An unexpected windfall changed my life this week. Many Gen Xers are not so lucky

Thursday just before 6am. Woke being squashed by three dogs, our Sally and two guest Cavoodles. Such gorgeous, welcome weight, two years to the day since our old warrior Maggie died in our arms to Learn to Fly.

Chris and I took the risk that watching the 39-second video taken on Maggie’s final walk would be a good thing, and it was, an instant rush of love that still breaks me.

A few hours later, Chris got an email from a superannuation company. Someone who passed away named him their sole beneficiary. A lump sum, enough to pay off our mortgage with change, would be deposited soon in his nominated account.

I cried. Rivers. The synchronicity of a life-changing whack of money landing and Maggie’s anniversary wasn’t lost on me. Although I am the woman who believed for ages, kinda still do, that my dog was sending messages from beyond the grave via commercial radio.

During the zillion times Chris and I war-gamed finances – boosted one year by redundancy, undermined another by underemployment, currently besieged by my shop assistant job – a surprise inheritance never once came up. Or any inheritance.

That generosity means we’ll have no debt. It’s literally unbelievable and I’m still nervous it’s a sophisticated prank.

When I signed up for my first mortgage, I was 24. I’ll be 60 in October. I’ve been beholden to banks, for sums of up to $800,000 at a time, for almost my entire adult life.

So the reality of finally being beyond the reach of interest rate rises and bank bullshit is incredible. Do not worry, there will be tonnes more tears of gratitude and relief and a passionfruit sponge and thanks sent beyond the earthly velvet curtain.

But Chris and I know the only reason we can ditch our mortgage 17 years early, saving about $140,000 in interest, is because the money’s been gifted.

Even though we’ve both worked since we were teenagers.

That’s the bit I can’t stop thinking about. And it’s why the whingeing about this week’s federal budget changes to capital gains tax and negative gearing make me want to go to sick bay.

The government prioritising housing for Millennials over the tax perks of property investors is the right call. And before anyone says it – yeah, it’s easy for me to talk now I’m about to be mortgage free. But my kids aren’t sorted. And yours probably aren’t either.

And maybe – as the sandwich generation still financially helping out kids, maybe to build up a housing deposit, and caring for parents – you’re not sorted.

Because what got lost this week amid the noise of people with large portfolios bitching about losing their advantages is this was never just a young people’s problem.

There are millions of us Gen Xers, ordinary, work-our-whole-lives, one-modest-home people, staring at ceilings at 3am worrying about carrying mortgages into retirement.

People who raised families while servicing giant loans and ortho bills. Who waved off the kids thinking, “Yay, our turn now”, then found themselves running the Bank of Mum and Dad while being hammered by our own mortgage and insurances and wondering when the fun part would start.

I’m not Alan Kohler and again, almost mortgage free, but I’ve spent decades in the same tax system as people buying their seventh investment property, and watched them get the better deal every time. That’s my qualification here.

I know exactly what it feels like to work for 42 straight years, only taking four months off with each baby, and still feel one redundancy, illness or interest rate rise away from trouble.

Kids, we love you and want things to be better. I hate that you’re trying to save a $150K deposit for a shit-box in a soulless housing estate with one road in and no live music. Fingers crossed the new policy moves the needle a bit.

But some of us are looking at these changes with relief for another reason too. Those of us were never nearly as sorted as we looked, one bad email away from trouble instead of one good one from freedom.

Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.

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