An honest look at the personal finance crisis

You know me.

I am in your friendship circle
hidden in plain sight.

My clothes are still impeccable --

bought in the good years
when I was still making money.

To look at me you would not know

that my electricity was cut off
last week for nonpayment,

or that I meet the eligibility
requirements for food stamps,

but if you paid attention,

you would see that sadness in my eyes --

hear that hint of fear
in my otherwise self-assured voice.

These days I'm buying
the $1.99 trial-size jug of Tide

to make ends meet.

I bet you didn't know laundry
detergent came in that size.

You invite me to same
expensive restaurants

the two of us have always enjoyed,

but I order mineral water now
with a twist of lemon,

not the $12 glass of chardonnay.

I am frugal in my menu choices.

Meticulous, I count every
penny in my head.

I demure dividing the table bill evenly
to cover desserts and designer coffees

and second and third glasses
of wine I did not consume.

I am tired of trying to fake appearances.

A friend told me that I'm broke not poor
and there is a difference.

I live without cable,

my gym membership

and nail appointments.

I've discovered I can do my own hair.

There is no retirement savings,

no nest egg.

I exhausted that long ago.

There is no expensive condo to draw equity

and no husband to back me up.

Months of slow pay and no pay
have decimated my credit.

Bill collectors call constantly,

reading verbatim from a script

before expressing polite
sympathy for my plight

and then demanding payment
arrangements I can't possibly meet.

Friends wonder privately
how someone so well educated

could be in economic free fall.

I'm still as talented as ever
and smart as a whip,

but work is sketchy now,

mostly on and off consulting gigs.

At 55 I've learned how to fake cheeriness,

but there are not many
opportunities for work anymore.

I don't remember exactly when it stopped,

but I cannot deny now having entered
the uncertain world of formerly

and used to be.

I'm not sure anymore where I belong.

What I do know is that dozens
of online job applications

seem to just disappear into a black hole.

I'm wondering what is to become of me.

So far my health has held up,

but my body aches --

or is it my spirit?

Homeless women used to be invisible to me

but I appraise them now with curious eyes,

wondering if their stories
started like mine.

I wrote this piece a year ago.

It's a composite of my story
and other women I know.

I wrote it because
I was tired of pretending

I was all right when I wasn't.

I was tired of faking normal.

I wasn't seeing myself
in the popular press.

Nobody I knew was traveling the world
or buying a condo in Costa Rica.

Very few of my friends had set aside
the 15 to 20 percent

experts tell us we need to maintain
our standard of living in retirement.

My friends,

many in their 50s and 60s,

were looking at a downward mobility,

a work-for-life proposition,

just a job loss, medical diagnosis
or divorce away from insolvency.

We may not have hit rock bottom,

but many of us saw a sequence of events

where rock bottom
was possible for the first time.

And the truth is,

it really doesn't take much.

The median household in the US
only has enough savings

to replace one month of income.

47 percent of us cannot pull together
400 dollars to deal with an emergency.

That's almost half of us.

A major car repair and we're
standing on the abyss.

You wouldn't know it took around you --

I'm not the only one in this situation.

There are people in this room
who are in the same predicament,

and if it's not you,

it is your parents or your sister
or maybe your best friend.

We get good at faking normal.

Shame keeps us silent and siloed.

When I first decided I was going
to come out with my story,

I did a website

and a friend noticed
that there were no photos of me --

it was all kind of cartoons like this.

Even as I was coming out,

I was still hiding.

We live in a world where success
is defined by income.

When you say that you have money problems,

you're announcing pretty much
that you're a loser.

When you're a graduate
of Harvard Business School as I am,

you're some kind of double loser.

We boomers hear a lot about
how we have underfunded our retirement;

how it's all our fault.

Why on earth would we draw down
our 401(k) plan to cover the shortfall

on our mother-in-law's
nursing home care,

or to pay for our kid's tuition,

or just to survive?

We're accused of being
poor planners and deadbeats --

all that money we spent
on lattes and bottled water.

To shame and blame
is so deliciously tempting.

Many of us don't even wait
for others to do it

we're so busy doing it to ourselves.

I say let's own our part:

we all could have saved more.

I know I could have saved more,

and if you were to rifle through
my life over the last 30 years,

you would see more than one
dumb thing I have done financially.

I can't change that now

and neither can you,

but let's not mix up individual,
isolated behavior

with the systemic factors

that have caused the 7.7 trillion-dollar
retirement income gap.

Millions of boomer-age Americans
did not land here

because of too many trips to Starbucks.

We spent the last three decades
dealing with flat and falling wages

and disappearing pensions

and through-the-roof cost

on housing and health care and education.

It used to not be like this.

We all remember the three-legged
retirement income stool

which had the savings
and pension and social security.

Well, that stool has gone wobbly.

Take savings --

what savings?

For many families,

there's just nothing left to save
after the bills have been paid.

The pension leg of the stool
has also gone wobbly.

We can remember when
many people had pensions.

Today only 13 percent of American
workers are employed by companies

that offer them.

So what did we get instead?

We got 401(k)-type plans,

and suddenly responsibility
for retirement planning got shifted

from our companies to us.

We got the reigns
but we also got the risk,

and it turns out that millions of us
just aren't that good

at voluntarily investing over 40 years.

Millions of us just aren't that good
at managing market risk.

And really the numbers tell the story.

Half of all American households
have no retirement savings at all.

That would be zero.

No 401(k), no IRA, not a dime.

Among 55-to-64-year-olds
who do have a retirement account,

the median value of that
is 104,000 dollars.

Now, 104,000 dollars
does sound better than zero,

but as an annuity,

it generates about 300 dollars.

