I sat across from a client, answering his endless array of “what if” questions. His incessant inquiries about the timing of his withdrawals, the pros and cons of taking Social Security at various ages, the impact health-care costs could have and a debate about the prospects of another great depression made the conversation feel burdensome, and downright scary. Furthermore, his self-doubts and straying thoughts led to worries about the upcoming election, the potential consequences of a fractured relationship with a troubled adult child and how he would rather die than spend 7-10 years in a nursing home due to Alzheimer’s.
I’m a big fan of planning and understanding all of what retirement can mean, however, in cases like this, it’s essential for advisors to help clients find ways to overcome these dark corners of retirement. That means advisors need to know when to stop negative thought patterns and shine a bright light on the possibilities that can take place with the right frame of mind and approach. Just as risk cannot be completely removed from a portfolio, worry cannot be removed from a transition plan. There are simply too many factors to consider and anticipate.
Therefore, advisors need to develop strategies to help clients reframe their situation and see it from a fresh perspective. One that hits home and provides the stimulus to make changes to what they are both thinking and doing.
One of the most powerful ways to manage retirement fear is through the use of stories that offer a happy ending for moving beyond them. Advisors don’t need to take a class on storytelling or become actors, many times they can reflect on their own personal life and experience to help clients see things through a new lens.
It reminds me of a situation I faced growing up. My grandparents had a really cool basement. It had an out-of-tune piano we could pound on, a long closet full of old coats and clothes we could play hide-and-go-seek in, and my grandfather was an electrician who loved to tinker so he had a small workshop filed with wires, switches and all sorts of gadgets.
I loved everything about it… except one area. Buried deep in one corner was the furnace room. A dark and ominous spot that was simply terrifying. A spot that made me shiver and internally panic to look at or think about walking near.
It was in the furthest corner of the basement, had no windows, and despite the lights over the laundry area, it only glowed by the flames within the belly of the furnace.
My grandparents also had a small fridge near the furnace room and would occasionally store food and drinks in it before a family get-together. I can remember being asked to go down and grab a few things and how the fear gripped me. No matter what grade I was in, any time I ventured near it, I felt something dark and daunting hanging over me… anxiously waiting for something to grab me. Of course, growing up, I’d never admit that I was petrified of the area, but neither did my siblings or older cousins.
Then one hot summer day, I ventured down to the basement to cool off and felt compelled to venture into the furnace room. I’m not sure why, but I didn’t fight the urge. I grabbed a big yellow flashlight from my grandfather’s workshop, took a deep breath to build up some courage, and walked-in.
With my heart racing and images of finding the skeleton of a homeless person or tunnel to some dark underworld swirling in my mind, I was pleasantly relieved to find there wasn’t either. Instead it was a small storage area where my uncle had left his old sports equipment, trophies and baseball cards.