Mindful Spending

About three times a day I tell my husband how annoying he is.

"You've got me trained like a dog," I say.  It's the consistency of his simple messages, delivered every time I think about spending money (or leave dirty dishes in the sink) that is so effective - like boot camp, I imagine.

We're on vacation and like a regular person, I want to go into a cute, little gift shop and look around, but as soon as I step inside, he immediately asks, "What do we need?"  I glance at the charming little doodads, the sparkly things, souvenirs that will soon gather dust on shelves, forgotten. Then I take a deep breath and head right back out the door.

The telephone in our bedroom goes on the fritz. I tell Michele I'm going to shop for another one on-line and he doesn't even blink.  "Do we need it?" he asks.  In my mind I'm thinking we've always had a telephone next to our bed.  My parents always had a telephone next to their bed.  Everybody does.  In case of emergencies in the middle of the night.  "There's a phone on the fax machine in the hall," Michele reminds me.  And I have to admit he has a point.  The phone's been broken for three or four weeks and nobody has died.

Welcome to my life.  This happens with every soft drink purchase ("I saw a drinking fountain next to the restrooms."); every time I suggest we stop at a fast food restaurant ("There's roast turkey in the refrigerator at home."); every time I want to buy a new pair of shoes ("How many pairs do you need?  You only have two feet.") .

This is 2014 and I came into this marriage with my own money, so don't think I always do what Michele tells me to.  Just a few days ago I bought the shoes anyway.  But it takes such energy to justify my needs and overcome my husband's inevitable objections, that the object of my momentary affections is hardly ever worth the effort.

Before Michele, like most Americans, I used to enjoy shopping. It was fun.  Something I did with friends or my sisters as a social activity.    But after three or four years of, "What do we need?" I noticed something strange happening to my brain.  I no longer got that pleasant little buzz of dopa-mine when I handed my credit card to the saleslady for my latest purchase.  Shopping became something to be endured and female friends felt self-conscious while I halfheartedly pretended to look at the sales rack after our lunches.

After Michele I noticed that our net worth increased at a significantly faster rate.  We had more choice and our lives were rich and satisfying - not at all deprived.  We got more pleasure from finding cheap wines we liked, daily specials, and free concerts in the park than I ever did from buying without giving it any thought. The packed lunches we ate in airports were not just cheaper, the food was healthier with better quality ingredients. Now I'm proud to tell people, "I'm cheap."  I worry less and in our fifties, work is a choice, not a necessity.

When I came into this marriage thirteen years ago, I understood how to make money.  But there are two sides to every balance sheet and I've seen surgeons earning $400,000 a year have to file for bankruptcy. Thank-goodness my very annoying husband showed me purchase by purchase how little it takes to live a great life.  Together we make an amazing team.