Brett and I rambled nostalgic about Notational Velocity forks, ran barefoot across the socio-political-economic mine field of U.S. health insurance, and discussed the power usage of mind maps in almost perverse way. I'm of course referring to episode 143 of Systematic, which I had fun being a part of.
I've always felt like the most interesting aspect of investing and finance is the wealth of data it generates on human behavior. Securities markets and investor sentiment shed a lot of light on behavioral patterns long before the internet, social media, and Big Data.
One of the most interesting facets of personal finance is the savings decision—the cognitive exercise of time-shifting wealth and income. As human longevity increases, this has only become more fascinating and rife with logical error.
Vanguard released a lengthy report, "How Americans Save," describing recent trends in the behavior of defined contribution plan participants (e.g. people with 401(k)s). The data in the report highlight one of the most important findings (in my opinion) in the field of behavioral economics: the tendency to rely on default choices.
From page 22 of the Vanguard's report:
Faced with a complex choice and unsure what to do, many individuals often take the default or “no decision” choice. In the case of a voluntary savings plan, which requires that a participant take action in order to sign up, the “no decision” choice is a decision not to contribute to the plan.
The way most plans mitigate this error in human judgment is to make the decision for participants:
With an autopilot design, individuals are automatically enrolled into the plan, their deferral rates are automatically increased each year, and their contributions are automatically invested in a balanced investment strategy. Under an autopilot plan, the decision to save is framed negatively: “Quit the plan if you like.” In such a design, “doing nothing” leads to participation in the plan and investment of assets in a long-term retirement portfolio.
These are powerful implications if you think about it. Just scale it up for millions of Americans and billions of dollars in retirement accounts. And consider the fact that when companies opt employees into savings accounts, they're also setting a default savings rate:
High-level metrics of participant savings behavior remained steady in 2014. The plan participation rate was 77% in 2014. The average deferral rate was 6.9% and the median was unchanged at 6.0%. However, average deferral rates have declined slightly from their peak of 7.3% in 2007. The decline in average contribution rates is attributable to increased adoption of automatic enrollment. While automatic enrollment increases participation rates, it also leads to lower contribution rates when default deferral rates are set at low levels, such as 3% or lower. (p. 4)
Key takeaway: if you have a 401(k), the current balance is more likely a function of explicit or implicit decisions someone else made for you rather than decisions you made yourself. It's worth spending a little time pondering the degree to which you're allowing someone else to plan your future. Don't be too human if you can help it.
I think project planning, money management, diet, and exercise are all a lot alike. Strategies for doing any of them well are mostly common sense.
Everyone knows that eating fewer calories and exercising more is better than not. Everyone knows they should save more for the future. Everyone knows they should just do the things on their task list instead of doing something they'd rather be doing in the moment.
Everyone—everyone—knows all of these things. But everyone—everyone–is only good at doing these things well for short sprints of time before their irrational sub-minds mutiny (again). And again.
Why are we so fucking stupid?
We're not really. We've just been grading ourselves using the wrong standardized test metrics. "Common sense" approaches falsely assume that people are closer to clockwork than orange. We aren't machines. We're mostly emotional artifacts of a past when the future was so improbable that it didn't make a hell of a lot of sense to waste time planning for it.
Though we are the supposedly self-aware species on the planet, we still have a long way to go before we really figure ourselves out. Fortunately the field of behavioral economics is putting us on a better course.
One of the most interesting results I've seen in the last few years came out of a study lead by Hal Hershfield. He found that people make better—and more committed—decisions about retirement planning if they are shown hypothetically aged images of themselves. He found that when we think about our "future selves," our brain activity is essentially the same as when we think about other people. So this "aged self" hack was a way of making the mental image of our future self more personal to us.
Of all the write-ups on Hershfield's findings, I like Alisa Opar's the best:
It turns out that we see our future selves as strangers. Though we will inevitably share their fates, the people we will become in a decade, quarter century, or more, are unknown to us. This impedes our ability to make good choices on their—which of course is our own—behalf. That bright, shiny New Year’s resolution? If you feel perfectly justified in breaking it, it may be because it feels like it was a promise someone else made.
