- When Orrin Onken administered estates as an attorney, he felt jealous of those with inheritances.
- In 2016, he received his own inheritance — but it made him feel guilty.
- Having considered himself a self-made man, Onken wrestled with shame over his late-in-life wealth.
I’ve spent my entire career in law. In 2003 I started my own practice, specializing in elder law. I thought it would be less trying than other legal fields, such as criminal or divorce law — a comfortable niche to grow old in.
One day, early in the practice, I complained to a local judge that I hadn’t expected the constant stress of dealing with emotional family members when administering estates. He gave me his best patronizing smile and explained that an inheritance is the largest tax-free lump sum of money most people will ever see. For many, it’s life-changing. I was naïve not to foresee that people would care so much.
In 2016, 13 years into building my elder law practice, both of my parents died. Suddenly, I had my own inheritance.
Though I’m happy to have the money, it’s brought up a surprising amount of guilt and shame. I’ve always considered myself self-made. Now, I live with the secret that part of the wealth that helped me retire was given to me rather than earned.
I watched inheritances change people’s lives in my profession
During my career, my legal assistant and I spent many days quietly processing the paperwork required for transferring wealth from the Greatest Generation, Americans born from 1901 to 1927, to baby boomers.
My practice didn’t see a lot of rich people come through the door, but there had to be enough money to make my services necessary.
The most common estate in my office contained a house or enough money to buy a house. If the heirs were comfortable homeowners, this wasn’t a big deal, but if they were busting their butts in an Amazon warehouse to pay rent, that inheritance would make an enormous difference to them.
Making a living in the law business was hard work. I often felt a little jealous of the people who didn’t really need their inheritance and the people whose lives were transformed.
My inheritance relieved my anxiety about retirement
When my parents died, I knew that some money would be coming to me because I wrote their estate plan. I arranged for it to be administered by a lawyer close to them.
I received an ordinary inheritance, enough to buy a modest yet comfortable house. I already had a modest yet comfortable house, and my law practice was going well.
I didn’t need the money, but it was, in its way, life-changing. It meant that, when combined with my savings, I could retire.
I liked my job and didn’t want to retire, but my retirement savings weren’t impressive. I lay awake some nights, worried I’d end up chained to a desk, claiming I wanted to keep working when, in reality, I couldn’t afford to quit.
When my parents’ money arrived, I stashed it in an investment account and left it untouched for years. Some people take trips, some buy a new house, but I built a cushion for my old age.
Outwardly, my life didn’t change, but inwardly, I had a new peace of mind. The money didn’t make me happy, but it made me less afraid.
I retired in 2020 at 69. I sold my client list and lived off that for two years. In 2022, I began withdrawing money from my retirement accounts each month. Half of what I withdraw is from my savings, and the other half comes from my parents. With Social Security and these withdrawals, I live very well.
I’ve felt guilty about my hidden wealth
In my world, there’s a social taboo around money. I was taught not to talk about my family’s income at an early age. Today, my friends and I don’t discuss what we have or make.
I’ve always honored that custom, but I honored it with extra vigor when it came to my inheritance. My wife knew. My sibling, who also received an inheritance, knew, but nobody else did.
I felt guilty. I fancied myself a self-made man. My parents helped with my education, but I’d built my law practice and supported my family. I’d paid for the homes I’d lived in. Suddenly, I’d received enough money to buy another house, not because of my hard work or my intelligence, but because my mommy and daddy left it to me.
My parents gave me a lot. They raised me in a house filled with books, encouraged my education, and provided me with contacts and social skills. Others weren’t so fortunate. I sometimes felt guilty about those advantages, but I wasn’t unwilling to admit to them or talk about them.
Money was different. Unlike my cultural advantages, money was raw and measurable. I was taught not to talk about it, and those lessons stuck.
I feel like one of those business leaders who never credits Mom or Dad when discussing their success, albeit on a smaller scale, when I don’t tell people about how inheritance helped me retire. Guiltly I tell myself that I’d have made it to where I am anyway, that the inheritance is only part of the story and not an important part. Talking about it would just make everybody uncomfortable.
By everybody, I mean me.
I can’t help but be ashamed. My middle-class values and expectations are apparent to anyone who spends more than a few minutes with me. But the source of the money that supports those middle-class ways is invisible.
Should you inquire, I will tell you about my law practice. I might even tell you about my investment returns. But I’ve never mentioned what Mom and Dad gave me.
