome? Or was it too large to overcome and still negatively affecting your financial well-being? ___ Mark Crothers is a retired small business owner from the UK with a keen interest in personal finance and simple living. Married to his high school sweetheart, with daughters and grandchildren, he knows the importance of building a secure financial future. With an aversion to social media, he prefers to spend his time on his main passions: reading, scratch cooking, racket sports, and hiking.

I'm grappling with crypto at the moment. I've opened an account with eToro with a plan to make a $20,000 investment/gamble with the simple idea of leaving it for the next 10years to see what happens. I personally don't recommend this unless you're happy to lose your shirt. With crypto in my mind I was interested to read an article this morning about how your President Trump has just signed an executive order that could change things up. It seems he's directing federal agencies to make it easier for retirement plans to include alternative assets like crypto and private equity. It seems to be a big shift from the previous administration's approach. Supporters say it gives more choice and a shot at higher returns. But critics warn it's a risky move, exposing everyday savers to the wild swings of the crypto market I'm assuming it will take a while to happen. But the question begs to be asked: Is this a smart way to supercharge your retirement, or a dangerous gamble? What do you think? My view is that crypto should be treated as a long term gamble with money you can afford to lose. I'm really not sure of it being a suitable position in someone's retirement account. Would a financial advisor even be able to square this with the duty to advise in the client's best interests? I think it could probably expose them to possible lawsuits. It seems like a new can of worms is about to hit the ground. Any thoughts?

The thought came into my mind the other morning when drinking coffee in the sunroom. Over the years have you ever prevaricated or had doubts about spending money on specific things, then with the gift of hindsight realised it was a great use of your hard earned cash? The sunroom in question very nearly didn't happen. My wife Suzie and I had closed on an old two bedroom house. We could see past the surface state and knew the plot had massive potential for refurbishment and expansion into a great home. Six months later, with the end of the project in sight and with a considerable amount of cash sunk into the refurbishment, the contractor floated the idea of knocking out another wall and building a large sunroom overlooking the large mature garden. Cash was tight and it would be a considerable extra expense, but after a lot of thought we went ahead. The last minute addition is now the heart and most used space in the whole house. I don't have to stretch my memory that hard to find other occasions when doubt and reluctance over purchases have in retrospect been wonderful uses of money. When younger I anguished over taking three months unpaid leave to hike around Australia and parts of South East Asia with my wife Suzie. The loss of earnings and depletion of savings turned into one of the best experiences imaginable. Unique memories, like trying to hurry a comfort break in the Australian outback when I noticed a twenty foot snake wrapped around the roof beam above my head. Or dining in a pagoda in Java during a tropical rain storm when thousands of bullfrogs unearthed themselves for breeding during the rains. They hopped through the wall-less restaurant looking for frog romance. That money bought us an irreplaceable shared history. And finally, there's the memory that surfaces every December: the Lapland Christmas trip. When the kids were still young enough for the magic to be real, we agonized over splurging on a trip for them to go snowboarding and, of course, visit Santa. The expense felt reckless. It was the cost of a new car just for ten days of snow and childhood make-believe. But that trip wasn't just a vacation; it was the purchase of a family myth. The memory of learning to snowboard together, the moment we all lay down to make snow angels under the aurora borealis while still clutching ice creams bought two hours earlier—because we knew they'd never melt—and the sight of their faces meeting the "real" Santa, the sheer joy of it all remains vivid. Now that they're adults, the stories and the photos come out every year. The money is long gone, but the lasting emotional bond and the family legacy we created is priceless. So now when I'm faced with a decision that makes me hesitate—not because it's reckless, but because it stretches the budget or disrupts the plan, I try to ask myself a different question. Not "can I afford this?" but "will I regret not doing this?" The three examples we almost didn't spend money on—the sunroom, the travel, and the family trip—represent the three pillars of a well-lived life: Comfort, Experience, and Connection. More often than not, the things we agonise over spending money on turn out to be the things we treasure most. Sometimes the best decisions are the ones that almost didn't happen.

