• Gary Brecka is a biologist who worked on predicting mortality for insurance companies.
• He's 56 and hopes to live to 120.
• He's purchased hyperbaric chambers and red light beds, but says sleep and community are more important.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Gary Brecka, co-founder of Ultimate Longevity Center. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I'm a biologist, and for years, I worked helping insurance companies try to predict exactly when their customers might die. I also expect to live to 120 — and I'm only 56 today.

Everyone on earth has a predicted life expectancy, based on large-scale data. When I worked for insurance companies, I used their data to analyze the specific factors that affected individual life expectancy.

What I found surprised me. For example, high blood pressure wasn't always associated with increased mortality. A lot of data from insurance companies ran counter to mainstream medical dogma.

My work was sometimes grim. One day, I found a potentially deadly medical error in a patient's chart, but I had no means to tell her. That was the day I decided I wanted to stop working to predict death and start helping people live longer, happier, healthier lives.

Skip the diets and cleanses, but move daily

A lot of longevity work isn't flashy. It's about the same healthy habits that we all know we should practice. If you show me someone's daily habits, I'll show you where they'll be in three to five years.

There's no evidence for dogmatic dieting, whether that's following keto, carnivore, or any other dietary trend. What extends life is the absence of processed foods. Likewise, you don't need to cleanse: if you're peeing, pooping, and sweating, you're already living a detox lifestyle.

Unsurprisingly, exercise is critically important. I know from working in insurance that a sedentary lifestyle is one of the biggest risk factors for death: sitting is the new smoking. Daily mobility is non-negotiable for me — I block off time for it on my calendar daily.

Put sleep on the calendar and don't use your phone in bed

Sleep is one of the most critical aspects of longevity. It's our human superpower, the time when our brains clear waste and form memories. And yet, sleep is the most bullied part of most people's calendar. It happens only after everything else is done.

I take the opposite approach: sleep is the first thing I put on my calendar. I am meticulous about keeping a solid sleep schedule, and I make my bedroom a sanctuary. To get good sleep — and all the health benefits that come with it — your nervous system needs to be regulated and relaxed.

I bring my phone into the bedroom, but put it on airplane mode. I don't scroll, watch TV, send work emails, or do anything else that could put my nervous system on high alert.

Build community around healthy habits

How often have we heard a story about spouses who have been married for decades, dying in quick succession? That's because relationships are critical to longevity — and they're something money can't buy. Your community and connections have a huge impact not only on your lifespan but also on your health span.

My kids range in age between 18 and 28, spanning all of Gen Z. Their peers are realizing how important community is. Run clubs are becoming more popular among that demographic. It's not just about physical health — anyone can lace up their sneakers and run a 5K — but about the community building that takes place before and after exercise.

We should all take a page from their books. Building social space with like-minded people who share your passions and purpose will help you live longer.

I've spent big on health technologies

The basic tenets of longevity — sleep, community, exercise, and unprocessed foods — will allow me to live a happy, healthy life. And they don't come with an unattainable price tag.

Because I have the means, I also use expensive technologies that can further support my health. I've spent well into seven figures on health technology, including saunas, cold plunges, red light beds, and hyperbaric chambers at my two houses.

I'd rather have a hyperbaric chamber than a Ferrari, and a red-light bed than a Rolex. But I also know that you can't skip the basics of healthy living, no matter what cutting-edge technology you have access to.

• Maria Sentmanat, 55, quit her six-figure job this summer without another job to go to.
• She started Why Not Wild, giving guided tours of the South Florida wilderness.
• She's not making any money and living off her savings, but says the move has saved her mental health.

This as-told-to-essay is based on a conversation with Maria Sentmanat, 55, who is based in Miami, Florida. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I'm a high school dropout who came from a single-parent family. My upbringing was filled with chaos and instability. I never thought I'd end up being the type to earn a six-figure salary, but that's exactly what I ended up doing — and walking away from this year.

On paper, I was definitely successful. I had a $153,000 paycheck managing one of the largest 5K races in the country, a job I'd held for the past five years. I could have made up to $180,000 next year if I had stayed on.

