What We Fight About When We Fight About Money

“An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest.”
― Benjamin Franklin

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.*  “The way to riches,” he said, “ is by swiping those little ketchup and mustard packets from fast food restaurants.”

I have written a number of times about the technical aspects of managing money, especially as one moves into retirement. That’s where I am and it’s on my mind. But there is another aspect that is as important as the technical ones: that is the psychological piece. The story you tell yourself about your relationship to money may be even more important than how much of it you have or how you invest it. And if you have a partner or a family with whom you are financially involved or with whom you share resources, differences in the stories you tell yourselves and about each other can have a profound effect on that relationship, even potentially contributing to the end of said relationship. 

Recently I have been listening to a podcast called, I Will Teach You to be Rich hosted by Ramit Sethi. In spite of how it sounds, it has nothing in common with a late-night infomercial offering to sell you a course on how to make millions marketing stuff in your own Amazon store. In each 40 minute episode, Sethi interviews a couple that is having issues (that is, arguments) around money. By interviewing each partner and asking thoughtful questions, Sethi reveals the person’s money story, which usually goes back to their early childhood demonstrating that often, as our financial circumstances change as we move through adulthood, many times the stories remain static. The husband who grew up wealthy and can’t adjust to his new situation in which the family income isn’t enough to pay the bills. The wife who grew up poor and doesn’t want to take a vacation even though the family now has an income in the high six figures and significant assets in the bank. 

Although my wife and I have always been on very close to the same page regarding saving and spending, the show has gotten me to think more carefully about my own habits and behaviors and how I sometimes (often) can be a cheapskate with myself, when the denial has no meaningful benefit to my financial well-being. Here are some examples of this type of behavior. (Note: I am not admitting to any of these.)

•  Driving an extra mile or two to save a few cents per gallon on gasoline

• Not getting the best available seats at a concert when you can afford the better seats

• Buying the inferior cheese, wine, whisky, olive oil, or coffee even though the cost of enjoying the best at home is nominal compared to enjoying the same or even lesser in a restaurant. 

• Giving only $36 to a cause you care about when you could easily afford $360

I am not talking about a license to waste resources or, heaven forbid, shopping therapy. This is about deciding what is important, what you care about, and finding a way to make it happen. It is about being generous with yourself, which is actually a precursor to being generous with others. 

Many years ago, I was waiting for my wife outside the Woodley Park Metro Station after work in the early evening. I no longer remember where we were going. Maybe we were meeting friends for dinner or going to a party. There was a man playing the saxophone outside the station. He was playing jazz and he was staggeringly good. I was waiting about 20 minutes which is a long time to listen to a street musician and I really enjoyed it. I usually give money to buskers. I think the world is a brighter place with live music on the street and in subways and I like to support them. Normally, I would give whatever fistful of change I dug up from my pocket. Maybe a dollar. 

On this particular day, the idea entered my head that I wanted to give this man $20. I wanted him to know that someone had given him $20 and I didn’t want him to know it was me. A $20 bill would serve the first requirement since no one asks a busker for change. To fulfill the second, I rolled up the bill in my hand so the denomination couldn’t be seen and surreptitiously dropped it into his case. My motivation was that I wanted to give this man something for the pleasure he had given me while I was waiting. I wanted him to know that someone had enjoyed his music so much they had given him $20. But then something else happened. For the first time in my life, I had this strange sense that I was rich. Surely, a person who can afford to give someone on the street $20 is wealthy, no? I had $20 in disposable income and the luxury of just being able to give it away. I don’t want to overplay this, but that little gesture had a pretty profound impact on the money story I told myself. 

My point here is not to impress you with my generosity toward street musicians. In fact, I don’t think I have ever given a busker $20 since that time. Rather my point is that being generous, especially randomly and spontaneously, changes how you think about yourself and your relationship to money. 

We have all heard the story of the elderly man or woman who lived frugally or even extremely modestly but left a fortune of millions of dollars to a lucky charity with whom the donor had had no relationship with during his or her lifetime. Or even of such a person who died without heirs or a will and so became a benefactor of the state. 

