Beyond "No Money, No Prospects": Redefining What We Leave Behind

For decades, I operated under a quiet assumption that haunted my financial decisions: the belief that more money equals more love. If I could leave my sons a substantial inheritance, I reasoned, they’d remember my devotion every time they accessed those funds. It was a comforting narrative until I realized I was building someone else’s dream—not mine, and certainly not theirs.

The turning point came unexpectedly through a book that challenged everything I thought I knew about retirement, legacy, and the purpose of wealth. What began as a curiosity about an unconventional title evolved into a complete reassessment of how I approach my senior years and what truly matters to my family.

The Philosophy That Changed Everything

I picked up Die with Zero by Bill Perkins initially drawn by its provocative premise: deliberately spending down your retirement savings rather than hoarding them for heirs. The concept felt almost reckless at first—surely responsible parents preserve capital for their children’s futures?

But Perkins articulates something profound: money isn’t a scorecard measuring your worth or love. It’s a tool for crafting experiences and building memories. The author introduces the concept of “memory dividends,” the idea that meaningful moments continue rewarding us with recollections that compound throughout our lives, far beyond the initial experience.

This reframing shattered my inherited assumptions. I’d spent years watching my expenditures, perpetually restricting myself under the assumption that restraint would translate into generosity toward my sons. Instead, I was postponing joy indefinitely.

The Unexpected Blessing of Low Expectations

Here’s what surprised me most: when I finally shared this book and my evolving thoughts with my sons, they enthusiastically endorsed the idea. Both responded that they’d actually prefer we didn’t leave them substantial assets. Their reasoning was refreshingly mature—they’re well-educated, financially stable, and actively managing their own retirement planning. More importantly, they emphasized something neither their mother-in-law nor their father had been hearing clearly: they want us happy and engaged in our later years, not stressed about preserving capital.

My daughters-in-law reinforced this message independently, expressing that they’d far rather have parents-in-law enjoying travel, hobbies, and experiences than inheriting a six-figure portfolio while their grandchildren’s grandparents remained perpetually anxious.

The irony struck me forcefully: the inheritance I’d imagined as my supreme gift wasn’t wanted, and might not even have been needed. I was projecting my own scarcity mindset—shaped by decades of living paycheck to paycheck, like the estimated 42% of Americans without emergency savings—onto people who had already transcended those limitations.

Rethinking the Real Legacy

For years, I calculated withdrawal amounts obsessively, allowing myself only interest and earnings from retirement accounts. In my mind, preserving the principal was my final valentine to those I love. I envisioned them reflecting on my sacrifice every time they inherited funds.

But I’ve started asking uncomfortable questions: If my husband and I hadn’t accumulated this retirement account, would our children love us differently? If market downturns or health crises forced us to spend our reserves entirely, would they interpret that as diminished affection?

The truthful answer is no. And that realization liberated me.

What our children actually want—regardless of their age—is evidence that they’re completely loved and fully accepted. They want present, engaged parents rather than anxious ones. They want stories of adventures we took, places we visited, relationships we nurtured. No dollar amount can communicate love; only our presence and choices while we’re living can do that.

The Practical Shift

This philosophical evolution has translated into concrete changes. We’re now withdrawing more from our retirement accounts than originally planned. We won’t become wealthy, but we’ll gain comfort we previously denied ourselves. Though it feels somewhat unfamiliar, both intellectually and emotionally, I recognize this as the right decision.

I’m not adopting every suggestion in Perkins’ framework—nobody needs to die with absolutely zero. But I’m being intentional about rejecting the scarcity mentality that kept me from fully inhabiting my own life.

The Inheritance That Actually Matters

The real legacy isn’t measured in probate documents or portfolio statements. It’s built through meals shared, conversations deepened, grandchildren gathered, and the example set by grandparents who modeled the courage to enjoy what they’ve earned.

My sons never asked for a financial windfall. They asked for parents who live fully. That request costs nothing to grant—except the willingness to release outdated beliefs about what family obligation requires.

In choosing to spend rather than preserve, to experience rather than accumulate, I’m giving them something far more valuable than money: permission to pursue their own happiness without the weight of guilt or obligation. That’s inheritance worth leaving behind.