The job was a new opportunity when I really needed one

You could argue it was the culmination of the fitness career I had spent 16 years building, after becoming super overweight following the birth of my daughters. I became a personal trainer and ran my own wellness-focused fitness studio. I'd created something special.

But then the pandemic happened, and I lost everything. I couldn't run my studio anymore, and struggled to build it back up again once the restrictions were lifted.

The founder of this race event was a friend, so when she told me she needed a new race director, it felt like an opportunity life was giving me. I completed all the required certifications and threw myself into this new role, which was both incredibly stressful and rewarding.

But things started to change. I started to dread going to work, and my stomach was always upset. I felt myself going into "fight or flight" mode, with the trauma from my childhood resurfacing, that I just didn't need.

I felt heavy, and my daughters — who are now 25 and 27 — could see it. I would go out into nature to decompress, but I was always thinking, "What am I going to do with this massive thing hanging on the side of my neck?" I got to a state where I just felt numb, even though I was continually asking myself, "What are you going to do? How are you going to keep doing this?"

I quit with no other job lined up

I resigned in August 2026, with no other job to go to, which some people called crazy.

But I had a strong feeling that I needed to find purpose and passion again. I knew that would be through nature. That's where I heal. That's where I can find a place that I feel seen, heard, understood, and held.

So I knew I had to build something that centered on connecting people with nature, so "Why Not Wild" was born. I take people into the wilderness around South Florida, but it's not packages. It's completely personalized. I want to talk to you and find out what you need.

I'll take you hiking through the Everglades, but it's not like, "oh, look at this nice trail". You will have to walk through water, and for some people, that is a big thing to overcome. For people who don't want to hike, I do motorcycle adventures.

I want people to reconnect with an entity we have caused so much destruction to. I want to be the bridge. I'm using my social media platforms to create awareness of what's beautiful out there.

I'm finding purpose again

Financially, I'm OK. I've been super strict about my savings, even while paying $4,700, helping my daughters, and paying my SBA loan from my previous business. I owned a home in Mount Dora that I sold last year too. I could live comfortably for six months, even a year, but then I'd have no savings left.

My ex-husband and I divorced when the girls were young, but we still co-parent very closely. He has a key to my place, comes over to eat several times a week, and we even go on vacation together. Our kids haven't had that typical divorce experience, which we worked hard to be intentional about. He and the girls are happy that I have done this — they have complete faith in me.

I'm not making any money right now, but I wake up excited about every day. What door is going to open? What's going to happen? Even if this doesn't work out, I was brave enough not to get caught up in what was, in effect, a bad marriage. I'll know that I was brave enough to try.

I have lost all that income and future security, but I have gained so much more. I feel better mentally, physically, and spiritually.

• Nikita Chernetskii moved to New York City from rural Moldova when he was 18.
• He joined the Army and worked as a combat medic, which gave him a sense of purpose.
• He was worried about affording med school and starting a family.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Nikita Chernetskii, a medical school student at New York University's Grossman School of Medicine. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I've wanted to be a doctor since I was a little boy. In Moldova, where I was born and raised, you apply to medical school right after finishing high school. As I was applying for medical schools, my parents won the green card lottery, giving our family the chance to come to the US.

Suddenly, I had a huge choice in front of me. Do I take the chance to go to the US, or keep pursuing my dream? I'd always been raised on the idea that the American dream was alive and well. I was also young and naive: I thought I could just apply to medical school once I got there.

I'll never forget landing at JFK in August with my parents and sister, who was in fourth grade at the time. I'd never seen a building taller than nine stories, and suddenly I was looking at the Manhattan skyline. It was surreal. I can still remember the smell as we left the airport, of hot asphalt and summer in the city.

I felt like I was in limbo, seeing my friends chase their dreams

Living in the US was a shock, to put it mildly. New York was so, so different from the rural area of Moldova where we'd lived. I'd gone to an English-speaking high school, but it was set up according to old Soviet standards. Once I was in the US, I realized that I'd been taught English for people who would never speak English: my grammar was excellent, but my vocabulary was very limited.

