My Jeep ...
I recently made a sentimental financial decision.
You may be surprised to learn about this decision given my chosen career field.
Sharing it with you matters because I want to illustrate not only how I think financial planning should work, but how I practice it and live it as a regular person. I suspect it will resonate with at least one person reading this. Or maybe just give you a good laugh 🙂
I’ve wanted a Jeep Wrangler all of my life. Seriously – I have a memory of walking down the street with my friends when I was no more than 14, admiring any Wrangler that drove by. My first memory is of a yellow one – I was probably 6 years old when I saw it at my parent’s friends’ house. I thought the lady that drove it was the coolest person in the world. I picked a different color, but yellow holds a special place in my heart.
I just knew I’d get one someday.
However, when it came time to buy my first car my junior year at the Air Force Academy, I decided to be responsible and buy a Honda Civic. It was a nice little car and fit all of the responsible check list items: not too expensive, reliable, and safe (the exact criteria I used when selecting a used car for my daughter). But I never really loved it. It felt boring. It was fine. Whatever. It got me from point A to point B. And I must be a super responsible and very intelligent person now that I made this choice. Yay for me – I won life! And I was only 21!!
I am NOT a car person. I don’t know the first thing about cars but I did know without a doubt that I did not belong in a boring Honda Civic – I belonged in a very adventurous Jeep. Still … no logic to any of this, just pure feeling.
So in 2000 I found myself thinking it was time to trade in the Honda for a Jeep. Who was going to stop me? I was now a much wiser 25 years old and a 2nd Lieutenant in the United States Air Force living a very fun life in Florida. So, I did. I bought Ms. Jeep.
Yes, I name my cars. And my plants. Ms. Jeep has driven cross country quite a few times (once with a 115 lb dog and two cats), lived with my cousin for awhile, camped out in my mom’s garage for a few years, and had some hysterical adventures along the way (one morning as I got into Ms. Jeep to head into work I found a friend of mine sleeping in the back seat).
Now Ms. Jeep is 25 years old, and I’m a little older too.
I figured it was time to have her frame inspected and make sure it wasn’t going to crumble under me. The first look at it seemed promising – a few repairs and she’d be good to go. The second look brought out a response in me I did NOT expect. No, he said – you’re better off buying yourself a used one that’s not as old but looks just the same and pretend it’s the same one.
While I did not like what I was hearing I appreciated Matt’s straightforward and low-on-bullshit response. So I listened to him. Repairing her would be a long road and an expensive one. Was I ready to do that?
But what would I do with Ms. Jeep?
Sell it, he suggested … to someone who wanted a project.
Sleep on it, he said.
He wasn’t telling me I couldn’t fix her, just that I’d need to be prepared for a large bill as I began this project. A journey, really.
As this all sank in I made a noise that my 16-year old daughter recognized. “Oh no,” she said “that’s an angry mama noise”. “No,” I said, “this is sad mama”. And the tears started flowing. Alot. I am more of a crier than a car person but until that moment I had no idea that cars could make me cry. Add that to the list. I was now embarrassed and sad.
Matt brought me some toilet paper, and he and Eric sat with me in silence just letting me talk and cry. Who knew car guys could be the best type of therapist ever? No judgment. Not a lot of words. Just space to feel something they must have seen and felt before. They got it. Cars can have sentimental value.
They also demonstrated really good financial planning skills. They wanted me to know the cost. They gave me alternatives. They gave me a solid and clear recommendation (sell her). But they said they’d help if I decided to fix her (respect for my autonomy and a willingness to collaborate). They could connect me with some other trusted advisors to fix her up. Then they told me to sleep on it and not make a rash decision.
I drove home, still crying, with my daughter in the passenger seat trying to decide if I’d lost my mind or if this was how all middle-aged women felt about their cars??
I spent most of that day coming to terms with the fact that this Jeep was a part of my identity. I didn’t think that sort of thing happened to me. She represented different parts of myself and phases of life that I value. There’s nothing rational or logical about that. It is a very human response. It doesn’t make it bad or good. It …. just …. is.
I talked with a friend who is also a Jeep person. He got it. He encouraged me to keep it. But he also knew it would make sense to sell it. He felt my emotions and he didn’t dismiss me.
