Disclaimer: I am not a financial advisor. None of this is financial advice. I encourage you to do your own research.

I have always had an independent streak, especially when it came to money. Ever since I was old enough to walk to the Little Bee Mart variety store with my friends, planning what flavor of freezie I was going to buy with my saved allowance, I have loved saving, spending and earning my own money. This thrill of extra income is likely what motivated me to get my first real job at the local movie theatre at age 15. After I was downsized from the theatre due to budget cuts, I scored what would be my best job ever, Starbucks Barista. I loyally worked shifts throughout high school, closing the store late on school nights, opening at 5 a.m. on weekends, my hair and clothes reeking of coffee, my workplace becoming my social life. I can remember feeling a sense of purpose as I slung lattes across the bar towards tired customers, making the occasional grumpy one smile. As a university student I pounded the pavement and scored two summer internships in a trendy advertising agency downtown. There, the sexy brands and glitzy swag seduced me into starting my post-university career at an even trendier agency, this one with its own slide, free-flowing beer on tap, and a team of senior male partners. Most of them were kind, thoughtful leaders who made me feel like I was part of something important. I loved collaborating with them on electric brainstorm sessions and exciting industry research. But a few bad apples prone to fits of narcissistic rage and borderline sexual harassment made the experience bittersweet.

I eventually left for a more professionally-run firm. And while I experienced far less objectification and yelling at the Wonderful Agency, the recession of 2008-09 brought its share of stress, and I found myself part of a skeleton staff desperately trying to manage a tsunami of projects. My manager had the unsavory habit of informing me I would be leading a high-stakes 20-person client presentation on the elevator ride up. I started arriving at the office at 8 a.m. and leaving at 7 p.m., exhausted but still unprepared for whatever public speaking surprise awaited me the next day. In the dark days of February, I didn’t see the sun. By 25, I was burnt out.

It was around this time when I met my future husband. We locked eyes in a bright lager-scented piano bar one night and while our physical chemistry could have set fire to the place, fate was sealed the moment he asked me if I was truly happy in life. I told him no, not yet at least, but inside I was bursting with a kind of excitement I had never felt around the immature boys from my youth. Victor was not just interested in my looks, he was interested in me. And as I gazed into his dark eyes, his warm smile crinkling the corners of his tanned skin, I knew I was looking into the eyes of my husband. Minutes later when he tipsily blurted out “marry me!”, I knew we were on the same page. Some love stories take time. Ours was instantaneous. Victor quickly became the love of my life, caring for me in ways I didn’t know I deserved or needed. He would drive across the city to pick me up from my evening writing classes, dropping me off with a kiss before heading home. When my family’s first beloved dog passed away Victor was at my door with a stuffed teddy bear and tears in his eyes. In his arms I was home, the sound of his gravelly voice temporarily eliminating any worries, all my fears.

With Victor’s encouragement I applied to a Master in Journalism program in Southern Ontario, where I temporarily escaped the corporate world and found peace in a slowed-down life spent reading, writing and marathon training, experiencing all seasons as I ran through rain and snow. I emerged a year later a more confident me, fortunate to graduate debt-free.  At the age of 28 I was recruited for a digital role at a global consumer goods company. This was by far the best company I had ever worked for. No one yelled or made objectifying comments about the interns. I was given ample notice whenever I was tasked with delivering a terrifying boardroom presentation, of which there were many. I joined Toastmasters to work on my fear of public speaking. And as the years rolled by, I became good at my job in digital marketing. Around this time Victor made the brave decision to join the Canadian Armed Forces. For years he had dreamed about serving his country, being part of something bigger than himself. I admired his bravery and supported his decision, but in the back of my mind I worried about what this would mean for our relationship, not to mention his safety. But Victor had always supported my dreams. I was now being called to support his.

So that’s how, in late 2015, I found myself in Winnipeg, Manitoba where winter days commonly hit -40 degrees Celsius. Victor had recently been posted out there and my manager was letting me work remotely so I could see my fiancé every five weeks. So far, we were having a great time exploring the city’s innovative restaurant scene and ice sculpture festivals. One day, as the people outside started their frozen cars with an electric cord attached to a pole, Victor and I were reviewing our finances. Now in our early 30s, we had both saved quite a bit over the years.  