I knew life wouldn't wait for my dreams. My dad and I started working as porters, making about $500 a week. Part of the job was taking out the trash to the dumpster, but I was pretty happy doing that. The pay was more than I would ever make in Moldova.

I realized that going to med school in the US wasn't realistic. I didn't have the money and didn't understand how college worked here. That sent me into a period of limbo. I would work and save money just to go visit friends in Moldova. I saw them moving toward their goals, while my life stayed the same. Psychologically, it wasn't the greatest time for me.

Joining the military reaffirmed my desire to be a paramedic

On one of those trips home, a friend suggested I join the military. Within a month, I was marching in basic training. My poor English meant I couldn't always understand the directions. I just ran where the other recruits ran, and hoped it was right.

I scored well enough on my aptitude test to become a medic. The work was so fulfilling to me, and helped me cope with the rushed decision to join the military in what was still a foreign country to me.

I was deployed in Germany when the pandemic hit. I'd work 24-hour shifts, sleep for four hours, and get back to it. That's when others started telling me I should become a doctor. I realized that desire was still burning inside me, and I wouldn't be able to sleep well if I didn't at least try.

I leaned on every connection I had to help get into med school

I used the GI bill to pay for college. While I was there, I was accepted into the New York University internship program that pairs aspiring doctors with faculty. I worked with a trauma surgeon at Bellevue Hospital and knew I wanted to spend my life doing what he did.

When it came time for me to apply to medical schools, I knew I needed to be at NYU. I shook all the trees I could. I had no shame and asked anyone for help. The whole process was so stressful that it was almost a blur to me.

The idea of taking on half a million dollars in debt for medical school was frightening. I think I would have done it, but it would have meant delaying other goals, like having children with my wife.

This year, when I was accepted to NYU's Grossman School of Medicine's three-year, tuition-free medical program, it was surreal. When I dreamed of practicing medicine as a boy, I thought I'd be making $300 a month doing old Soviet techniques. Now, I'm learning cutting-edge science that feels like it's plucked from a sci-fi movie. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life, and I'm well on my way to my American dream.

• Lonni Pike got sober at 51 after years of addiction and felt ready for a fresh start.
• She rejected expectations that older women should dress conservatively or fade into the background.
• Now 62, she's a fashion influencer, Twitch gamer, and advocate for aging on her own terms.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Lonni Pike. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Eleven years ago, when I was 51, I got sober after years of struggling with addiction. I felt vibrant again and ready for my life to start.

What I was met with was messaging on TV, social media, and even in day-to-day life that I had missed the train. I was too old, too boring, and I would just need to move along.

Everything associated with women and aging seemed to be negative. Even women themselves were negative about aging, and started hiding away, blending in, or getting treatments to chase youth.

But that wasn't going to be me. I was tenacious and determined to live the life I had another chance at.

I started expressing myself through fashion

Loving fashion, I started finding clothes that told the world who I was. Fashion is much more than clothing — it's the way people feel about themselves.

Most women my age had given in to the expectation that an aging woman is meant to be drab and boring.

For a bit of fun, I went to a clothing store and asked a staff member to help me find something to wear. She chose a pair of tan pants and a button-up, plain top, with a pair of loafers.

We are told not to show our arms because they are too flabby, not to wear miniskirts because our legs should not be seen, and to avoid bold colors so we don't stand out in a crowd.

I'd break out of this noise and dress in a way that made me feel good about myself.

With the help of my son, who studied broadcast journalism, I started posting on social media about what I was wearing.

I remember people telling me I looked like I was dressing like a teenager, or asking why I was wearing men's clothing. I often responded by saying that clothes don't have an age or gender, and that I was dressing to represent myself.

I've now created a community, mostly of women, who are watching my content and being reminded that aging isn't something to fear. It isn't the end.

My quest to age in the way I wanted didn't end with fashion

I shaved my head because I hated my hair and felt that a buzz cut would make me feel more like I felt inside.

Three years ago, I started a gaming channel, and I've become a TikTok gaming live pro and Twitch partner.