Even though Hershfield's study was done specifically in the context of financial planning, I don't think it's that much of a stretch to hypothesize that this same sort of logical fallacy plagues project planning. To me, it's a very rational explanation for the irrational self-abuse we impose by giving our future selves insanely numerous and complex instructions via task management systems.
If it's human nature to feel better about dumping crap on someone else, there's little guessing left as to why so many things we plan for ourselves never happen.
By the way, if you're interested in more conversation about the future self problem, listen to David McRaney interview Elizabeth Dunn on the You Are Not So Smart podcast.
Dr. Drang's recent post on how to title-case text in Drafts reminded me of one of my most-used Sublime Text packages. Matt Stevens's sublime-titlecase adds a
Smart Title Case menu command that converts text of any case to title case. It's powered by a python script derived from John Gruber's original Title Case Perl script.
I probably use this command at least a hundred times a week because it works so flawlessly to convert text into a consistent title case format.
One common use: I often sketch out a list of headings in a LaTeX document before filling them in. No matter how I get the headings in—by voice, copy/paste, or just speed typing—I don't have to worry about the case until they're all in. Using a keyboard shortcut I mapped to
Smart Title Case, I can convert every line to title case with a single key command (all at once) using Sublime Text's multiple cursors and the
Smart Title Case command.
Let me count the ways. Actually, there are way too many reasons to count. I love using multiple cursors in Sublime Text, especially for writing LaTeX. Just one example: quickly counting columns in a table (or quickly counting anything I've selected).
So without using any brain power at all, I know I have 9 total columns, 8 of which are right-aligned. Make tables all day, and see if this isn't helpful.
Like a lot of other people apparently, I'm using DuckDuckGo more and more. It's not so much that I'm boycotting Google over privacy concerns. I just like supporting different business models for doing things. Diversity benefits technology as much as it does biology and society.
On my Mac, probably nine out of ten searches go through Alfred, so switching from Google to DuckDuckGo is as simple as typing
duck instead of
goo into Alfred, which stocks keywords for both.
On my iPhone, I mostly use Launch Center Pro for quick searches. Adding DuckDuckGo is as simple as making a new action with DuckDuckGo's URL:
All projects yield a pair of quantifiable results:
- Completion or not
- Time spent on the project
Projects are fundamentally forecasts. They are best guesses of future events leading to the hopeful completion of some goal. Like any forecast of future events, projects are subject to two broad sources of inaccuracy:
- Human error and bias
- External random events
If people were perfectly rational beings who incorporated all available information, including their own past mistakes, to plan projects, I would expect the distribution of time spent on projects to look something like this:
In other words, there would be equal numbers of projects completed ahead of and behind schedule. The actual completion time would mostly be a function of external random events beyond the project planner's control.
I think that on some subconscious level, we imagine the future success of a project in terms of a symmetric normal curve. We believe our best estimate of the completion time is really good—even when past experience looks more like this:
We don't really need any formal theory here. A little intuition is all it takes to see that the uncertainty of a project's completion time is a function of the number (and uncertainty) of all of the project's sub-projects.
Therefore, typical projects aren't just forecasts of the future, they're a series of nested forecasts of the future. As each sub-project's actual completion time comes in over its estimated completion time, the total project's completion time skews ever farther to the right.
When confronting our behavioral patterns in this way, it would seem like this should an easy problem to solve: we need to be more realistic with time estimates.
It's not that easy.
We are finally getting smart enough to know we're kinda dumb
Unfortunately, knowing that we should be better at estimating time and actually doing it are vastly different neurological notions. When it comes to accurately planning projects, we are swimming upstream against powerful psychological currents. Our brains weren't designed to map the future accurately beyond more than a few time steps.
These behavioral biases have been well documented under the so-called planning fallacy. Our minds evolved to have an overconfidence bias and hyperbolically discount the benefits and costs of far-off events. We're able to do a decent job of forecasting our immediate future, then we implicitly hope that only roses grow beyond our field of view. We block past experience from our mind, and repeat the same mistakes over and over and over again.