The logical choice would have been to sell her and move on. Buy a new one. Or not. Do I really need two cars? I don’t. Rely on the spreadsheets, stop crying, and feel “wise” for making the “best” decision. I really thought my financial planner self might do this.
I was so close.
And then, as I continued to replay the words of “sell it to someone else for a project” I realized I wanted her to be MY project. I had wanted this all along. The day I bought her I told myself I’d keep her forever and teach my hypothetical future kids how to drive stick shift on it (I didn’t even want kids!). Strange goals but they felt weirdly important to me at the time.
I love driving that Jeep. It makes me happy. Especially in the summer when I keep the top down and drive down a country road. My son likes to enter and exit by climbing in the side, and not using the door. Driving a stick shift is so much more satisfying than a manual. “When are you going to teach me how to drive Ms. Jeep, mama,” my daughter frequently asks. She’s excited. Listening to my kids ask me to pause the song on the radio or ask how to roll up the window – it’s all so delightful! And then there’s the sound of her engine when you start it. My son will tell me to turn down the radio just so he can savor that engine sound. I could go on and on (but not about the ducks – I don’t get that. There are no ducks on my jeep, thank you).
As I sat with these thoughts and emotions over the next week I began to feel a strange sense of calm. I could do this. I didn’t need to do it fast or all at once. And I didn’t need to do it by taking out any loans or depleting accounts I specifically earmarked for other, more important, goals. I would come up with a plan and a budget and I’d fix the important things first, one at a time. I would cash flow it. I would make her my project.
A few weeks later I was back in that same shop with my Tacoma getting an estimate for a rust protection coating. I told them I’d decided to keep the Jeep. Matt pointed to my business card on the wall. I nodded. He asked what I would tell my clients if they were in my shoes. I told him I’d have a conversation with them. I’d listen. I’d ask why the thing mattered to them – where had the tears come from? I would listen some more. I’d ask thoughtful questions. I’d explore the cost of both options. I’d help them brainstorm solutions that maybe they hadn’t yet thought of. Then I’d tell them to sleep on it and schedule some time to revisit it a little later. Rarely do these decisions need immediate attention. It’s good to breathe, slow down, and look at the next smallest step.
Please don’t misunderstand me. Choosing to sell Ms. Jeep would have been a good choice, too. I am not a fan of YOLO in its extreme sense. And I don’t advocate for that philosophy as a primary decision-making matrix. That would be bullshit.
I think safe and reliable cars are an excellent choice. So are fun sexy sports cars if that’s your thing. Or big trucks. Or Jeeps 🙂 I’m not advocating for one brand of car over another. I did not NEED a Jeep. I WANTED one. Whether or not that choice was a good one is irrelevant to this particular version of my story (but one I can tell in another post).
As a financial planner I know there are choices people make that can and will break a long-term plan. I’m not in favor of leading with sentiment even if cars or kittens make me cry. But I am in favor of paying attention to that sentiment and helping someone, even myself, walk through it as a part of the decision making process.
Emotions don’t need to be sidelined.
They can be seen, acknowledged, heard, felt, accepted and embraced as further information that might help lead to a decision that the client can feel good about.
The people I serve are first and foremost people. That means they’ll have some feelings about things and money that won’t fit into a spreadsheet. As their planner, my hope is that they can talk to me about these decisions knowing that shame and guilt need not stay in the room very long. While I recognize people hire me to help with numbers, they also choose me over other planners because I know how to make space for the emotions and I’m not afraid to integrate them into the planning process. Sometimes that means encouraging them to do deeper work with a therapist before we can continue. Sometimes that means just holding some space while they talk through an issue with tears or frustration or confusion. It says it right on my website – I’m high on empathy and low on bullshit. In this story one version of bullshit would have been to ignore the emotion and forgo exploring alternate solutions.
So if you’ve ever felt embarrassed, ashamed or just plain uncertain about working with a planner because you’re afraid they won’t hear you, see you, listen to you or care about your Jeep, maybe give it a second thought. A team of trusted advisors in your life can be so very helpful. I’ve built a great team for myself to include my own financial planner and that now includes some super smart car people to help me on this adventure.
You can do the same.
