Dan Smith

I WAS 48 years old when the judgement was final and the papers were signed. My former wife and I split our net worth 50/50. There were no arguments over household items like furniture; I didn’t care about that stuff. Pam gladly accepted my proposal that she keep the house, and all its equity, in exchange for me keeping an offsetting amount of the IRAs and my 401(k), a very good move for my future self.

IT WAS 1982 OR thereabouts. After attempting to be a landlord for several years, I decided it wasn’t for me. I sold the house and the four-family apartment building I’d been managing.
The final task in closing out this adventure would come at tax time. Keeping the books was the one aspect of being a landlord that I didn’t mind. I understood how accumulated appreciation would be recaptured and how capital gains tax would affect that year’s taxes.

I RECENTLY READ AN article by Anna D. Banks, an executive coach and human behavior consultant, who talks about the importance of cultivating friendships in retirement. She discusses embracing new activities, volunteering, reconnecting with old friends, using technology, attending social events, and being open-minded about forming friendships with people from other backgrounds.
All this got me thinking about HumbleDollar.
The Breakfast Club is a coming-of-age movie from 1985—a movie,

JEFF, DAVE, JERRY, Glenn, John, the ElderBeerMen, and then Jeff again. Experts say a robust social network is crucial to a happy retirement. My life’s journey has revolved around a handful of friends who begin and end with the same good dude. 
I was a 15-year-old kid who didn’t like school, and I had the grades to prove it. I did, however, have two burning desires. I couldn’t wait to turn 16 so that,

“SELL THE SIZZLE, BOYS.” With those words from the sales manager at a big insurance company, the 2003 class of newly minted registered representatives were off to the races, extolling the virtues of the firm’s products to family, friends and anyone else who would listen.
I still vividly remember that moment. Yes, I was there.
To become registered reps, the 2003 class had to pass the necessary exams to get a Series 6 securities license and a license to sell life and health insurance.

HOW DO SOME INVESTORS end up in places they don’t belong? Where do they turn for information and guidance? Who do they talk to before making important financial decisions?
What follows are the results of my unscientific research, which was conducted in some of the finest and most respected centers of advanced learning anywhere.
Barroom seminars, your window on the world. Are we talking politics, investing, religion, world peace or other topics of paramount importance,

WHEN I GOT DIVORCED, my ex-wife told the judge at family court that I was good with money. But most folks I knew at that time wouldn’t be so kind: They’d say I was cheap.
No, I didn’t align myself with the financial independence-retire early, or FIRE, movement. During my days as a driver-salesman, after I diverted 15% of my pay into the 401(k), I spent every nickel raising the kids, paying the bills and trying to keep up with my big bucks buddies.

IN SPRING 1984, WHEN I was age 32, we purchased a little ranch house in need of tender loving care. That’s why I found myself in a musty crawlspace, removing clutter and installing vapor barriers.
I heard a booming voice from above. It wasn’t God telling me I should run for president. Instead, it was my new neighbor Ken. I came to the surface, dusted myself off and went inside the house.
Standing there was a 47-year-old,

I SPENT A GOOD portion of my early adult life in neighborhood taverns. Back then, I sold beer for a living. You can imagine that I saw and heard some crazy things. Remember the sitcom Cheers? I knew doppelgangers for each and every Cheers character.
But the things I heard in those bars didn’t come close to the things I heard later when I worked as an income-tax preparer.

I DON’T FIT THE USUAL profile of a HumbleDollar reader. I don’t have what I’d consider a high net worth, nor am I a college graduate. Still, I hope my story shows it’s possible to reinvent yourself.
Around 1920, my dad’s family moved—with few belongings but a willingness to work—from Tennessee to northwestern Ohio. My dad met my mom while working at Hostess Bakery, and he later worked at Willys-Overland, welding together Jeeps during World War II.