To be clear, I'm not talking about stupid people. Just people. These are fundamental features of the human mind. We are poorly adapted to do the kind of project planning that modern work requires. Our priorities dramatically and inconsistently change with time, and this is exacerbated by a modern world where all of our basic needs are met, leaving us to create and manage extremely abstract priorities to deliver products and services that are mostly exchanged in our minds.
Simply put, projects are complicated. Far more complicated than we give them credit for. We can't expedite human evolution, so let's bring projects back to us. Let's dumb them down for the emotionally handicapped creatures that we are.
One idea that makes sense to me: let's look at the characteristics of successfully completed projects and see if we can recreate those conditions for other projects. It's easier than it sounds.
First, care. Then, schedule.
Once upon a time, Merlin Mann said "First, care. . . Because, in the absence of caring, you'll never focus on anything more than your lack of focus."
No one can objectively argue against this caring principle. The catch: caring is entirely made of human emotion. At one extreme, caring is the arousal induced by productivity porn—you know it when you feel it, but you can't measure it. At least not like time. Caring is a very different substance than time, which in many ways is the antithesis of emotion. But both time and caring must be present to complete a project—any project.
- Projects are more likely to get done if there is time to do them
- Projects are more likely to get done if you care to do them
- Caring has a stronger effect than time
Further, time is independent of caring, but caring can be negatively correlated with time available. If time is a river, we're more likely to care to work harder when the precipice of a waterfall is in sight. In other words, deadlines.
Caring is a function of much more than time available. Any happy or sad stimulus that motivates you to do something is a source of caring—from the pleasure of reading your Twitter to the cold steel of a metaphorical corporate revolver against your temple as you write a TPS report.
An economist might call caring the "utility" of doing a project. It's the sense of satisfaction you get just from carrying the project out. Which is actually the secret. Projects are ostensibly about reaching future goals, but what we really experience in total are the emotions of each project's steps. That's where we spend all of our time anyway.
If you don't care about what you're doing, the amount of available time doesn't matter—much less any effort you spend on project planning, contextualizing, and pseudo-prioritizing project steps.
I bet most people could get incredible things done with only a notebook and a calendar. This is fundamentally the direction my personal project management systems have been heading in the past year, even though the notebook part isn't explainable in a few lines. Maybe I'll do that later, if I care to.
I'm a utility guy. Wait, who says that? Not normal people. I know; I'm not normal—well maybe normal enough to know that nobody cares more about your Apple Watch face than you do. But that's OK. You have to look at it the most. You should care.
It's been amusing to me just how much attention all-else-equal smart people have spent resolving which, if any, of the clock faces offered in watchOS pre-2 are the best.
The fact that this is even a discussion at all is an interesting moment in the history of timepieces. Now that smart watches are a thing, "digital" and "analog" are user interface choices, not immutable consequences of hardware design.
It's not that I have anything against a modular or digital rendering of time. I just find analog clock faces—even animations of them—more pleasing to look at. In some ways, they're more practical too. When it comes to simply being aware of time, digital clocks offer unecessary precision.
I think that most natural human tasks can be comfortably dimensioned in 30–60-minute segments. Simply seeing how far the minute hand is from the top or bottom of the hour is usually enough for me—without even consciously processing the exact number of minutes. I think this is just more natural for the human mind, whose current form evolved long before the dawn of timepieces.
Our natural sense of time is tied to progression along predictable left-to-right paths: words across a page, days across a week, clock hands across the periphery of a clock face. In fact, clockwise motion describes the most predictable pattern observable to early humans, who where themselves hands on a clock. As Donn Lathrop explains:
Clockwise and counter-clockwise as we now know them seem to have derived from an accident of---as the real estate dealer said---location, location, location. In the Northern Hemisphere (in what is now Iraq), where the cradle of our civilization was rocked and the first written records were kept some 4,000 years ago, the early thinkers and teachers noted that their own shadows moved from left to right, as does the shadow of a stick or a sundial gnomon move from left to right during the course of the sun across the heavens.
