The year 2022, amongst other things, was perhaps the most expensive of my life.
Last December, while having a deeply difficult time at work (as well as some serious burnout and unchecked anxiety), I rather confidently spent $5,000 on a career coaching course during my lunch hour. I do not regret this at all, by the way. It was a brilliant and insightful course and I learned so much about my needs and desires. But a week after that, my rent increased by almost $400 per month. A month later, by January 5th, I’d hit my $4500 out-of-pocket health insurance max when I had double bunion surgery on my left foot. Then in March, while hobbling around my apartment with a boot on my foot, I did what everyone else who has survived the past two years of a pandemic did and booked a couple of trips. A couple of months after that, corporate price gouging worked its magic, and suddenly all of my said trips would now cost twice as much as I’d initially estimated.
My trip to Europe ended up costing me *$6000* instead of $3,000, and my plane tickets both to Salt Lake City and Mexico City cost me hundreds more than I’d anticipated, to give you a couple of transparent examples. And let’s not forget the increased prices in groceries, clothing, utilities, restaurants, and literally anything else you can trade dollars for.
Of course, traveling is a privilege to begin with, as is the fact that I even have a savings account to fund surprise costs like this. Yes, I’ve worked hard for it—and also, the layers of privilege in my life, ranging from being a white, college-educated woman to receiving financial help from my parents (even within the past several years), have absolutely provided me with the foundation to have so much of what I have now.
But this unanticipated year of spending has brought with it some really bulky questions for me—one in particular that I can’t seem to shake:
How much is enough?
I started asking this about my income at first, and then it bled into all things material and eventually, relationships, social engagements, and every other area of my life.
I noticed that after I’d gotten a raise at work, I’d immediately start thinking about the next one. What bracket would I be in then? What apartment could I live in (or buy!) then? What car would I drive then? Then, then, then. So many thens blurred the absolute magic of now that was sitting directly in front of me.
There’s a psychological construct called the hedonic treadmill which is the idea that an individual's level of happiness, after rising or falling in response to positive or negative life events, ultimately tends to move back toward where it was prior to these experiences. In other words, you can buy a new car when you get that raise, but that purchased happiness will always fade, and soon, you’ll resume your typical baseline of happiness. Only now, it won’t be good enough because your expectations have been adjusted to the new status quo and you require even more to maintain that same level of happiness. Now you need a bigger house. A designer handbag. The newest iPhone. A first-class seat upgrade. A nicer hotel room.
The financial world calls this lifestyle creep (also known as lifestyle slip or lifestyle inflation), and it’s when your expenses grow along with or faster than your income. If you upgrade your life every time your earnings increase, you will essentially live on a hamster wheel, never feeling the perks or peace of simply having extra money or growing savings, and always running to catch a new status quo.
I know this well because I’ve watched it happen to me in the past couple of years. The way I travel is hardly recognizable anymore. Hostels have been swapped for four-star hotels, and cheap coach tickets on Frontier for an upgraded seat on Delta. My wardrobe now contains several $200+ items and wow, the cost of my skincare products alone could probably fund me an early retirement.
And of course, all of these things also bring me a lot of value, which is why I spend the money on them. I’m 38 and you will absolutely not catch me in a hostel dorm room, hopefully ever again. I’m okay with my need for a quiet, clean, and cozy room of my own. I’m also okay with my skincare spend because my God it makes me feel GOOD.
Also, I have the money now, and for many years, I did not. So it’s not that I’m outspending my earnings per se, but I am perhaps caught on the very wheel I’ve long warned myself about. Spending money just because you can is a slippery slope.
The same idea presents itself in less tangible ways too. As someone who has been single for several years now, I’d be lying if I said I didn't think about a partnership often. It is just assumed (by others, society, etc.) that I want a romantic partner to spend my life with. It’s also, even if more subtly so, assumed that I need one. That I am incomplete without one. That I am missing something.
But recently, I’ve started to ask myself if I even want one right now. The more I peel back the layers of that question, the more I start to think that perhaps I’m just allowing other people’s discomfort with singlehood to be projected onto me. I’m allowing society’s shoulds to become my own and that has literally never, ever worked for me. In the words of the Great Anne Lamott, “Shoulds are shit.”
Of course, I want a partner again at some point, but I’m deeply in love with my life and the people in it right now. My gosh, I have so much. Can I just sit in the bliss of now without falling into the trap of thinking that my life would magically be better with a partner? Can now be enough or must I go chase again?
I feel similarly about owning a home too. It’s yet another societal milestone I have not yet hit and as of writing this today, I don’t have a desire to buy a home anytime soon. It feels good to say that, honestly. Contrary to what we’ve all been told, renting isn’t throwing money away and not to mention, is far more accessible (and practical!) for many. I love my apartment and I love that just yesterday, I put in a maintenance request via a website form asking them to CHANGE MY WATER FILTER. That’s right, someone comes into my apartment and changes my fucking water filter on the fridge. I don’t even speak to them most of the time because it’s all so fast. Burst pipes? Leaky roof? Busted water heater? Not my problem!
But I’m supposed to want to own a home and by most standards, I think I’m supposed to have already owned a home by now. I even briefly considered it early in the pandemic when everyone else was doing it, but thank God, I paused and exited out of the 90 Zillow tabs just in time to realize that I didn’t even want to buy a house. Honestly, like so many other societal milestones, I subconsciously thought that buying a house would make me more of a legitimate adult, never stopping to think how a.) that’s bullshit, and b.) I love my apartment and do not need or want the responsibility of home ownership. The end! I determined that my space right then was enough for current Emily.
But you see the pattern here, don’t you? To what end do we desire and upgrade and grow? To what end do we strive towards more and better? At what point do we realize that the next thing isn’t going to get us there because there was always now?
It’s extra challenging to dig out of these questions in the age of social media, I know. We walk around with handheld slot machines in our pockets and at any minute can pull the lever to see a colorful and curated stream of everything we don’t have. The fancy vacation, the perfect wedding, the super toned body, the Pinterest kitchen renovation, the botox, the beautiful children, the book deal, the success, the friendships—it never fucking ends. It’s bottomless and that’s precisely why it’s all a trap. If we move through life thinking the next thing will make us happy, we’ll simply never be happy. We will just be moving our tired little feet on that hampster wheel confused as to why all of the chasing never got us there; confused as to if there was even a place at all. Where were we going?
So as I move into 2023, the idea of enough is my focus. Enough, enough, enough. I’m starting to really interrogate my longing for more by asking some simple but revealing questions. Take them for yourself if you feel so inclined.
How much of what we want is actually what we think we should want? How many of our desires aren’t even ours at all?
Do I want this <insert thing>, or do I think I want it because <insert cool/admirable/pretty person(s)> has it? If so, why do I want to be like them?
What problem will buying or achieving this thing solve? (My therapist recently shared this one with me and it’s already been so helpful and insightful. She caveated by saying that it’s completely okay if sometimes we are just having a moment and we really want that thing and it’s not that deep, which I loved. We’re complex humans trying to survive capitalism, let’s go easy on ourselves!)
This won’t be perfect and it doesn’t mean I’m not shopping or traveling or longing for anything this year. This is anything but rigid. I simply want to build some awareness around my decision-making and avoid living and spending on auto-pilot. I want to let myself sit in the now that I worked so hard to create these past few years because this is it. This is the there I told myself about so long ago.
I am here and it is enough. I am enough.
Have you lost your inspiration to write? You're such a talented writer. I hope you're living your best life, whatever and wherever that may be, and that it feels enough. :)
Love it Em..