Deathmoney
I don鈥檛 want infinite money. I want enough money for a finite life.
I call this deathmoney: when your financial runway exceeds your estimated remaining lifespan. That鈥檚 where deathmoney.fyi gets its name. The money should last longer than the person spending it.
Most financial goals leave the finish line open. A million becomes ten million. Someone else buys a bigger house. You get richer while enough keeps moving away. Deathmoney gives enough a reference point: the life you have left to live.
It makes the question personal. Enough for whose life? Living where? Doing what? With whom? A number means little until you can describe the ordinary Tuesday it is supposed to support. Coffee, a song taking shape, people you love, work you would choose even if nobody paid you.
The estimate can be wrong. You might live longer than expected. Spending changes. Inflation changes what money buys. Returns disappoint. Deathmoney needs revisiting as reality changes; crossing a line on a spreadsheet cannot guarantee lifelong security. It describes a finite runway, not a withdrawal rule that promises a portfolio will sustain you forever.
Still, the question changes something. Once accumulation is no longer necessary to fund the life you want, what deserves your attention?
You might keep building companies. You might make money because the work is fascinating. You might give it away. But you can ask each ambition what it is for, instead of accepting another year of accumulation as progress.
And you can start asking before you reach deathmoney. Some things you are saving for are already available: an afternoon with a friend, a page of honest writing, a terrible first song.
The uncomfortable possibility is that you could afford your life and still keep postponing it.
I want to notice when enough arrives, and be there to live.