So while analog clock faces on a smart watch are skeuomorphs of mechanical analog watches, so too were mechanical analog watches skeuomorphs of sundials.
The analog clock face captures the physical manifestation of time in a way that a digital clock can not.
I think a circular clock face also says something about the senseless symmetry of time within the scope of our lives: a well-worn path. An infinite loop. Every day, we make the same circular trip together—at the same rate.
The clock faces we carry aren't just little models of sundials; they tell our entire history in the universe. For all our worldly accomplishments, we're still strapped to the tiny blue tip of a year hand, swinging around a giant nuclear time bomb.
This post has a lot of words and a lot of numbers. Long-form story short: a college education is still worth a lot, but how you buy it now matters as much as the education itself. A minority of enlightened individuals can still escape the gravity of salary securitization. What's that, you ask? Well, I just can't say in short-form.
* * *
Meet Emily. Just born. Imagine her 30-year-old parents holding her in their arms for the first time in the delivery room. They look at a clock on the wall and make note of the time of birth.
Amid the emotions in that moment, another clock starts running. Emily's first tuition payment is due.
If Emily's parents want to fully fund the cost of a basic four-year in-state college education out of pocket, they will need to save over $531 per month—every month—from the instant Emily is born until the final year of her college experience. That's 21 total years of making a $531 monthly payment, every month, for 252 months straight.
If college tuition and related costs maintain their current trajectory, the full cost of Emily’s four-year college experience 18 years from now will be over $217,000.1 Emily’s parents aren’t an investment bank or an institutional investor. They can’t raise capital on a whim or engage in sophisticated asset-liability matching strategies to hedge the future cost of college.
If Emily's parents want to pay for her college education, they have but one option: slash their monthly take-home pay early and often.
But Emily's parents face other recurring expenses—some new, some old. They probably have a mortgage. They may be paying on decade-old student loans or credit cards. If Emily attends a child care facility, the monthly cost of that could easily exceed $531. Emily's parents are also about to experience the receipt-shock of buying impossibly numerous and expensive things for the baby that they never knew existed. And if coming into parenthood, Emily's parents are above-average savers, they are putting away at least $531 for their own retirement.
The chances that Emily's parents are even aware of the cost of college at her birth are slim. The chances that they are thinking about how much to save or actually doing it from Emily's birth are even smaller.
But the implicit decision not to begin pre-funding Emily's college education immediately will have a profound impact on Emily's life. Guaranteeing that Emily will go to college won't be enough to give her freedom. How college is paid for may matter more.
College is still worth it
A few timestamps back I made a post that asked a rather rhetorical question:
What net value are universities adding to society if middle class graduates face an adult life enslaved to lenders?
That was the wrong question. A little too loaded. There are two opposing, gargantuan dynamics at play inside that question: the benefits of college versus the cost of college.
A better question to start with is: "what value does a college education add?" The answer to that question is undoubtedly "a lot."
A 2013 report released by the College Board indicates that overwhelmingly college graduates earn more than those with only a high school degree. I think it's fair to at least question whether an organization like the College Board would be biased in their reporting of such statistics, but the numbers are so lopsided in favor of getting a college education that I don't think it's worth coming up with conspiracy theories to counter the notion that a newborn like Emily—someone whose future ambitions can't possibly be known for many years—is statistically more likely to have a better future life with a college education. And that's whether you measure her betterment in terms of earnings, enlightenment, or social mobility.
I absolutely believe that with each passing year, it's possible to do anything with just an internet connection and a ton of ambition, but simply hoping a child will fall into that mold isn't a savings substitute. It's an avoidance strategy that will only increase the chances that someone else will have to front the cost of her education—someone the child will be shackled to for most, if not all, of her adult life.
For now, access to conventional college education still means going through conventional universities, whose costs, in my opinion, are getting crazier and crazier thanks in large part to runaway public funding and student loan credit. More on this in a moment.