“You know,” he said, “You’ve got a pretty big nest egg saved. But your guy’s got you all in bonds! You should at least be invested in some equities. The market’s been on a tear lately!”

“Yeah but I need to preserve my capital if I ever want to buy a condo,” I said, trying to remember exactly how my financial advisor had explained it over lunch at Pusateri’s. I had been too distracted by the Keg gift card he had given me as an “apology” for over-contributing to my RRSP and causing a higher tax bill. I hadn’t even paid attention to the many mutual funds I was invested in.  

“Yeah,” Victor said, “but bonds have only returned 1% this year, and…hey, click here for a second?”

My mouse hovered over the bond fund’s prospectus as the cold wind rattled our windows. I opened the PDF.

“See this thing called MER?” Victor explained. “That stands for management expense ratio. Basically it pays for someone to manage the fund. It looks like you’re paying 2.5% to the fund company, plus you may even be paying your financial advisor a commission to buy it for you.” I thought back to our lunch at Pusateri’s. Had I paid for lunch?

“If you have $100,000 invested in this bond fund, that means you’re paying $2,500 a year, whether the fund makes money or not,” Victor said.

“So not only has my financial advisor left me with a higher tax bill, but I also just sent some fund manager to Mexico?” I asked, alarmed.

“Yup, and you’re paying them every year,” Victor said.

Victor showed me the Canadian Couch Potato website and model portfolios of low-cost index funds from Vanguard. They were arranged in order of risk tolerance: conservative, balanced and aggressive. Each portfolio provided a mix of stocks and bonds depending on your risk tolerance. We looked at the fund prospectus for a couple of funds. They all had an MER of 0.24 percent or less, far lower than what I was currently paying.

“The best thing to do,” Victor offered as he went over to the kitchen to make tea, “is take Vanguard’s online test to figure out what your risk tolerance is. How would you feel if there was a crash and your 100k was cut in half, like during the 2009 recession?” I shuddered as I thought back to my dark days at the Wonderful agency. Everyone I worked with had lost money in the stock market.

“Then once you know your risk tolerance, you can use the Canadian Couch Potato portfolios to start buying some low-cost Vanguard index funds,” Victor said as he pulled out two mugs and popped a tea bag in each.

“And then I can be the one going to Mexico!” I said, as the deep rumble of a snow blower sounded in the distance. A vacation sounded nice. I thought about the upcoming deliverables waiting for me at the Toronto office. Meetings with directors, townhall presentations, quarterly updates to the CEO. My remote working situation meant that I would spend the next five weeks in Toronto frantically catching up with back-to-back in-person meetings. I was starting to feel like I was being pulled in two different directions, my heart in Winnipeg, my career in Toronto. And my investments…stagnating? How long could I keep this up?

“I say just keep saving and investing for now,” Victor said, as if reading my mind. “You have a great job right now, and who knows where the military might post me next.” We both knew what he meant. The needs of the Forces came first. Victor could be posted anywhere, anytime. The fact that he had been posted to Winnipeg, a city with direct flights from Toronto, was a rarity.

 “They may send me to Goose Bay next, or the Yukon. Milk?”

“Mm-hmm,” I answered, distracted. The Yukon. Practically a continent away from Toronto. With no direct flights and questionable internet bandwidth, there was no way I could ever work remotely from there. How many more years could we keep our long-distance relationship thriving across this vast country of ours? And even if Victor stayed in Winnipeg for the next 10 years, would I still be flying back and forth in my forties? I closed my laptop as my anxiety started to build.

“You know you can always move out with me. It would be a nice break for you if you’re burnt out from the corporate world. You can let your investments grow and we can live off my salary,” Victor said sweetly, handing me a steaming mug.

“That’s so generous of you,” I said between sips, “but I’ve always felt like I need to make my own money, you know? I want to be able to pay my own way, go on trips with friends, or out for dinner when I want to. And I don’t know if I’m ready to leave Toronto behind…my job, Toastmasters, my yoga studio, my friends…” my voice cracked as I pictured giving up all the things that made me, well me. Everything except Victor.

But then, as I had found myself doing lately, I pictured the alternative. I saw myself in my 40s, wrapping up a work call as I rushed down the street in painful high heels, all the while missing Victor. I pictured Victor all alone on pitch black winter nights cooking himself a healthy meal, drying the dishes before getting started on the laundry. He was already doing great on his own, but I longed to be the one to take care of him. I longed to live with him under one roof. And although I was not ready to leave my life in Toronto, I knew eventually I would have a choice to make, and I would always choose Victor.