We welcomed guests to stay over at our holiday home yesterday. It was a lovely sunny day in the low 80’s and we spent our time at the beach. They're a young couple we're very close to who are getting married next week. We are looking forward to attending their wedding. They are a very sensible duo in their late twenties with good jobs, they also managed to get on the property ladder through their own hard work. I'm very proud of them; they have achieved a lot. After our BBQ, I was chatting to the groom-to-be, and being who I am, I steered the conversation towards financial matters. I was surprised to learn they have a crypto position that had originally been a savings fund for a new car. They are now stuck with their current older car because of poor performance with the crypto asset. Some influencer was the catalyst for buying into this unregulated area he sheepishly admitted. I would consider this young couple “poster children” for their generation and if they've been impacted by the crypto social media vortex, what about others not as sensible? As an observer of the financial world, I'm increasingly concerned watching the younger generation, smartphone in hand. It's not just the social media; it's how that tiny device dictates their financial lives, especially when combined with cryptocurrency's allure. Thankfully for this young couple it's only a temporary setback and a valuable lesson learned. While I realise the financial landscape has drastically changed beyond recognition since I was that age. I do think financial decisions were more deliberate. We'd visit a bank or advisor, or read a newspaper, allowing time to reflect. Now, with smartphones ubiquitous, every moment can be a financial interaction. Banking apps, trading platforms, and social media feeds are a tap away, blurring leisure and financial action. This constant digital tether promotes the real possibility of short-sighted decisions, making it hard to commit to long-term goals like pension contributions or in this case saving for a car. Research even suggests smartphone financial choices are more impulsive. This always-on connectivity makes my cautious approach to personal finance seem ancient. My thinking around pensions was akin to a marathon, a consistent drip-feed allowing compounding to work its slow magic. Today, that prudence is often drowned out by "finfluencers" – self-proclaimed gurus dominating social media. They flaunt luxury, subtly linking success to obscure digital assets like crypto, using intimate feeds to create false trust. This narrative is dangerous. Crypto assets are highly volatile, largely unregulated, and you can lose everything. Yet, these influencers often downplay risks, or worse, promote "pump-and-dump" schemes. They hype a coin, watch its value surge as trusting followers buy in, then sell their own holdings, leaving their audience with losses. Social media algorithms, designed for engagement, prioritize sensational content – a crypto fortune story is far more "engaging" than sensible pension or savings advice. What troubles me most is the impact on long-term financial planning. Why commit to regularly saving for a house deposit when an influencer promises tenfold returns on a new token in months, instantly visible on your phone? This shift from patience to instant, speculative gains could be catastrophic for a secure footing in life. Money meant for compounding and saving is exposed to extreme volatility, often disappearing. Many young people don't realize cryptoassets are largely unregulated, meaning protections from financial regulator's is nonexistent . If an exchange collapses, there's no safety net. Previous generations before the digital age built retirement on prudence and in general a skepticism of "get rich quick" schemes. Many in this generation face constant digital temptation, amplified by the smartphone, to gamble their future. My earnest hope is that they develop the critical thinking to choose legitimate advice over social media's siren song, protecting their money for the life they truly deserve. With regards to my young, soon-to-be-wedded friends, after a long discussion over the evening pointing out the difference between investing and speculation and other wide-ranging aspects of finance, I'm very confident they're on the right path to success due to their own sensible efforts and perhaps a little nudge from myself. I wish them well on the long road ahead.

I'm going to curse myself, question my own intelligence, spend nights sleeping poorly, and firmly consider the wisdom of "stay the course" as no more useful than a chocolate fireguard. Checking my portfolio balance will become a preoccupation to make myself nauseous. The market is at an all-time high, every metric is stretched, and knowing how I'm going to react come the inevitable correction, I'm still not changing my asset allocation. But I have made preparations—I've purchased sick bags. My reaction to the "big drop" is going to be mirrored by many throughout the world. The gnashing of teeth will become audible, a constant background noise to our emotional pain, but strangely enough, this massive correction will only affect us "sophisticated" investors. The vast majority will maybe see something on the news, probably just before switching over to the big sporting event. Our front-and-center pain will pass them by. Lack of financial interest will be their savior. Unknowingly they will practice the art of "tuning out the noise."I wonder, who really is the "sophisticated" investor? Those of us who protest the inevitable, or those who ignore the volatility—maybe by indifference, but definitely by choosing to get on with life? Is the checkout clerk who never looks at their 401k balance practicing a more advanced form of investing than those of us obsessively tracking every market move during a downturn? Maybe we should endeavour to embrace some form of “ignorance is bliss”.