As a parent, I have no ability to immediately reform university administration. I can't control Congress's appetite for extending student loan credit. You can't either. So I think we should take a practical approach.
Because of soaring college costs, it's absolutely critical to do long-term planning and establish habits very early to take control of how you pay for college.
As I'm about to demonstrate, saving for college, though a seemingly impossible moon shot, is by far the most financially rational way to pay for a child's future college education. And perhaps ironically, I also believe that saving for college is the best way to help a child realize her full entrepreneurial potential even if she ends up not needing her degree. That's because because every dollar of pre-funded college education is several dollars of student loan debt avoided. Saving for college is now a substantial form of early inheritance.
But before I show you some numbers, it's worth understanding how we got here.
A brief history of student loans
Federal student loans have gone through several incarnations since falling out of the National Defense Education Act of 1958, one of the most immediate American responses to the launch of Sputnik the year before. In 1957, the Soviet Union had beaten the U.S. to space, and America needed more scientists if it was going to catch up, much less win, the space race that would consume the country for the next two decades.
Because of the NDEA and other things, college attendance did indeed rise, and eleven years later the air around American living room TV sets vibrated with the words "that's one small step for man..."
While typical Americans eventually lost interest in the space program, they did not lose their appetite for student loans. Through several iterations and partnerships with banks in the decades the followed, the federal government directly and indirectly boosted student lending even more.
Today, the balance of student loans in the U.S. is an astronomical $1.2 trillion, nearly all of it federally backed. Student loans are now the second largest form of consumer debt behind mortgages.
From American dreams to monthly payments
It's impossible to escape the temptation to compare student loan payments to mortgage payments. Both are methods of post-funding "American dreams" using either direct federal funds or rely heavily on federal guarantees. Both are highly profitable and "too big to (let) fail". Both represent a de facto securitization of middle class salaries by a blend of federal agencies and Wall Street.
At least a mortgagor can sell their home in a healthy housing market to extinguish mortgage debt. The security backing student loans isn't so liquid: the salary of the college graduate. This asset, too, can be sold, but only in installments of time for decades.
Multi-trillion dollar Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae (federally backed mortgage agencies) are more profitable today than before the financial crisis when they were clinically dead and needed life support from the federal government.
When it comes to student loans, college graduates have proven to be a fantastic investment for the federal government—and I don't necessarily mean in a social sense. Student loans have relatively tiny default rates, and loan rates more than cover the federal government's cost of funds, allowing the government to debatably run the programs at a profit that rivals the Exxon Mobils and Apples of today.
College grads do indeed earn more statistically, but that's not enough. It's not even enough to make more than it costs to pay back student loans. People who post-fund college education will be pressured to maintain fixed salaries to align their income with the debt payment outflows they pledged to pay.
I'll say more about the social implications of this at the end. Let's look at some numbers now.
Post-funding vs. pre-funding
Back to Emily. Let's look at two extremes for funding her college education:
- A pre-funding strategy: Her parents save and pay for 100% of her college
- A post-funding strategy: Her parents save nothing and Emily borrows 100% of the cost
The pre-funding strategy
Saving for college has an opportunity cost. Every dollar saved for Emily's college education is a dollar not used for some other purpose. There are infinitely many actual "paths" those not-saved dollars could travel, but for the sake of quantifying the impact on long-term net worth, I think it makes sense to think about the cost of pre-funding college in terms of Emily's parents' lost retirement wealth.
If Emily's parents deposit $531 per month into a 529 plan that earns an average annual rate of 5% per year, it will fully fund the $217,000 total cost of Emily's four-year college education.
Emily’s parents’ retirement accounts (401(k)s, IRAs, etc.), by contrast, could earn something higher—something more like a long-term net stock return of 7%.2 This is because at age 30, Emily’s parents’ retirement is much farther off than Emily’s college education, so retirement savings can be exposed to more market risk.
As the 529 plan balance grows, so too does Emily's parents' forgone retirement savings. If Emily's parents committed the same $531 per month to their retirement savings, the balance would be worth more than $317,000 at the time Emily graduates from college. From there (totally untouched), it would accrue to over $764,000 by the time Emily's parents turn 65.