As I came to terms with every conflicting emotion I had kept inside since Victor joined the Canadian Forces, I cried tears of frustration, worry and sadness.

“Oh sweetheart,” Victor said softly, setting my tea on the coffee table and pulling me close. He kissed the top of my head. Outside the snow blower had stopped and a flurry of snowflakes fell silently.

After a couple of minutes, he said “I’m so sorry I don’t know where I’m going to be posted next. I know how difficult it must be for you. I just know that I want to be with you.”

Victor’s soothing voice never failed to calm my most overwhelming fears. The future was as clear as mud, but there was no doubt in my mind that Victor was my future.

“Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me,” Victor continued, “and if that means you staying in Toronto so you can have your life, then we’ll make it work. I can ask to be posted closer to you too.”

I wiped my tears with the backs of my hands. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll keep working in Toronto for now. Who knows, maybe in five years we’ll have a lot more money saved”. I popped my laptop back open.

“I think that’s the best COA. Sorry, course of action” Victor said in military speak. “In the meantime, you can keep saving, keep contributing to your pension, company shares, EI…”

As Victor listed off a world of corporate benefits I stared at my 100k-worth of pricey, poor-performing bonds. I wondered, if I were to invest my nest egg in the stock market through the Canadian Couch Potato portfolio, how long would it take to double? To triple? And how much would I need in order to leave the corporate world behind? Growing my wealth could take years, but I knew the longer I stayed in my comfortable Toronto bubble, the harder it would be to eventually leave.

The next day we ventured downtown to The Forks indoor market to try Winnipeg’s world-famous cinnamon buns. The sun shone brightly and bounced off the snow, reflecting golden light across the wooden coffee tables. I looked around and took in the scene of buzzing cafes, artisan candle makers and galleries showcasing Indigenous art. A polar bear made of light grey marble stood proud, conveying a calmness that could only be found in this prairie city of friendly people, artistic expression and cozy restaurants.

I pulled apart the soft pillowy dough drenched in buttery brown sugar glaze and popped a piece in my mouth. There was something special about Winnipeg, the “cultural cradle” of Canada. I decided I would be open to a future outside of Toronto, wherever that may be. But if I was going to give myself the chance of leaving the big city – and a future career, I would need to build one hell of a nest egg. I was also going to have to learn everything I could about managing my own money.

“What do you feel like doing next?” Victor asked as he reached for another piece of my cinnamon bun.

“Let’s head over to Chapters,” I said. “I want to get a book on investing.”

Repeatable steps I took that you can too!

  • When picturing your future, think about how financial freedom might help you live the life you want. Would a large nest egg allow you to leave a stressful job, move to a different city, spend more time with loved ones?
  • If you are currently invested in the stock or bond market, consider switching from high-fee actively managed mutual funds to a passively-managed, globally diversified portfolio. Not only will this save you management fees over the years, but research shows that actively-managed funds rarely beat the market index. We will learn more about this in the next two chapters.
  • Take Vanguard’s online investor quiz to see what asset allocation you are comfortable with (100% stocks, 80% stocks/20% bonds, 60% stocks, 40% bonds)
  • Review your Vanguard quiz results against the Canadian Couch Potato model portfolios to see what low-cost funds they recommend.
  • Pick up a beginner book on building wealth in the stock market. Recommendations include Millionaire Teacher by Andrew Hallam, The Simple Path to Wealth by JL Collins and A Random Walk Down Wall Street by Burton G. Malkiel.
  • Some people may still be more comfortable having a professional manage their money for them. This can be a good option for investors who are worried they might sell in a panic when the market drops. If that’s you, there are some low-cost “robo-advisors” out there like Wealthsimple or Justwealth who will invest your money in a low-cost portfolio of index funds and charge a small management fee. Even if you choose to engage a more affordable robo-advisor, I still recommend learning about how the stock market works and how to invest through index funds. Learning to manage your money is an important skill in wealth-building, and no one will care as deeply about your money as you. Over time you may find you have the knowledge and confidence to manage your investments on your own.

Works Cited

Bortolotti, D. (n.d.). Model Portfolios. Canadian Couch Potato. https://canadiancouchpotato.com