There is much to be said for leaving something behind for your family or for a worthy nonprofit organization but not at the cost of missing some experiences you would have enjoyed or added to journey as a human being. Malcom Forbes is reputed to have said that those who say that money can’t buy happiness are shopping in the wrong places. I tend to disagree with Mr. Forbes. Money itself won’t make you happy regardless of where you shop. And yes, many struggle to pay the rent or buy food, and for them a higher level of income can be stress-relieving. But once the basic necessities are met, the important things are time with family and friends and experiences that are enriching like learning or being outdoors (at least for me). Money can be useful by making it possible to buy a plane ticket to visit the kids or to bring them to you or allowing you to take a trip with family or friends, and social connection is a big part of the happiness equation. 

A rich life can be a long novel not only about wants but also haves and contentment. Generosity with yourself and those closest to you is an important first chapter. 

*Yes, this is the first line of The Great Gatsby. It became public domain this year so there! 

Schadenfüde

Yes, you read that right. No, I didn’t mean to write schadenfreude, the shameful pleasure that one might feel at another’s misfortune. Schadenfüde (pronounced shah-den-foodah) is a term that I just made up to describe foods that one secretly loves or craves but is embarrassed to admit because they are thought to be unhealthy, beneath one’s social class, or just plain distasteful (figuratively) in polite company. 

Do you have schadenfüde? Here are some signs:

·      You have items that you push to the back of the cabinet where your significant other won’t see them.  

·      You go through self-checkout at the store with your items so the cashier won’t judge you. 

·      You move the items to the basement when you have houseguests so they won’t think badly of you.  

So in the interests of helping you get over your schadenfüde and raise you head proudly when you take a bite of your lieblingsessen (favorite food), I am coming clean with mine. Five came to mind with little effort. 

Ok, I tried. I wanted to love the organic, trans fat free, stir before you serve, salt and sugar free peanut butter but, forgive me, it’s disgusting. Give me the Skippy Peanut Butter my mom sent me to school with nearly every day, spread on white bread, wrapped in wax paper, and flattened to nearly paper thin with a text book or pounded with my fist. (I don’t know why, I just thought a flat sandwich tasted better.) Why did my mom give me Skippy? For the same reason that Emily’s mom gave it to her. 

What? Ketchup isn’t shameful you say. Why it’s in every refrigerator. Sure, but I love ketchup on everything. I love it on steak, on grilled cheese, on nachos, tuna fish sandwiches, and even (gasp) latkes! Ketchup is the perfect condiment. It has all the tastes: salt, sweet, sour, bitter, and umami. Well, ok, not much bitter, but all the others for sure. Ketchup is magical. Ketchup is perfect. Ketchup is the only food worth waiting for. Sadly, you don’t have to anymore. I wish they’d bring back those glass bottles. 

Let’s face it American Cheese is just gross. It comes in a yellow (or worse, white) square block. Its main flavor is salt and grease. It is processed food at its finest (which is to say at its worst): You don’t want to see it being made! BUT there is simply nothing that melts better, nothing that is smoother, nothing that works more perfectly in a grilled cheese. One slice in a pan of scrambled eggs is a kind of music. I don’t recall a time in my childhood when there was not a package of American in the fridge. It’s not really cheese and not at all American. I love it. 

There was once a statement on the package that made me laugh. It warned, “Pastry Filling May Be Hot When Heated.”  To be honest, I haven’t eaten a Pop-Tart in decades. They not only don’t have kosher certification, rumor has it they contain some nasty stuff that is explicitly NOT kosher. But as someone who remembers Pop-Tarts when they hit the market in 1964, the IDEA of the Pop-Tart still fills me with longing. My favorite as a child were the unfrosted brown sugar and cinnamon. The bland, dry, and flavorless ‘pastry’ contrasted perfectly with the sweet, spicy filling. I preferred mine cold from the package. Toaster be damned and don’t even talk to me about frosting! It was hard like plastic and ruined the perfect blandness of the pastry envelope for that sugary goodness! I don’t know if I would like a Pop-Tart if I ate one today. But I am terribly afraid that I would. It is for the best that I don’t find out! 

I don’t know if I ever had a Dorito before I met my once and future roommate Steve during my freshman year in college. I met Steve a month or two after I started at Guilford College. I had already established a small group of friends with whom I sat at meals and had inane conversations about all manner of banality. Steve occupied a room a few doors down. I don’t know how we started talking but he invited me into his room and we became instant friends over a large bag of Doritos dipped into the Lipton onion soup mix and sour cream that defined the pinnacle of snack cuisine circa 1979. Over the course of a few hours, I realized that my other so-called friends were idiots, that people like Steve were really smart and much more interesting and damn, Doritos were good. Today, I understand that MSG was a really important part of both revelations. Still, Steve and I are friends to this day and though I rarely eat them, I feel my pulse quicken when I see that warm red bag at the grocery store or in a 7-11. I have to stop myself from reaching every time. And if you haven’t had sour cream and onion soup mix dip, you simply haven’t lived.