My sons had always played video games, and it looked really fun. But I knew it was a notoriously young crowd. I asked if I was too old to game. It was when I found another gamer, Tactical Grandma, who was around my age, that I knew I should try it.

I started solo hiking because, after getting sober, I needed that time alone outside, moving, to reflect. Slowly, I built up my fitness.

In October, I'll run my first 5 K. This was a goal I had after watching people run a half-marathon. I thought half-marathoners would be young and super fit, but there are so many different ages and shapes.

Having gotten tattoos for years, I was determined to continue getting them as I aged. They are my life's journey inked out on my skin. I don't worry about the wrinkles or a changing body shape that might alter how they look. The canvas the tattoos are on doesn't have to be perfect — I love the tattoos for what they represent, not for how aesthetically pleasing they are to other people.

Next month, I plan to get bird tattoos along the right side of my neck.

As I continue to age, I want to be louder. Not "in your face" kind of loud, but I do want to talk more frequently about aging.

Women can be comfortable getting older. They don't need to be perfect to be beautiful. In the world of AI, injectables, and cosmetic procedures, this is a powerful message.

It seems that growing old is becoming a dying art. That's why I want to pop up in their feeds to say that none of it's true. Aging doesn't have to be something we dread.

Sometimes, my body doesn't keep up with my brain. Running had been hard and ruined my feet. Gaming for eight hours a day has been hard on my body. And that's OK — I'll pivot and pursue something else instead.

I tried new things in my 50s and 60s, and I'll continue fearlessly trying more until I can't anymore.

• My husband is 23 years older than I am, but our age difference never bothered me before.
• Now that he's 61 and we're raising two young kids, I'm noticing our different energy levels.
• I love our life together, but I'm struggling with the realities of our age gap.

When my husband and I first met back in 2014, we had what many would consider a whirlwind romance. We met, fell in love almost instantly, moved in together after a year, got engaged six months later, married a month after that, and a little over a year later, welcomed our first child.

It was all very exciting, rushed, and filled with emotion and love.

I'm also a very rational person who doesn't get easily swept up in the moment. So we talked about a lot of the "hard" decisions that couples so often neglect to discuss at the beginning of a relationship. We talked about children, our future, and what we wanted our lives to look like. That's why, now, more than 12 years later, it's surprising to find myself struggling with something I thought I had already made peace with: our age gap.

He is 23 years older than me

My husband and I have a 23-year age difference. Yes, I was always aware of it. And, to be honest, it never really made a difference to me.

Especially when it came to the big life decisions, including having children, we had those conversations before we even got engaged. I knew exactly how old he was. I knew there would be things about growing older together that would be different for us.

But I guess there's a big difference between being aware of something that could eventually happen and actually living it.

Our age difference has been showing up in more ways than one lately, and there's a part of me that's angry with myself for being surprised by it.

It's not like my husband was always going to be the 48-year-old I met when I was 25. I knew he would age. I knew things would change as he got older. I knew there would eventually be a point when the difference between us became more noticeable.

I just don't think I ever wanted to admit to myself exactly how much.

He's in his 60s now

I knew he was going to be an older father. I knew all of this. But knowing something and seeing it firsthand are two very different things. Lately, I've seen just how much his 61 years are catching up to him, and it's been putting me in a strange place.

I keep a lot of things together for my family. We have two young children, and I have my own business. There is already a lot that weighs on me. But what I've noticed recently is my husband's physical health beginning to catch up with his age.

Don't get me wrong — my husband is in great shape for a 61-year-old. But at the same time, most 61-year-olds aren't running after toddlers or handling the daily insanity of school drop-off and pick-up.

And that difference is becoming harder for me to ignore. What bothers me most is how naive I feel. I knew this was a possibility. Quite frankly, my husband knew it, too. When we discussed having children, we were always on the same page, but he expressed his concerns about being an "old" dad. I heard him. We talked about it. We made the decision together.

And yet, now that I'm watching the reality unfold in front of me, I'm beginning to feel guilty. As though I've been selfish. As though somehow this isn't fair to my kids.

I see how much fatherhood — and, frankly, being a husband — can weigh on him.