I don't have to tell you
that you can't live on that.

With savings down,

pension is becoming a relic of the past,

and [with] 401(k) plans
failing millions of Americans,

many near-retirees are dependent
on social security

as their retirement plan.

But here's the problem.

Social security was never supposed
to be the retirement plan.

It's not nearly enough.

At best it replaces something
like 40 percent

of your pre-retirement income.

Things have changed a lot

from when social security
was introduced back in 1935.

Then, a 21-year-old male
had a 50 percent chance

of living until he was 65.

So he retired at 60,

did a little fishing,

kissed his grandkids,

got his gold watch --

he'd be dead within five years
of receiving benefits.

That's not the pattern today.

If you're in the your late
50s in good health,

you're going to live easily
another 20 or 25 years.

That's a really long time
to make ends meet

if you are broke.

So what's the play if you've landed here

and you're 50 or 55 or 60?

What's the play if you
don't want to land here

and you're 22 or 32?

Here's what I've learned
from my own experience.

The calvary's not coming.

There is no big rescue,

no prince charming,

no big bailout in the works.

To have a shot at something other
than old and poor in America,

we're going to have to save
ourselves and each other.

I've had to come out of the shadows,

stand here openly,

and I'm inviting you to do so as well.

I'm not going to tell you
that it's not easy.

I ventured though to tell my story

because I thought it would make it
a little easier for people to tell theirs.

I think it's only through
our strength in numbers

that we can begin to change
the national "la-la" conversation

that we are having
on this retirement crisis.

With so many of us shell-shocked
and adrift about what has happened to us,

we're going to have to build up
from the grassroots,

forming what I think
are resilience circles.

These are small groups
of people coming together

to talk about what has happened to them,

to share the resources and information

and to begin to figure out a way forward.

I believe from this base
that we can find our voices again

and the sound the alarm --

start pushing our institutions
and policymakers

to go hard on this retirement crisis
with the urgency it deserves.

In the meantime --

and there is an in the meantime --

we're going to have to adopt
a live-low-to-the-ground mindset,

drastically cutting back on our expenses.

And I don't mean just living
within our means.

A lot of people are already doing that.

What is called for now is to,

in a much deeper way,

ask ourselves what it really means

to live a life that is not
defined by things.

I call it "smalling up."

Smalling up is figuring out
what you really need

to feel contented and grounded.

I have a friend who drives
really beat-up, raggedy cars,

but he will scrimp and save
15,000 dollars at one point

to buy a flute

because music is what
really matters to him.

He smalled up.

I've had to also let go
of magical thinking --

this idea that if I just
was patient enough

and tightened my belt

that things would just go back to normal.

If I just sent in one more CV

or applied to one more job online

or attended one more networking event

that surely I'd get the kind of job
I was used to having.

Surely things would return to normal.

The truth is I'm not going back
and neither are you.

The normal that we knew is over.

In this new place that we are,

we're going to be asked to do things
that we don't want to do.

We're going to be asked
to take assignments

that we think are beneath
our station and our talent

and our skill.

I have had to get off my throne.

Last year, a good friend of mine
asked me if I would help her

with some organization work.

I assumed she meant community organizing

along the lines of what
President Obama did in Chicago.

She meant organizing somebody's closet.

I said, "I'm not doing that."

She said, "Get off your throne.

Money is green."

It's not easy being part
of the advanced team

that is ushering in this new era
of work and living.

First is always hardest.

First is before there are networks

and pathways

and role models ...

before there are policies
and ways to show us

how to go forward.

We're in the middle of a seismic shift

and we're going to have to find
bridgework to get us through.

Bridgework is what we do in the meantime;

bridgework is what we do

while we're trying
to figure out what is next.

Bridgework is also
letting go of this notion

that our worth and our value
depend on our income

and our titles and our jobs.

Bridgework can look crazy or cool
depending on how you were rolling

when your personal financial crisis hit.

I have friends with PhDs who are
working at the Container Store

or driving Uber or Lyft

and then I have other friends
who are partnering with other boomers

and doing really cool
entrepreneurial ventures.

Bridgework doesn't mean
that we don't want

to build on our past careers,

that we don't want meaningful work.

We do.

Bridgework is what we do in the meantime

while we're figuring out what is next.

I've also learned to think
strategy not failure

when I'm sort of processing
all these things that I don't want to do.

And I say that that's an approach
that I would invite you

to consider as well.

So if you need to move in
with your brother to make ends meet,

call him.

If you need to take in a border
to help you pay your mortage

or pay your rent,

do it.

If you need to get food stamps,

get the darn food stamps.

AARP says only a third of older adults
who are eligible actually get them.

Do what you need to do
to go another round.

Know that there are millions of us.

Come out of the shadows.

Cut back;

small up;

think strategy, not failure;

get off your thrown

and find the bridgework
to get your through the lean times.

As a country, we have achieved longevity

investing billions of dollars
in the diagnosis, treatment

and management of disease.

It's not enough to just live a long time.

We want to live well.

We haven't invested nearly as much
in the physical infrastructure

to insure that that happens.

We need now a new way of thinking

about what it means to be old in America.

And we need guidance
and ideas about how to live

a richly textured life

on a much more modest income.

So I am calling on change agents

and social entrepreneurs,

artists and elders

and impact investors.

I'm calling on developers
and distrupters of the status quo.

We need you to help us imagine

how to invest in the services
and products and infrastructure

that will support our dignity,

our independence

and our well-being

in these many, many decades
that we're going to live.

My journey has taken me
from a place of fear and shame

to one of humilty and understanding.

I'm ready now to link shields with others,

to fight this fight,

and I'm inviting you to join me.

Thank you.

(Applause)