In Retirement, It’s Time to Put Our Costs Under the Microscope
We discovered all sorts of things we are paying for that we don’t really need or use. But there’s one cost we’re not ready to face.
4 min
The first couple of years in retirement are often the most difficult. But they also can set the stage for how you’ll fill the years ahead—both financially and psychologically. Stephen Kreider Yoder, 67, a longtime Wall Street Journal editor, joined his wife, Karen Kreider Yoder, 68, in retirement in late 2022. In this monthly Retirement Rookies column, they chronicle some of the issues they are dealing with early in retirement .
Karen
“Um, Karen?” Steve said without looking away from his computer. He was using the unnaturally neutral tone that means he’s trying not to sound judgmental.
“Oh, no,” I responded. “What is it?”
His screen showed the month’s credit-card statement. “What’s this bill for $28?” he asked. Then, after a few clicks: “Hmm, looks like it’s each month since August last year.”
We were in the study pouring over our spending records to smoke out what we call “parasites”—recurring costs that quietly suck dollars and give little or nothing in return.
I had no idea what the $28 was for, I said, racking my brain for several minutes. “Oh, wait. Yes, last August was when my sewing machine stopped working.” I had found a website that promised advice on how to fix my Bernina Sport 802. It didn’t help, I took the machine to an expert and I forgot about the advice site.
Here it was, much later, leaching a monthly fee. I must have used the credit card thinking it was a one-off.
Parasites like this were also infesting us back when we were working. But ever since our salaries stopped, each dollar seems to have grown in value. And retirement has given us the time to finally ferret out the freeloaders and to analyse what a drain they are on our wallets.
We decided to review every credit-card transaction and bank debit of the past year—and cancel as many recurring charges as we can.
Some parasites are unwitting, like the help-site bill. Others are for services we once wanted and don’t use anymore—like our Netflix account, which we’d been talking about canceling for two years. It was just $15.49 a month, so did we really want to lose it? Yes. We pulled the plug in October. (Sorry, kids, if you were still tapping in.)
Some sponges aren’t obvious from our statements alone. I recently realised that boxes of our eco-friendly dishwasher detergent were piling up. I thought I was buying online when we ran out but had mistakenly OK’d a monthly subscription instead.
Even where a service is useful, there are sometimes free alternatives. I was paying $14.95 a month for audio books. I canceled and now borrow them free of charge from the San Francisco Public Library. We’ll save nearly $180 a year.
We began looking for leaches more broadly and identified a subspecies: the lost-opportunity parasite. After we retired, we began riding city buses and local rail more often, pulling out adult-rate transit cards we’d accumulated. Then it occurred to us that we were leaving money on the table by not getting half-price senior passes: $1.25 for the bus instead of $2.50. Duh!
More lost opportunity awaited in a stack of gift cards I had rubber-banded together in my desk drawer including several from Barnes & Noble bookstores and Peet’s Coffee. I took a bus to the nearest Barnes & Noble, learned there was $30 on the cards and did some early Christmas shopping. All together, the gift cards were storing $225.
The $28-a-month parasite tracing to my sewing machine proved easy to exterminate. I called the customer-care number, negotiated a partial refund of $84 and canceled the subscription.
That will save $336 a year, enough to pay an expert to fix my Bernina several times over.
Steve
There’s a parasite down in the garage, it occurred to me after a bill came in the mail from the DMV.
The letter asked for $162 to renew the registration on my vintage Honda CB750 for a year. I nearly paid it, as I’ve done annually, each year vowing to tune the bike up and get it back on the road within months.
It’s one of two old Honda motorcycles that I’ve written about before—how they once brought me joy in the restoring but now are mostly garage gewgaws.
Our anti-parasite crusade forced me to get honest with myself last month. I could no longer use the excuse that I’ll get to the 750 after I retire. I’ve had two years, and I’m not likely to get to it next year.
So I registered the bike for non operation at $27, saving $135. Now I need to phone our insurer and back out of the $436-a-year policy on the bike. Between those two parasitic bills, I have probably paid more than the value of the bike over the seven years that I haven’t ridden it.
Maybe I can get the other bike on the road, the CB350F. If not, I’ll assign non operational status to it when the DMV bills me for it.
Still, the hardest parasite to face may be the biggest one of all: our house.
We love being retired in San Francisco, and our thriving neighbourhood has proved to be the perfect environment for a couple of aging city slickers. We are walking distance to restaurants, shops, libraries, parks and pickleball courts, and a 20-minute bike ride to the beach or nearly any other place in a city full of vibrant districts. Circles of friends are nearby.
Our home is a Victorian museum piece with a classic San Francisco feel that makes us feel even more part of our city.