The everyday insanity of being part of a household with a high-maintenance 8-year-old and a very independent 3-year-old is a lot for anyone, myself included. But it's especially a lot for a 61-year-old.

Sometimes he physically can't keep up with our 3-year-old, who runs at a pace that could outrun the best of us. Sometimes he mentally can't keep up with our eight-year-old, who talks at about a million miles a minute.

And those moments make the age difference feel very real.

It's not just the fatherhood aspect

I feel his patience with me beginning to waver, too, and I wonder how much of that is because we're simply in such different phases of life.

I have a thriving public relations firm, and I feel like I'm just getting started. I have energy and ambition and a feeling that there is still so much ahead of me.

He had a contracting firm for many years, but that chapter of his life is well behind him now. At his age, he should be enjoying retirement. Instead, he's a stay-at-home dad and handles a huge amount for our family. But he's far from retired.

He's the only one who drives, so he's the family's chauffeur. He makes appointments and handles logistical things. He oversees the renovations on our house. He does the grocery shopping. He does so, so much.

And the truth is, at this age, maybe he shouldn't have to.

Our relationship itself hasn't really changed. We are still very lucky to have an incredibly open and loving relationship. We talk about these things. We try to give each other space and understand where one another is coming from. We each do what we can mentally and physically for each other, for our children, and, just as importantly, for ourselves.

I think what we're realizing is that neither of us has ever been here before.

We knew there was an age gap when we met. We knew what it meant on paper. We talked about the difficult possibilities before we got married and before we had children.

At 25, I could understand that my husband was 23 years older than me. At 38, I can feel it.

• I'm an Airbnb Superhost with an average rating of 4.9 stars from 90 guests.
• Everyone is buzzing about the new rules that limit the chores hosts can ask guests to complete.
• I support the change. Guests are paying to use a space, their last memory shouldn't be a checklist.

The internet has been buzzing about Airbnb's latest policy change over restrictions on what a host can — and cannot — ask a guest to do before they check out.

I've been renting my home in the Hudson Valley for five years, and have been a Superhost since 2023. Currently, I have 90 guest reviews with an average rating of 4.97. That's not an accident. It's something I work hard at.

Though the property management company I work with hasn't always loved it, I've never been big on requiring guests to follow a strict cleanup policy. While we did ask for dishes to be done at one time, that hasn't been part of my guest instructions since 2025. For me, the most important tasks are to turn off the lights and return the key to the lockbox before guests leave. Beyond that, I don't expect much else, though I know that hasn't been the norm for some Airbnb users.

Guests are still guests

Somehow, the B&B part of the nomenclature appears to have gotten lost. I've seen users who fear bad reviews if a place isn't meticulously cleaned, voicing their concerns on Reddit and Facebook. For me, that's not something I think someone should have to worry about when they're paying to use a space.

While there are legitimate stories of guests destroying a place or leaving it in shambles, this hasn't been my experience. I believe the majority are good guests.

There is still a cleanliness rating for hosts to fill out about guests, so I imagine that even without imposed rules, most will do the dishes anyway. Leaving a bag of trash inside the house shouldn't result in a host docking a star or two from their review. It should be part of the stay, especially since hosts can set a cleaning fee for their property upfront.

I am glad the company has intervened on behalf of the guests. They are staying at a vacation rental, not a work exchange.

Hosts like me can have little time between bookings

I understand the rationale behind hosts who have lots of rules. There is often a small window between turnovers, and hosts want to make sure they have enough time to wash and dry everything before the next guests arrive.

It's something I worry about, too. That's why I keep extra linens and dishes on hand. They're there to use just in case there isn't enough time to complete everything between the bookings.

At one point, my property manager and I disagreed over what we wanted guests to do. I felt as if he was taking it personally if someone left dirty dishes in the sink or didn't sweep up. With this rule change, we'll no longer be at odds, and I'm glad.

Most guests have been respectful of the space

I am fortunate. I have rarely had a guest be anything less than tidy, and I have also had hardworking cleaners who have taken linens home to wash because turnovers have been so tight.

