“Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
—Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
We live in a world that loves clarity. Pick a lane. Make a plan. Stick to it.
But real life—and real financial planning—isn’t that neat. People are complicated. We carry competing desires, shifting goals, and evolving definitions of “success.” You can be cautious and ambitious, generous and protective, disciplined and impulsive. That doesn’t make you inconsistent—it makes you human.
When I sit with other financial advisor’s clients and listen to them talk about their finances, I’m not just listening for the numbers. I’m listening for the multitudes: the layers, the contradictions, the values underneath the dollars and percentages. Because more often than not, someone will say something like:
- “I want to retire early, but I don’t want to stop working.”
- “I want to help my kids, but I don’t want them to rely on me.”
- “I want more growth but hate seeing red in the market.”
It’s easy to feel like these goals are in conflict. But they’re not mistakes. They’re signals—clues about the complexity of what matters most.
The Myth of the Rational Investor
Finance textbooks tell us people act rationally. If given enough information, we’ll always make the optimal choice. But we know better. We’ve lived through market dips, job changes, weddings, divorces, promotions, and losses. We’ve made emotional decisions, sometimes in moments of fear, other times in moments of joy.
We don’t exist in spreadsheets.
We exist in stories.
And a sound financial plan isn’t just about projections and probabilities—it’s about aligning your money with your life, even when that life is layered and nonlinear.
Real Planning Requires Real Conversations
Most people don’t come to their financial advisors with one question. They come with ten.
“Am I doing enough?”
“Can I afford this?”
“What if I want to change careers?”
“What if something happens to my spouse?”
“What if I just want more freedom?”
These questions don’t have perfect answers, but they do have thoughtful ones. And answering them requires more than portfolio allocation models or retirement calculators. It requires listening, empathy, and knowing that someone might want safety in one area of their life and growth in another.
That’s what we mean by planning with purpose—not just telling someone what they can do with their money but helping them figure out what they want from their life.
Your Plan Should Reflect All of You
A good financial plan is flexible. It holds room for your ambition and your uncertainty. It builds a margin for risk but also for spontaneity. It lets you dream without guilt and protect without fear. It doesn’t ask you to be perfect or consistent—it asks you to be honest.
Because you are not one thing.
You are not just a saver or a spender.
Not just a parent or a professional.
Not just an optimist or a realist.
You contain multitudes.
And your financial plan should, too.
Final Thoughts
Walt Whitman didn’t write about financial planning, but he understood people. He understood that we are always in tension with ourselves and that change is part of being alive. So, if your goals evolve or your financial plan feels like it needs to stretch to accommodate a more honest version of your life, that’s not a failure. That’s growth.
So the next time you find yourself wanting two seemingly opposite things—security and freedom, generosity and independence, structure and flexibility—don’t be quick to think you’re doing something wrong.
It might just mean you’re fully alive.
It may mean you contain multitudes.