We didn’t schedule the Pension & Defined Contribution Plan get-together because you need a PhD in pensions—but precisely because you shouldn’t.
We just figured it might be more useful—and considerably less soul-crushing—than leaving you to piece together your understanding of your IBEW 697 retirement plans from jobsite gossip, mysterious PDFs, or whatever your buddy swears he overheard from the guy who ‘cracked the pension code’ back in 2005 with his calculator watch and home fax machine... clearly a man who understood the complexities of the modern financial system.
We get it. Life moves fast, inboxes fill up, and, like socks, priorities mysteriously vanish in the chaos. And let’s face it—nobody skips these sessions because they’ve mastered pensions. They skip them because, like carbon monoxide or interest rates, the danger doesn’t feel urgent until it really, really does. At which point, it’s a bit like trying to buy flood insurance during a hurricane.
Take last year’s Health & Benefits session. One couple signed up—genuinely curious, eager to learn. But one couple? Not enough to justify the full production. So, we pivoted: door open, coffee on, insights shared—but without the big rollout. Because sometimes low turnout isn’t low interest; it’s just a prompt to rethink how we present value.
Now, we’re under no illusions that a room brimming with bodies equates to minds fully engaged—any more than an empty one suggests irrelevance. In fact, and rather sadly, it’s often those who don’t show up who might benefit most. Not because they’ve never been given a good reason to care—we’ve served those up like free hors d’oeuvres at a wedding. No, the truth is probably far more mundane: they're likely locked in a death scroll with their third cat meme of the afternoon. And if they’ve chosen to drift blissfully in the orbit of digital trivia, Tik Tok tedium, or whatever – fair play, that’s entirely their prerogative. But let’s not confuse roles here—we’re the Fund Office, not Houston. We do pensions, not hauling people back from the black hole of their own distractions.
We can’t help to suspect that they’re waiting for their future to arrive like a parcel from an online retailer—slick, persuasive, and ideally, with no assembly required and free shipping.
The uncomfortable irony? That future isn’t being delivered. It’s DIY. They’re not the consumer of it—they’re the architect. But, as always, the more inconvenient the truth, the more elegantly we find ways to scroll past it.
It’s Déjà Vu….All Over Again!
Yogi Barra
And now? We find ourselves in familiar territory - déjà vu with a twist of irony.
Seven brave souls signed up for this, …. let’s not insult it by calling it a “meeting”—that word reeks of PowerPoint purgatory and passive-aggressive calendar invites. Think of it more like a backstage pass. A rare glimpse behind the velvet curtain at the machinery shaping your financial future.
Not A Meeting – An Opportunity
Did we cancel? Hardly. We ran it—for the seven who signed up and showed up.
Why? Why not.
You see, they didn’t need a calendar ping or a pep talk. They signed up and then turned up because they understand what most people miss: that the things with real value rarely come with a fanfare, and the moments that matter are often the ones no one forces you to attend.
They sensed—instinctively—that this was a room where things happen. Not because it was mandatory, but because it mattered. So, it was neither obligation nor a sense of compliance that drove them, but taste—good taste. The kind shared by people with that rare and stylish instinct to give a damn about the future… preferably before it becomes the present.
Here’s the funny thing: they’re not just designing their future—they’re doing it in a way that, trust me, will end up on your vision board. Instagram may catch up eventually, but by the time it does, they’ll have moved on. Because while others wait for the right moment or for it to be cool, they’re already building what comes next.
Good For You!
As for the rest —clearly, you’ve got it all covered. Message received, confidence duly noted. After all, who needs a session when you’ve already earned your stripes through jobsite folklore, toolbox theology, and unsolicited wisdom from a guy who’s been rewiring reality since the Reagan years?
And to be fair, there’s a certain logic to that. When you’ve already stockpiled a vault of all-knowing, god-tier retirement wisdom, what could one session possibly add—apart from, say, the one surprising idea that makes you rethink the next twenty years?
See, the sharpest minds know that breakthroughs and understanding more often than not sneak in through a throwaway remark, a question you didn’t think to ask, or—most inconveniently—someone else’s offhand insight entirely. And that’s the magic. Not in the agenda, but in the margins. Not in what you planned to learn, but in what surprised you.
