Category Archives: Thoughts on Life and Money

Inching out, happily

It's the small victories that prevent me from jumping out the window

Can I take this moment to tell you I’m doing pretty well? Since starting this blog I’ve upped my net worth a bit. I am paying down my debts. I am spending less on frivolous purchases and better controlling my urges to splurge. I have not bought any clothes, even though I’m kind of sick of the clothes I have. My credit card debt has not increased. My student loan payments have become more manageable. I did impulse-buy a couple of books today, but a couple of books will not undo me. I can buy two books and maintain my (relative) solvency.

I’m a little proud of myself, and also a bit less stressed about money. To be sure, I have a long, long, tortuously long way to go. But it feels good to know I’m making progress. The little things do matter. They will continue to matter. They will accumulate, amass. As will the big things. Even more with the big things. And then one day I’ll be debt-free.

Next on the list of little improvements: groceries, housewares and alcohol. I must tinker with my habits in those important spending realms. Two necessities and a vexatious, delectable vice: I love them lots but know I should and could cut back.

For now I’ll slowly sip the impromptu cocktail I mixed for myself (six fresh cherries, seeded and smashed; a single ice cube; a shot of Grand Marnier) and find solace in the fact that, for me and my bank account, the future looks a bit less bleak.

Inspiration from David Foster Wallace, or: Life is one long budget

The following is from his 1995 essay on commercial cruises entitled “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again.” The quote’s not explicitly about money - more about choices in general - but it’s relevant all the same. And it’s gorgeous prose. (All you prose lovers out there: read the entire essay.) Here goes:

I am now 33 years old, and it feels like much time has passed and is passing faster and faster every day. Day to day I have to make all sorts of choices about what is good and important and fun, and then I have to live with the forfeiture of all the other options those choices foreclose. And I’m starting to see how as time gains momentum my choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until I arrive at some point on some branch of all life’s sumptuous branching complexity at which I am finally locked in and stuck on one path and time speeds me through stages of stasis and atrophy and decay until I go down for the third time, all struggle for naught, drowned by time. It is dreadful. But since it’s my own choices that’ll lock me in, it seems unavoidable - if I want to be any kind of grownup, I have to make choices and regret foreclosures and try to live with them.

That paragraph. It’s about how we should or should not live, what we can miss out on and forfeit and why, and how the fear of missing out on new or fun experiences motivates many of our (or at least my) actions (especially my past actions).

Money buys experiences. I could not have traveled through Europe and or gone to college or grad school or eaten in fine and half-decent restaurants or gone to physical therapy last week without money, mine or someone else’s. Those experiences made me who I am today. By extension, money made me who I am today. So not having it - that’s stressful. It’s easier to let the credit-card companies let me pretend I have money, even just for a bit, so I can postpone the inevitable prioritizing that comes with being poor.

What I hope will help me is understanding that no matter what activities I participate in, whether they’re the best activities or the worst, whether I pay thousands for them or they’re absolutely free, I’ll be forfeiting other experiences - expensive, medium-priced or cheap. And what I do will pale in comparison to what I will not do, no matter how much money I have.

But, as Wallace wisely says, part of growing up is learning to live with all that you cannot have or do or be. It’s making the most of what you have and who you are and, as best you can, forgetting about the rest.

Even with lots of debt and not much money, my life is pretty sweet. I am happy even when I don’t get what I want when I want it. Budgeting, then - or prioritizing some options and foreclosing, at least temporarily, on others - should not be as painful as I sometimes convince myself it will be.

Let’s remember that in the future. We’re not giving up everything, just some things. And we may find that what we give up isn’t as valuable as we had assumed it was when we first convinced ourselves we needed it.

Don’t eat the marshmallow

As a good yuppie should, I read The New Yorker, and this week’s edition features an article that, aside from being fascinating, provided me some inspiration and a long-term goal.

The article is about delayed gratification. More specifically, it’s about a 40-year-long study on delayed gratification that is offering researchers insight into how patience and a focus on future rewards impact a person’s success.

The study started with a seemingly simple test: Sit a 4-year-old in a room in front of a plate plated with a single marshmallow. Tell the 4-year-old she has two options: she can eat the marshmallow now, or she can wait a few minutes and be rewarded with two marshmallows. If she finds she can’t wait, she can ring a bell, signifying that she has given up, and she gets to eat the one marshmallow.

By ctoverdrive, via Flickr

Lots of kids could not wait for that marshmallow.

About 12 years after the marshmallow test was first performed, Walter Mischel, the psychologist who designed it, revisited the kids who underwent the first wave of testing, assessing, among other things, their test scores, sociability and capacity to plan.

He found that the ones who ate the marshmallow weren’t doing as well as the ones who resisted.

They got lower S.A.T. scores. They struggled in stressful situations, often had trouble paying attention, and found it difficult to maintain friendships. The child who could wait fifteen minutes had an S.A.T. score that was, on average, two hundred and ten points higher than that of the kid who could wait only thirty seconds.

These trends continued into adulthood. In their 30s, the people who could wait for the second marshmallow had a lower body-mass index and were less likely to use drugs. On average, they retained their ability to control themselves, and they were skinnier and less heroin-dependent because of it.

What this means for personal finance is not that anyone who, as a child, couldn’t wait to eat their candy is doomed to eternal bankruptcy. I think it’s more nuanced than that.

For me, the takeaway comes later, in the section about how some kids tricked themselves into waiting for their reward:

But Mischel has found a shortcut. When he and his colleagues taught children a simple set of mental tricks - such as pretending that the candy is only a pucture, surrounded by an imaginary frame - he dramatically improved their self-control. The kids who hadn’t been able to wait sixty seconds could now wait fifteen minutes. “All I’ve done is given them some tips from their mental user manual,” Mischel says. “Once you realize that will power is just a matter of learning how to control your attention and thoughts, you can really begin to increase it.”

The takeaway is this: For me a huge part of learning to control my spending habits, learning to focus on needs over wants, learning to save for the future instead of buying something now, will be figuring out how to delay my gratification.

So I’ve figured that out. But how to day-to-day delay? It’s not enough to simply deceive myself. I’m not 4 anymore. I can’t pretend those shiny, pretty shoes are a big ugly dirt clods or that trip to New York will not be ridiculously fun.

What I can do is pinpoint the bad habits I’ve developed and slowly sift them out. As The New Yorker says:

[Mischel] knows that it’s not enough just to teach kids mental tricks - the real challenge is turning those tricks into habits, and that requires years of diligent practice.

So then, here I go. I’ll consciously decide to delay my ability to delay my gratification. I can’t do it all now. I’ll get there a tiny bit at a time. A tiny bit at a time is OK. Wait for that marshmallow. OK, here I go.