I have a complicated relationship with money. Though, in all honesty, complicated doesn’t even really begin to scratch the surface of it.
So let me just be straightforward and say it — large purchases scare me. Seriously. I can’t fathom spending over $25 in a single sitting on anything, whether that’s food or clothing or fun times. Maybe I’ve gotten better at hiding it as of late, but there’s an insidious, unshakeable anxiety that still creeps in when I take a look at any bill that exceeds that amount. At that point, I usually have to give myself a quick, internal pep talk. Force myself to swallow down whatever vestigial guilt I’m feeling — even if the spending is on something I actually want or need.
This strange anxiety hasn’t gone unnoticed by those closest to me. My mother has jokingly called me
Part of it, I’m sure, has to do with my upbringing. Though I’m a first-generation Indian immigrant, I was lucky enough to have been born into a
That said, growing up in an immigrant household came with its own life lessons. I never really saw my parents flaunt any material extravagances, indulge in any crazy spending, or even really take much time off work. By the time I was in middle school, I was helping out with the family’s side business — a small but flourishing shop in Trenton, run primarily by my mom while my dad worked full-time in NYC. During those years, I acquired a whole host of interesting skills. I learned the ins and outs of ordering inventory, the importance of restocking goods on shelves, and of properly gauging demand. Hell, I even worked the front counter, switching from English to nervous-but-passable Spanish to the delight and amusement of any Latino customers lucky enough to coax it out of me. (Thanks, school-mandated languages! 😀 )
Most importantly, though, my time there gave me a good grasp of the science and art of making money — and showed me just how fine the line between profit and loss could be.
Still — our family was comfortable. We were making money through our investments and not stressing about cash flow. For a time, that was enough.
Then, during high school, things took a shift. A major investment went sideways. Virtually overnight, I saw our coffers get drained as our family paid the price for some very careless, very expensive investing mistakes. We were able to recover, of course, but things were tenuous for a while. It was very strange to suddenly go from never having to really think about money to suddenly thinking about money all the time.
So, naturally, the minute I got a ‘real’ job that paid well, I immediately knew that the money wasn’t mine to keep. Not really. In my mind, I always felt that the majority of my earnings needed to be saved, not spent. Before buying anything, I’d think: How many hours of work did it take for me to earn this purchase? And then, knowing that: Was it still worth it? Most of the time, I decided, it wasn’t.
As such, I haven’t really made any large, notable purchases. I’ve never bought pricey concert tickets or taken a day trip to a spa. I haven’t traveled anywhere on my own. Hell, I didn’t even get my nails done at a salon until last semester. Last semester!
The highlight of my past summer, spending-wise, was spending $50 at an informal, celebratory happy hour with my co-workers. With 10 of us there, the total bill came out to an impressive $500. Hardly an extravagant amount to spend for a party of our size, especially in New York City, and yet it felt coolly rebellious, in a way. This is what it must be like, I mused, to be young and carefree in the city. For a few moments, I thought I finally wouldn’t feel guilty about what I’d spent. I’d had so much fun, damn it! But of course, the buzz wore off just as quickly as the alcohol did. Just 10 minutes after leaving the bar, I started fretting again, the actual joy of hanging out with people I’d become so close with quickly fading into the background.
That’s the bottom line, really: I don’t know how to spend my money and enjoy it, too. Unlearning things that I’ve always accepted as fact — that’s going to be hard. And truth be told, I don’t think I really understand how much life costs. How rent and bills and needs and wants will factor into the grand scheme of things. I don’t know how to forecast those expenses, how to put a price tag on happiness. Nor do I know how to stop feeling so damn guilty about it.
It’s tough, but I’ve found ways to slowly toe that line. Bougie Fridays, a joint venture I created with one of my co-workers and closest friends IRL, is probably the most direct way of challenging my views on spending money. The two of us, while we worked together, would generally bring food from home to eat at work. But every Friday, we’d opt to go out for something “bougie” instead, giving ourselves the freedom for one meal to try out a new place and not worry so much about the cost. Exploring the foodie offerings of Jersey City and NYC (and yes, taking pictures of it, too) was a great way to remind myself that it’s okay to splurge every now and then. That an expense here and there on something you really like certainly isn’t the end of the world.
There’s a part of me, subconsciously, that always has and probably always will associate spending money with feeling guilty. But I know this: I deserve to make good money. I also deserve to spend it in a way that I enjoy. Actually putting that into practice will take time, but I have faith that I’ll get there eventually — and hopefully, with some amazing memories and experiences along the way.
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