Last Sunday, after dinner at my parents' house, my dad and I sat at the kitchen table with a manila folder, two pens and my laptop. My mom was doing the dishes and said "this is the least romantic Sunday I've ever seen," which is true, and also the point.
I'm 26. I'm healthy, I have no kids and no partner I share money with, and I don't own a house. For a long time I assumed none of this was for people like me. Then I realized that if something happened to me tomorrow, my parents would have no idea where my money is, how to get into any account, or who's supposed to get what. That would be a mess for them, at the worst possible time. So we spent about two hours fixing it.
The beneficiaries
Back in July 2025, when I opened my 401(k) statement for the first time, I noticed the beneficiary line was blank. I wrote "name a beneficiary" in my planner. Then I didn't do it for fourteen months. I'm not proud of that.
A beneficiary is the person who gets the money in an account if you die. For accounts like a 401(k) or an HSA, the beneficiary form usually decides where the money goes, even if a will says something else. If the line is blank, the money can end up going through your estate, which tends to be slower and more complicated for your family.
So here's what I did:
- 401(k): My mom is the primary beneficiary. Nolan is the contingent, meaning he'd get it if she couldn't.
- HSA: Same, mom primary, Nolan contingent. I learned that an HSA passing to someone who isn't your spouse stops being an HSA and becomes taxable income for them, which was a strange thing to read about on a Sunday. It's still better than a blank line.
Each change took about five minutes online. I'd avoided a ten-minute task for over a year.
Writing everything down
This was the bigger job. I sat with my laptop and made a list of every account I have, what it's for and how someone would find it. It ended up two pages long:
My checking accounts at the credit union in Skokie, including the separate bills account. My online high-yield savings with the emergency fund. The 401(k) and HSA. My student loans through my servicer, still at $7,140 and on autopay. My old credit card, on autopay for one small bill. My renters insurance, my car insurance and my health plan, with policy numbers. My lease, my landlord's contact, and where my car title is. My phone plan line, which is still on my parents' account. And the pet-sitting stuff, so my two Wilmette clients would get a call.
Then the passwords. I don't love writing passwords on paper, but my parents need a way in if I can't give it to them. So I wrote down my phone passcode and the master login that unlocks the rest of my saved passwords, plus a line about how two-step verification codes come to my phone. I didn't write every password one by one, because that list would be out of date in a month.
Where it lives
The folder has two copies. One stays in my studio in a drawer that is not the junk drawer. My dad has the other one, in a sealed envelope with my name and the date on the front, in the same accordion folder where he keeps the furnace warranty. He said he won't open it unless he has to. I believe him. My dad has never opened anything he wasn't supposed to, including Christmas presents.
I also put a reminder in my notes app for every September: update the list, change anything that's moved, and print a fresh copy for the envelope.
I don't have a will. At my age and with what I own, it's not urgent, but I've added "ask about a simple will" to next year's list. My employer offers a basic life insurance benefit, and I want to double-check who's listed there too, since I clicked through that screen during onboarding in 2022 without reading it.
It's strange to spend a Sunday planning for the version of your life where you're not around. It took a few minutes to shake off. Then my mom brought over a plate of cookies, and my dad said "now do the car title," and things felt normal again.
If I had to sum it up, this is the most adult thing I did this year, and none of it cost a dollar. Mostly it cost me admitting I'd been putting off the easy part for over a year.