This is the ultimate cost to Emily's parents for paying for Emily's college education in advance. Sacrificing $764,000 of future wealth is a lot, but as we will see, it could be much worse for their daughter.
(Keep in mind this is just for one child attending a 4-year in-state university. Multiply by two for two kids. As for grad school, that's beyond the moon.)
The post-funding strategy
Assuming Emily is able to borrow the full $217,000 through some combination of federal and private loans, she will also get a college degree, but bundled with it will be a coupon book obligating her to pay $1,167 per month for the next 30 years of her life.3 That’s $755 in today’s dollars.
What would it mean to have $755 of after-tax pay spoken for in 2015? Well, for one, $755 would be the mortgage payment on a fully-financed $158,000 home at a 4% mortgage rate in 2015.
But of course, Emily isn't buying a house with that payment. She's repaying her educational debt. And to do that, she has only one choice: She must put her education to work in the "real world" and begin generating cash flow to match her student loan liability. Culturally, college licenses Emily to be a "knowledge worker." Economically, it's made her a leveraged bond owned by the federal government.
Regardless of how much Emily makes per month, one certainty will persist for 30 years: she'll be required to pay $1,167 every month. As with the pre-funding scenario where her parents lost the opportunity to do other things with the amount they saved per month, Emily's debt payment represents money that won't be used for other purposes.
Forfeiting $1,167 per month of disposable income could lead to infinitely many outcomes. It may cause Emily to go deeper in debt than she would have otherwise. For example, it could increase the likelihood that she carries credit card debt. It may also delay the purchase of her first home, missing the opportunity to build home equity. It’s impossible to quantify every scenario, so let’s focus on what I believe is one of the least Draconian outcomes. I’ll just assume that she’ll be able to put $1,167 less into her own retirement savings per month.4
This let's us compare the long-term effect of pre-funding versus post-funding on intergenerational wealth. When Emily finally pays off that student loan balance at age 52, she'll have nearly $1.4 million less saved for her retirement. Left untouched from age 52 on, the balance would have grown to more than $3.3 million by the time she turned 65.
Summary of results
Another way to think about the loss of future retirement savings is in terms of the annual income those savings could generate in retirement. This is the basic purpose of retirement savings, after all.
|Value at Retirement||Value In 2015 Dollars|
|Parents’ retirement loss if they save for college||764,194||382,118|
|Equivalent 30-year annual income post-retirement||37,853||18,928|
|Emily’s retirement loss if she borrows||3,306,219||912,684|
|Equivalent 30-year annual income post-retirement||163,768||45,208|
The $3.3 million Emily loses by borrowing is worth over $900,000 in today's dollars assuming a 2% annual inflation rate. In today's dollars, this amount of money could purchase a 30-year annuity at 3%, which would pay Emily over $45,000 per year for 30 years (age 65 to 95). Her parents' lost retirement income in today's dollars, by contrast, would only be about $19,000 per year.
Why are these outcomes so different?
The value of money doesn't stay "still" over time. The pre-funding and post-funding strategies are like two different universes for paying for college, and their respective values drift apart over time. There's a wide gulf between paying for something in advance (i.e. savings) versus paying for something in arrears (i.e. borrowing).
In the pre-funding scenario, Emily's parents own every penny of the investment gain, which is the shift in the time value of their savings. 100% of this gain goes to paying for college when those expenses come due. The reason that Emily is hurt so much more by borrowing is that a lot of the student loan payment is made up of interest. In other words, the lender owns the change in the time value of college education—long after the education actually occurs.
Think of it this way: By waiting to borrow, the actual cost will not only inflate for the next 18–21 years, it will continue to inflate for decades beyond that—like a growing snowball tumbling through the generations, smashing opportunities and freedoms in its path. If Emily borrows to pay for college, what hope do her kids have? Their kids?
