This morning I read a book review in the New Yorker exploring the inherent tensions in raising a child prodigy: you want your special snowflake to make the most of their potential without spending so much time in competitive mode that their childhood is defined exclusively as a long and dreadful slog toward adulthood.
Starting in middle school, my friends decorated their bedroom walls with posters of sports cars whose names, to my virgin ears, suggested high end Italian prostitutes.
Lamborghini Countach might wear something gauzy and translucent as she lured me into her softly lit Tuscan den of iniquity, while Ferrari Testarossa would teach me moves that were surely illegal in the U.S. in her Milan apartment full of mirrors and vinyl furniture the color of lipstick.
I come from a proud line of Costco shoppers. My father knows most of the cashiers at his local warehouse by first name. When I accompany him there during visits home, he claps backs and greets the staff like a Tammany Hall mayor, all the while whispering conspiratorially to me, “She recently split up with her baby-daddy,” or “Next week he’s getting hernia surgery.” Costco membership is my version of the Corleone family inheritance.
Just like your financial portfolio, once a year it’s worth sitting down with your priorities to ensure that those areas where you’ve made satisfying gains have not inadvertently created blind spots of neglected priorities. This was underscored by a funeral a couple of days ago - a family member I loved died after a long hospitalization. Weirdly enough, his eulogy served as inspiration for a checklist I’ll share below.
Financial Literacy for The Newly Minted Physician