None of my guests have complained about my rules directly to me or in the comments they've left online about my property. I intend to keep it that way.

I host because I enjoy it

Everyone has their own reasons for getting into this business. For some, it is purely fiscal, but for me, it has been personal. This is my house, and I take tremendous pride in it and the surrounding area. I vet each potential guest personally and hand-pick a welcome gift for them. I want them to have a lovely stay, leave with fond memories, and maybe even a desire to return one day.

The last thing I want a guest to do is worry about a lengthy checklist of tasks before leaving. I don't want that to be their last memory of their stay.

Soon, a mother and daughter will be staying at my property for the third year in a row. In my emails to them, I wished them a safe journey and said we would take care of the rest — and I meant it.

• Getting rid of just five things a day can make decluttering feel much more manageable.
• Small daily efforts add up, helping clear crowded drawers and surfaces over time.
• The key is consistency, not trying to organize your entire home in one weekend.

The holidays are around the corner, and soon the chaos of hosting and travel will start. If tidying the house and reducing your clutter are things you thought you'd get to this year, let's take the pressure off and do it as gently as possible, before it ends.

I help my clients get rid of clutter year-round. Here are a few strategies to make a tough task easier.

Be realistic

One thing that can derail your decluttering project is false optimism. Have you ever said, "We'll clear out the garage on Saturday and w'll do something fun Sunday!"? Taking care of stuff that has resisted management for years won't be done in an afternoon. There are so many choices to make when you're trying to get rid of things, and that's where confusion and exhaustion make a seemingly simple process into one that's hard to face.

But don't despair — you can make progress and get things tidied up before next year. Imagine not having this task on your list when spring's optimism returns.

Slow and steady is key

You remember the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race, and it will also get your home feeling more spacious and tidy. Try the five-a-day (or three-a-day, or two-a-day) method. Put a cardboard box in your back hall, garage, or other staging area. Choose five (or three or two) things every day and toss them in the box — or the trash.

These items can be anything; on a challenging day, you might get rid of an old dried-up glue stick, a charging cord that doesn't match your current phone, and a stack of expired coupons. When you wake up one day feeling motivated, you might look for five pairs of unworn shoes and also choose five books you don't want anymore.

It might feel like these small movements won't make a dent in the problem, but they will. After a couple of months, you'll find that drawers are less crowded and you can start to see surfaces again. Just keep at it.

Do not fear the garbage can. Recycling is important, but at a certain point, things do become trash. Holding on to them because you feel guilty about the landfill isn't helping the planet. If you want to make a difference, try buying less.

Schedule the hard stuff

Maybe you've got a broken lawnmower. Is there a place in your community that recycles old equipment? Maybe there's a high school shop class that would take it. Maybe a handy neighbor can fix it up. Spend a little time doing your research, then choose a day to take the lawnmower to its next home.

Getting those challenging items out of the house is a huge help. Accept that it might take a little ingenuity, time, and energy; if you don't expect it to be simple and instantaneous, you won't be so easily discouraged.

Maybe it makes sense to hire someone to haul away the unwieldy stuff. Great! Just do it.

Gamify decluttering

Waiting for the coffee to brew? Look around the kitchen. Surely there is one thing that can be thrown away. Waiting for the shower water to heat up? Find one thing in the bathroom you can do without. Try getting rid of one thing in every room in the house. Then do it again tomorrow.

Make a bet with your partner, roommate, or kid. Who can get rid of the most stuff in a day or a week? Initiate challenges! Hand out prizes! Turn home management into a game instead of a chore.

Tidy in phases

Maybe it's not just clutter making your life difficult. Look, you're tired, life is challenging. If your house is consistently untidy, try this: stand up and put 10 things back where they belong. Glass in the dishwasher, shoes in the closet, magazine in the recycle bin, etc. Set an alarm for a half hour, then get up and do it again.

Call it lazy or call it realistic; if the work gets done, it's done, whether you did it in an hour or five. Who lives in a perfectly tidy house, anyway? Don't let those TikTok feeds fool you; very few of us enjoy curated spaces with zero clutter or dust. We're living in our homes, and life is inherently messy.