Saving in advance stops the snowball. 5
The social impact
The 20th century is long gone. Today, it makes a lot less sense to say "college isn't for everyone." We're in a knowledge worker's world now. If college education becomes so costly that it suffocates all but the very wealthy with debt, I think it will have lasting harmful effects on American society. The two that concern me the most are:
- People will increasingly make what they think are financially rational choices by selecting college programs that maximize earnings potential. College students pressured to do this will be more likely to neglect liberal arts education, and I think this is a massive cultural misstep that's not only bad for society as a whole but also individuals. Even though it seems like technological progress requires more and more technical skills, I think people who understand the nature of people by understanding history, art, and literature will have a tremendous advantage over their otherwise peers. No amount of math, scientific, or programming ability is a substitute for understanding human nature.
- I think that if federal and state governments continue to tacitly encourage the bureaucratic expansion of university administrations through direct public funding and a limitless supply of student loan credit, it will produce a class of salaried workers with little opportunity to ever gain real financial independence.
Of these two, the second is the most disturbing.
Meet the pass-throughs
I cannot overstate how profoundly different the mindsets and perceived freedoms are between someone who owes a fixed payment indefinitely and someone who does not. More than ever, the former is what defines middle class America. The intestine of the financial system, if you will, the middle class's role is not accumulate the fat of money, but rather to consume an increasing salary base and pass it back out in the form of consumption and debt payments.
The American way of life is one of paying indefinitely for things that happened in the past.
Federally-backed mortgage giants like Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae are designed create "structured securities" using the cash flows that boil up from the eternal spring of mortgage payment cash flows that American "homeowners" make monthly. Some of the simplest of these securities are called mortgage pass-throughs, which basically pass the cash flow arising from a pool of mortgages to investors who buy up various tranches (like slices of pie).
Mortgage securitization is like a multi-trillion dollar water mill that sends yields to institutional investors at the top and then dumps credit back into the financial system for more lending. It was the financial invention that largely made the Reagan-era housing American Dream possible. Mega quasi-federal institutions like Freddie and Fannie make mass mortgage culture possible, but they also can't exist without the massive supply of mortgages they create. It's very circular. Without the underlying mortgage cash flows, the water mill goes dry.
And without a stable spring of American middle class paychecks, there are no mortgage cash flows. In other words, the true collateral underlying the trillion-dollar mortgage-backed security market isn't really mortgages—it's the paychecks of the middle class.
Though many people confuse one for the other, income and wealth are very different things. A dog with a tapeworm eats more and more, but he does not get fatter.
The necessity to borrow for college will ensure that the middle class will continue to evolve into a "pass-through" socioeconomic class.
Pass-throughs will be the tenant farmers of publicly leveraged capitalism. They will spend most of their adult lives working to pay for the right to live on land that is, in economic reality, owned by the federally-backed landlords of Wall Street. Pass-throughs will earn what appears to be an attractive salary only to cede much of it to profitable federal student loan programs. Pass-throughs will thrive as long as they never stop—the next jerk of the leash will never be more than 30 days away.
Most pass-throughs will spend their unpledged disposable income on basic necessities and luxury items that they perceive to be necessary to maintain their "high-earner" social status—a total delusion with little-to-no actual wealth backing it.
If student loan credit continues to approach to mortgage-like levels, who will the middle class really work for? Surely not themselves.
There are of course other ways to avoid borrowing for college—scholarships, etc. But on the time scale required to pre-fund college for a child today, that's like betting it all on black with the risk of a lifetime in the red. The only way to hedge the risk of having to borrow is to save. It's that easy. But it's also that hard—few government-backed mechanisms exist to encourage saving beyond tax-sheltered 529 plans. It's on the American individual to commit to saving and take the market risk necessary to reach a finish line that's running away nearly as fast as we can run toward it.
To leverage my own sense of determination, I will borrow heavily from John F. Kennedy's 1962 moon speech, made right about the time the student loan debt pendulum was set in motion:
I choose to save for my kids' college, not because it's easy, but because it's hard. The challenge of helping my kids avoid student loan debt is one that I am willing to accept, one that I am unwilling to postpone, and one I intend to win.