But it’s too big, and it is increasingly becoming a financial and psychological drain. What we dish out in mortgage payments, home and earthquake insurance, utilities and property taxes could rent us a decent house in the Midwest with money left over to travel half the year.
There’s also the constant maintenance, the bane of a vintage-house owner. Tourists and residents alike love this city’s Painted Ladies, but we owners must fight constant entropy to keep them made up with paint jobs and preserved detail.
That’s not to mention the costs within. A decrepit old breaker box had been nagging at me from the garage wall for years, silently reminding me every time I walked past that we needed to replace it with a higher-amp box that was up to modern code.
I put off the task because of the cost. I could do it myself when I had time, I imagined, and avoided thinking about it—easy to do when life was busy with workplace and family demands.
I finally hired an electrician, who came in September to replace the breaker box and the wiring that fed it. There’s still the balky ancient redwood gutter to fix, and some plumbing issues.
We’re not ready to sell out and move to the Midwest, which we might eventually do when we’re in our slower years. And we can’t stomach the pain of looking for a smaller place in San Francisco.
So we’ll live with this big parasite for now, the elephant in the room as we hunt down smaller leaches.
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The Federal Budget may have softened some of its proposed tax reforms, but it has exposed a bigger issue: too many families are relying on wealth structures that no longer reflect the realities of modern life.
3 min
For many Australians, the 2026 Federal Budget initially felt like a direct challenge to the way wealth is created, held and transferred between generations.
The headlines were immediate: changes to capital gains tax, reforms to discretionary trusts, restrictions on negative gearing and increased scrutiny of investment structures. Unsurprisingly, affluent families, business owners and investors began asking the same question:
Is the way we hold our wealth still fit for purpose?
In recent days, the government has announced several significant amendments following industry consultation and public feedback, including exempting testamentary trusts from the proposed 30 per cent minimum tax and expanding capital gains tax concessions for small businesses.
The backdown is welcome. But it also highlights something much bigger.
This Budget has accelerated a conversation that many Australian families have been postponing for years.
The conversation is not really about tax. It is about wealth stewardship.
For decades, Australians have built wealth through businesses, property, investments and careful long-term planning. Yet many families have not revisited the legal structures surrounding those assets in years, sometimes decades.
We often see clients who have spent years building significant wealth, only to discover their legal arrangements no longer reflect their current circumstances.
Their children are now adults. They may own multiple properties.
They may have sold a business, entered a second marriage, become grandparents or accumulated digital assets that did not exist when their original estate plans were prepared.
The trust that distributes income may need to be reconsidered. The bucket company may no longer be so attractive.
The Budget has simply exposed a reality that already existed: wealth structures cannot remain static while life continues to evolve.
Importantly, trusts themselves are not the issue.
Trusts are legitimate planning tools that provide flexibility, protection and continuity. When used appropriately, they allow families to adapt to changing circumstances over time.
And neither is tax the issue, really. Getting the fundamentals right is more important for long-term, sustainable wealth than a few favourable tax treatments around the edges.
The real issue is complacency.
Too often, families create structures and assume the job is done. It isn’t.
Estate planning is no longer a document you sign once and file away in a drawer. It is an ongoing process that should evolve alongside your life.
We are also seeing a broader shift in how Australians define wealth itself. It is no longer just the family home and an investment portfolio.
Modern wealth includes businesses, digital assets, cryptocurrency, intellectual property, frequent flyer points and increasingly complex family arrangements.
At the same time, Australians are living longer than ever before, meaning wealth may need to support multiple generations simultaneously. This creates new responsibilities and new risks.
How do you help your children enter the property market without exposing family wealth to relationship breakdowns?
How do you structure wealth so that it remains a source of opportunity rather than future conflict?
These are the questions families should be asking now.
The recent debate surrounding testamentary trusts also serves as an important reminder that policy decisions can have unintended consequences for vulnerable Australians. It is encouraging that the government has listened to feedback and clarified its position.
But the lesson remains: the wealth landscape is changing.
Increasingly, governments, regulators and tax authorities are paying closer attention to how wealth is held and transferred. That means families cannot afford to adopt a “set-and-forget” approach to their structures.
The families who will be best placed for the future are not necessarily those with the greatest wealth.
They are the families with the greatest clarity. Clarity around ownership, succession and governance. And clarity around how wealth will transition from one generation to the next.
Ultimately, preserving wealth is not about avoiding change.
It is about preparing for it.
Because the greatest risk is not change itself.
It is losing the ability to respond to it.
Anthony Hunt is Co-Founder of Wealth Lawyers and former COO of Westpac Private Bank. He advises business owners, investors and affluent Australian families on wealth protection, succession planning and intergenerational wealth transfer
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