Thank you for letting me come clean with you about this. I feel much better now. Now it’s your turn. Are there foods you love that you are somewhat shy about admitting? Let me know in the comments on the website or by email. I may mention them in a future blog, without your name, of course. Tell me your shadenfüde. You’ll feel better and though I can’t promise, you may live longer. 

B’tayavon! Bon Appetit!

Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

I rarely delve into current events in my weekly rants, yet, it seems callous and disrespectful to write about anything this week other than the tragic and ignominious end to the United States of America’s little adventure in Afghanistan.  As someone old enough to remember both the war in Viet Nam and to have idolized folk singer and protest leader, Pete Seeger, the refrain, “When will they ever learn?” is a non-stop song fragment running through my head with each headline I read this week. The loss of American and Afghani life, the veterans and victims who will suffer a lifetime of physical and psychological damage, the irreparable harm to what is left of American moral authority, and the trillions of dollars of debt that my children and yours will inherit are its lasting legacy. But endless debate over which president from Biden to Bush is most to blame for this debacle does nothing to address any of the harm. I don’t believe that anything was or ever will be learned about war and its futility. In addition, we seem to have forgotten that though today’s headlines focus on Afghanistan, the American legacy in Iraq is a similar story with even larger casualties on both sides. 

As hard as it is to accept, the “they” who will never learn is you and me. Regardless of whether you supported or opposed the war at any point, your tax dollars helped fund and prosecute it year after year and it is the obligation of us all to try to mitigate the harm we caused in whatever way we are able. What, if anything, can you do? 

When I lived in Rochester, I did some volunteer work with an organization now called “Keeping Our Promise.” The organization assists individuals who actively supported the U.S. troops in Afghanistan and Iraq and who have received special visas to immigrate to the U.S. The organization helps them resettle in places all over the country including Rochester, N.Y. Often they come because their lives are in jeopardy at home. 

My contributions were exceedingly modest and barely worthy of note. I drove a man to a doctor’s appointment. I helped a family with food shopping. I took another to open a bank account and to apply for a Social Security number. Another to pick up a car seat for his 3-year-old daughter and to the fire station to learn how to use it properly. (The family didn’t have a car but they needed a car seat for when they traveled in the cars of others.) 

My mom worked with a family here in Maryland volunteering with Lutheran Social Services doing similar sorts of tasks. Volunteers all over the U.S. are trying to help in a thousand tiny ways to make life in a strange city in a strange country just a little easier. To let them know that someone is glad they are here. These are not just refugees, though they would be just as deserving of assistance if they were. These are people who risked their lives to assist the U.S. Army.

Of all the devastating consequences of the “never ending war” the thought of the fates of those who will be left behind are the most heart-breaking. A handful of those considered ‘deserving’ of a visa will make it to the US and we have an obligation to see that they get the chance to have a decent life here, a place to live, clothes, food, and the opportunity to work and educate their children.

Consider volunteering with an organization that is helping to resettle refugees. Even if you can only help occasionally it makes a difference and it is rewarding work.  Keeping Our Promise is based in Rochester but there are organizations doing similar work all over the US. If you are not able to volunteer right now, consider a gift, large or small. I can personally vouch that KOP is doing great work. You can donate online at: https://www.keepingourpromise.org/donate.html. 

By coincidence, I am just finishing Homeland Elegies by Ayad Akhtar, a writer born in the U.S. of parents originally from Pakistan. Though a work of fiction, it reads like a memoir and one suspects that much of the story may be true though it is impossible to discern the line between fact and fiction. The quote on the inside cover attributed to Alison Bechdel may give a clue: “I can only make up things about things that have already happened.” 

Beautifully written, I feel it has given me a deeper understanding into the experience of being other in America and although the story is told from the perspective of a Muslim living in the U.S. in wake of September 11, 2001, I recognized my own ‘other’ experiences in the narrative. The book helped me understand better the last 20 years of politics in America.  If anything may be called a must-read book, this is one. 

What are you reading and thinking about? Drop me a line. I love hearing from you.