Bernard O'Shea: Five reasons I don’t have a pension — perfecting the Irish art of financial denial

I mentioned in a couple of recent interviews that I don’t have a pension, and immediately, people started asking me about it.

Bernard O'Shea, with the face of a man who doesn't know what a tracker mortgage is. Photograph Moya Nolan

The big question was: “Why not?” Honestly, I had to stop and ask myself the same thing. And the real worry: Is it too late now? Here’s what I’ve figured out.

1. I never thought I was old

Most of my adult life, I’ve been convinced I’m still about 22, like the Leaving Cert summer just kept rolling on for years. 

I wore runners that were meant to be “ironic”, stayed up too late, and honestly thought if I ever needed a pension, some magical financial fairy would just sort it for me.

Then I hit 45, and it landed: I’m closer to retirement than to my first pint. There’s something very Irish about refusing to admit we’re getting older. We don’t age here, we just “get notions about stretching”. 

We grew up where youth was everything. You could be called a “young fella” well into your 40s, as long as you kept quiet about heat pumps. 

Our parents expected to get old. They saved, wore cardigans before they had to, and knew the value of a proper orthopaedic slipper.

My generation thought we’d never age. The Celtic Tiger told us we wouldn’t.

2. I’m not financially literate

Nobody in Ireland ever sat us down and explained money to us. We were told to “get a steady job,” “join the Credit Union”, and “don’t show off with direct debits”. 

Financial literacy wasn’t on the Leaving Cert. We learned about the Treaty of Limerick and about how an earthworm digests food, but not a word about tax.

In school, we did “business studies,” which was mostly about filling in cheques, a skill now as useful as Morse code. 

If you grew up in a working or middle-class Irish house, talking about money was private, nearly shameful. 

Your parents didn’t talk about pensions or investments. They talked about “Who is leaving every door open in the house and letting the heat out?”

We had two financial role models. The Saver: Cautious, suspicious, had at least one biscuit tin of emergency notes hidden in the hot press. 

The Spender: Bought a 2005 car in 2009, “because it was a great deal”.

There was nothing in between. The idea of a proper pension just wasn’t there. Our parents saved for rainy days. We save for sunny holidays. 

One is driven by fear, while the other is driven by a desire to escape. Neither one leads to a decent retirement plan.

3. I’m a long-finger person

The long finger might be Ireland’s best invention. It’s the invisible drawer where all our good intentions go to die.

We’ve built a whole national identity on putting things off: “I’ll do it after Christmas”, “I’ll look into it when the kids go back to school”, “I’ll sort it when I get this tax thing sorted”.

Except we never specify which Christmas, which tax thing, or which school year.

Our ancestors survived colonisation, famine, and the Celtic Tiger by putting things off until it was safe to deal with them. 

I’m great at short-term coping, hopeless at long-term planning. The trouble with the long finger is that it gets older, too. 

By the time you’re ready to tackle “the pension thing”, the finger’s gone stiff. 

Behavioural economists refer to this as “present bias”. We go for the short-term buzz — a night out, a gadget, an air fryer we’ll use twice — instead of the long-term good. 

And honestly, who wants to picture being 70 when you’re already wrecked at 45?

4. I never started — now I feel I can’t

There’s a special shame in starting late.

We hate doing things we feel we “should’ve done years ago”. If you don’t start a pension in your 20s, you assume the ship’s sailed and everyone else is already on deck with cocktails and compound interest. 

Meanwhile, you’re left on the pier, clutching a Lotto ticket.

It’s the same with fitness, Irish lessons, meditation apps — anything you’re meant to start early. I don’t want to look like a beginner. It’s pride disguised as practicality. 

The real barrier? It’s emotional. Attach guilt to the things I’ve ignored — exercise, skincare, the NCT — and the guilt becomes heavier than the task itself. Starting a pension now feels like giving in.

But what’s the alternative? Relying on my kids? They’ll be in Vancouver, paying €67 for an oat milk latte by the time I’m 70.

5. It’s the most unsexy subject in the world — until you have to talk about it

Pensions are not sexy. No one has ever whispered, “Tell me more about your contribution limits”. 

It’s paperwork, percentages, and people who have got their life together years ago, saying “It’s never too early to plan for your future”.

In Ireland, discussing money is already awkward enough. Add “retirement” and it’s like planning your own wake. 

Pensions sit on the same conversational shelf as solar panels, and cholesterol. They matter, but no one wants to bring them up at a barbecue. And yet, they’re unavoidable. 

Every so often, you’ll see an ad with a good-looking couple in their 50s walking on a beach, grinning like they’ve just discovered security. 

Those ads don’t inspire me. They just make me want to find out where the beach is and ask them if they are really happy.

But here’s the thing: At some point, you start to pay attention. 

You realise “the future” isn’t just an idea — it’s coming, and it’s bringing bills. It’s not sexy, but neither is asking your kids if you can move in with them.

The truth is, I don’t have a pension because I’ve spent most of my adult life investing in living — kids, comedy, groceries, and the odd panic holiday. 

When I was younger, I thought money was for getting by, not getting ahead.

It’s not that I don’t care about the future. I just never thought it would show up this fast.