Do yourself a favor; spend as much time actually managing your stuff as you do berating yourself for not doing it. You'll improve your mental health and your house will feel better.

• My husband and I have different approaches to investing.
• He's risk-tolerant, and I'm a bit more risk-averse.
• Still, we've managed to talk through financial decisions and find a common ground.

The conversation started because of a windfall: it was the first month that we didn't have the preschool tuition payment because my son was starting kindergarten. "I'd love for this money not to just disappear into the monthly budget," I said to my husband.

He nodded, and immediately had a suggestion. "What if we used it to start up a brokerage account? It'd be good to have some investments that are accessible without penalty before retirement."

Our approaches to investing differ

I knew, deep down, that this was a reasonable response to my point: we both already were on board with the idea of paying ourselves first, where we commit to an amount ahead of time for savings and retirement investments and then live on whatever we earn above that. This strategy served us well, and I wasn't opposed… exactly.

"I was actually hoping to use some of it to add to our emergency fund," I told him slowly. "And maybe getting some additional solar panels I've been looking at."

We have recently lived through instability that made me really appreciate the kinds of standard comforts that are currently easily accessible. Our family experienced the impact of a major hurricane only two years ago (Hurricane Helene), and when water, electricity, and telecommunications were interrupted for days and then weeks, I realized that a relatively modest amount of money and supplies would have made weathering a period of instability easier.

This is the place where my husband and I diverge: I tend to see things somewhat pessimistically, believing there's a good chance supply chains will be interrupted more than a few times during our lifetimes due to a variety of factors.

My husband has a generally optimistic, risk-tolerant approach to life. He knows we've made a solid plan for retirement, so he sees that a brokerage account offers promising returns (not guaranteed, but based on historical data) on funds that we've worked hard to earn. I'm sometimes fearful of the possibility of losing everything in a stock market crash.

I don't think either of us is truly at odds with the other person: my husband witnessed Helene and set to work setting up a battery backup system for our solar panels, an impressive feat and investment that falls more in line with my own risk-averse nature.

And I've never squashed his goals of investing for both short and long-term stability, even if, deep down, I want all our savings in high-yield savings accounts with FDIC protection.

We've learned how to figure out what's right for us

In order to make these conversations civil and positive, we tend to follow three steps.

First, we each get to make the case for why this investment, and why right now.

I think some of the way that we both get over our anxieties about spending or saving well is that we want to be heard, so he hears me out when I want to construct an expensive greenhouse on our property to grow more food, and I hear him out when he identifies that our current ages merit a somewhat risk-tolerant strategy so that we can reap the benefits when the market jumps higher.

Frequently, this process of hearing each other out helps us find an in-between pretty organically, and finding an in-between is the second step. Sometimes, we realize that, for instance, we are too busy to take full advantage of a greenhouse right now and should table it for a year or two. However, maybe this is a good year to invest in a higher-speed home charger for our electric car. Because many of his goals are "invest as much as possible," it's usually possible to buy some portion of the physical items I want while still contributing to our investments.

When I'm advocating for a deeper emergency fund, housed in a high-yield savings account rather than a market-invested brokerage account, I typically ask that we contribute in a percentage-based way. If I ask, for instance, for a windfall to be split 30/70, he gets to invest 70% of the money toward higher yields, and I get 30% in a very secure account. It's not exactly what either of us would like, but it ultimately gives us some benefits of both risk-averse and risk-tolerant strategies.

Finally, any time we find a split that really feels aligned for us, we see if we can make it a rule for the future, the third step. No one loves having to reinvent the wheel every time new money conversations come up. When that 70/30 split worked well for us once, I've returned to it for later money decisions, and while it sometimes needs to be adapted, it lets us balance each of our needs without a long discussion. My husband, famously of few words, likes when we can keep the conversations a little shorter and get back to playing a board game or watching a silly TV show to relax.

When we hear each other out, find a useful middle ground, and operationalize the result for future use, we find ways to invest in both a more secure and a more growth-focused future, favoring methods that work well for both our risk tolerance levels.