Candidly …
Let’s be honest—none of us has it completely figured out. I certainly don’t. But, in my defense, I do have a talent for asking better questions. It’s what makes me such a hit at dinner parties… or so I like to think. Feel free to test the theory—invite me over sometime.
But perhaps the real question isn’t why you missed this session, but how any of us—myself very much included—decide what’s genuinely worth showing up for in the first place.
Intriguing, isn’t it? It might even be fascinating ….. if, from time to time, some individuals were not giving the impression that they already “cracked the code.”
Now, let’s be absolutely clear—we’re not saying you do this. Obviously not. Heavens, no. Not you. You’re clearly the exception. We’re merely noting that some individuals manage to sound remarkably authoritative about Benefit Fund and membership meetings —despite not having shown up to a single one in, oh, let’s be polite here, … say, five years.
Isn’t both funny and astonishing how the loudest commentary often comes from the quietest chairs. On that note, a gentle word of caution: be discerning about the voices you trust. Advice, after all, is often reverse engineered to sound clever after the fact. And as anyone who’s ever actually done the work knows… it rarely makes for a neat narrative.
But enough about them. Let’s get back to the far more interesting subject—you!
You! Yes. You!
If you checked, we’ve established that you’ve got this one covered. Fair enough—going it alone is a bold move. It’s a bit like deciding to assemble IKEA furniture without the instructions. Sure, you could—technically—but why turn down a chance to make it easier, faster, and... well, less likely to collapse under pressure?
We respect the commitment, truly. Conversely, and let’s not kid ourselves: some of the best outcomes don’t come from going solo. They come from having a little help along the way.
Here’s the thing - we all like to think we’re rational creatures, making decisions in the calm light of logic and reason. But the reality is, we’re more Homo Distractus than Homo Economicus—forever chasing the next urgent thing, the next shiny object, or whatever’s flashing on our screens like a slot machine. So, while you may think you’ve got it all figured out, it’s worth remembering that we’re not just rational decision-makers—we’re also impulse-driven creatures who, more often than not, find ourselves swept up by whatever has our attention in the moment. That’s where showing up for the right things starts to separate the rational from the reactive.
As You Know….
And in this trade, the stuff that really moves the needle doesn’t come wrapped in neon. It’s the passing comment that saves you six months of hassle. The smarter shortcut you didn’t know you needed. Or a lesson quietly handed down by someone who's been around longer than most of you have been dodging membership meetings—or pretending to read the newsletters while scrolling Instagram.
The RSVP You’ll Wish You Didn’t Skip
Between us—skipping that meeting? Probably not your most-future-forward move. Sure, you’re in the driver’s seat, but that’s not much use if you’re stuck in park—or worse, if the engine’s off. And let’s be honest: sitting there looking determined isn’t quite the same as actually going somewhere.
So, if you find yourself grumbling about the outcome later on, just remember: you chose absence over investment. And that, my friend, is the kind of short-term thinking that compounds over time—but not in a good way.
Next Time: Be There!
We don’t know when—if ever—this session will return. And like all good things—Vine, 2.5% mortgages, affordable Airbnbs—you rarely notice the value until it’s already slipped out the side door, whistling as it goes. Gone.
But you’ve got it all figured out now, haven’t you? Which is not only great but also brings us to two things.
First: if this meeting ever happens again, it won’t be for a while—for exactly that reason. I mean, what would be the point?
Two: thank you.
Thank you for relieving us of the mildly unhinged belief that no one has a fully understood these Plans—or worse, that no one cared.
We lost sleep over that. Truly. Though in hindsight, that might say more about us than it does about you. Then again, apathy can look an awful lot like emotional self-preservation. And who could blame you? (Well—besides your future self. And, come to think of it, maybe your family.)
Clearly, that wasn’t the case here. So tonight, we sleep. Not the twitchy, phone-on-the-pillow kind—actual, blissful, well-earned sleep. Again—thank you.
Lastly
But should there actually be a “next time,” don’t treat it like a repeat. Treat it like a second chance your future self quietly sent back in time. Then, show up, bring your curiosity, and be ready to be surprised. Because the true value of being in the room? It’s not just the information—it’s the possibility of transformation.