If that sentiment sent a man to the moon, maybe it can send a kid out into the world debt-free. Even better, maybe it can propel them beyond the bounds of our social gravities—out into a socioeconomic universe that isn't dimensioned in monthly paychecks.
If you play with online 529 plan calculators, you’ll likely get a different number than $217,000 (both higher and lower). The precise number that came out my calculations is $217,311. I came up with this by averaging the key assumptions from online calculators that project future college costs (e.g. here and here). I used an average of $23,000 for current annual college expenses, and projected that at 4.5%, an average college expense inflation rate. This results in $50,795, $53,081, $55,469, and $57,966 for years 18–21, respectively ($217,311 total). $531 is the level monthly payment required to accumulate a 529 plan at 5% that exactly “matures” for the four-year college cost liability. It assumes that each year’s college costs are withdrawn at the beginning of the college year (exhausting the savings at the beginning of year 21). I think 5% is a reasonable projected net annual return for a 529 plan, which will need to grade from a mostly-stock mix into a more conservative stock-bond mix over time. Some sites assume higher returns, but I personally think that’s overly wishful thinking for planning purposes, especially after accounting for fees embedded in 529 plan funds. Again, different inputs will result in different outputs, but I think these are very reasonable assumptions, and changing them a little here and there isn’t going to change any of the conclusions made here. ↩
Different people will have different estimates for long-term investment performance, but I think 7% is a reasonable net long-term assumption. You can argue that the U.S. stock market returned higher average annual returns in the 20th century, but that was a very different world. More importantly, 7% is greater than the 5% assumed for the 529 plan, and I just think it’s logical to assume that a 529 plan will earn less than a long-term retirement account for any parent under 50. ↩
$1,167 payment assumes monthly payment for 30-years at 5% interest. Current federal student loan interest rates range from 4.29–6.21%. It’s impossible to know what student loan interest rates will be in the future, but they could definitely be much higher than 5%, which would make the monthly payment even higher than $1,167. ↩
Yes, some people will say “you can’t assume she would have saved that whole $1,167 every month.” And yes, that’s true. But again, the point is to quantify the blow to her net worth. As I said earlier, we can come up with even worse scenarios where the student loan payment causes her to carry more consumer debt, which would almost certainly have a higher interest rate than the 7% per year lost to forgone retirement savings. In the very worst scenario, her debts could exceed her assets resulting in bankruptcy. In that scenario, she’d have no retirement savings at all. (It’s worth noting that student loans are a rare breed of debt that can’t be disposed of during bankruptcy. Remember me saying student loans are a great investment for the federal government?) ↩
By saving in advance using a 529 plan the growth is tax-free, meaning that 100% of the gain truly is available to pay for college. Some will argue that student loan interest is also tax-deductible, but that would only matter if Emily can itemize her deductions—something that would likely only happen if she also owns a home with a sizable mortgage interest outlay to deduct. But the student loan payments will make it even less likely that she will be able to afford a home anytime soon after graduation, so the deductibility of student loan interest is closer to wishful thinking than any kind of certainty. ↩
Imagine going back in time just a few decades and trying to explain to someone that computers will eventually become so integrated in our lives that we'll be willing to pay for a device that simply reminds us to stand up every so often.
Only time will tell if I keep paying attention to the stand reminder on the Apple Watch, but so far I have. I'm finding that even when I have to tear myself away from something, just standing up for a few minutes has been worth it—not just for the self-gratification of completing the stand ring in the Activity app—but for the extra bit of focus I have when I sit back down.
Working in front of a screen all day is an extraordinarily different environment than that of our ancestors. The human body, with all of its complex physical and mental connections, did not evolve to sit for hours straight day after day after day. There is no sense of a sedentary "destiny" in our DNA.
We can believe that we're more advanced than our ancestors, but we still ship from birth with the same biological hardware and software. Hopefully the Apple Watch will end up being the first truly mobile device—a device designed not just to be mobile, but to make us more mobile.