Money can be its own end, but not to everyone. While wandering across a windswept but briefly sunny London Bridge this morning, one of the mileiu fleeing London Bridge station and trying not to accidentally fall into the familiar rush of London-speed-walking, I realised that money means almost absolutely nothing on its own to me.
Money to some people has the attractive, hoarding relationship that contributes so neatly to their need for security, but this is not the case for everyone and not the case for me. For others, money is more often than not simply a stepping stone to a new guitar, a motorbike, or paying off a debt (not that those examples are specific of course..). To these people, on its own money in itself is boring.
This attitude perhaps would not be too dangerous. The problem is that it is often coupled with an attitude to consumerism that can at certain times be difficult, and at other times severely damaging.
When money itself holds so little intrinsic value, several self-selling strategies can rule within our minds:
Given these twin forces, we often find ourselves buying something that not only ends up adding almost nothing to our overall happiness, but in fact contributes more than its fair share of impact on increasing our guilt and disappointing sense of shallowness.
At our most masochistically brutal moments, we may even reduce ourselves to wrecks who believe we are worthless for having spent 'so much money' on 'something I can't even enjoy now'. We appear to be our own best salesman and torturer in tight chronological sequence.
Money to some people has the attractive, hoarding relationship that contributes so neatly to their need for security, but this is not the case for everyone and not the case for me. For others, money is more often than not simply a stepping stone to a new guitar, a motorbike, or paying off a debt (not that those examples are specific of course..). To these people, on its own money in itself is boring.
This attitude perhaps would not be too dangerous. The problem is that it is often coupled with an attitude to consumerism that can at certain times be difficult, and at other times severely damaging.
When money itself holds so little intrinsic value, several self-selling strategies can rule within our minds:
- "I deserve it" thinking. I work hard, therefore this item/thing is something I am entitled too, dammit.
- "What if I don't? Will I ever find the 'perfect' thing again" thinking.
Given these twin forces, we often find ourselves buying something that not only ends up adding almost nothing to our overall happiness, but in fact contributes more than its fair share of impact on increasing our guilt and disappointing sense of shallowness.
At our most masochistically brutal moments, we may even reduce ourselves to wrecks who believe we are worthless for having spent 'so much money' on 'something I can't even enjoy now'. We appear to be our own best salesman and torturer in tight chronological sequence.
Imagine you've got it
One technique that works to a certain degree is the Epicurean-style thought experiment that looks to the happiness that might result in the future after a given purchase. The experiment goes something like the following:
Common sense, no? It turns out most often it's unfortunately not. A combination of good salesmanship, externally and internally to the mind of the buyer, often circumvents even this simple thought experiment.
So what else could you do?
- Consider something you're intending to buy.
- Stop and think about how you will feel in the future if you have that thing. Imagine the consequences, the benefits and disadvantages on your overall condition if you have that item.
- On balance, decide to make the purchase if the outcome is to the good in terms of your happiness.
Common sense, no? It turns out most often it's unfortunately not. A combination of good salesmanship, externally and internally to the mind of the buyer, often circumvents even this simple thought experiment.
So what else could you do?
Is it enough? What would I miss?
The previous thought experiment tends to appeal to rational thought, and often that is very much lacking in the heat of the moment of an impulse buy, especially an expensive one where your inner salesman is working overtime to get your to hand over your cash.
Two questions I've found that better appeal to my own sensibilities are around introducing feelings into the mix. The two questions that have had most impact in curtailing my own wanton purchasing urges are:
These questions are quicker to think about. I tend to have a real emotional response to the emerging responses to the questions that quickly dampens my desire for the thing-under-purchase.
These questions work for me, for others I wouldn't be able to guess. What works for you?
Two questions I've found that better appeal to my own sensibilities are around introducing feelings into the mix. The two questions that have had most impact in curtailing my own wanton purchasing urges are:
- If everything I had now was all I ever had, would it be enough?
- If everything I had was all I ever had, what would I miss?
These questions are quicker to think about. I tend to have a real emotional response to the emerging responses to the questions that quickly dampens my desire for the thing-under-purchase.
These questions work for me, for others I wouldn't be able to guess. What works for you?
Be careful of your brain 'filling in the gaps'
Not too long ago Daniel Gilbert wrote the amazing book "Stumbling on Happiness". The main crux as I read it is that our brain affects how we think we'll feel in the future, including what might make us happy. Our brains have the tendency to ignore gaps in our interpretations of the future, and this can mean we can easily be influenced by current environment and context into making decisions that are influenced heavily into the positive or negative outcomes.
My take is that we can only do the best with what we have. Nothing beats 'taking time' when making a decision, and the amount of time you're willing to take will likely be a snap-judgement on the overall risk you're taking (not necessarily a bad thing either, if you're to believe Malcolm Gladwell's findings documented in his excellent book "Blink").
Gilbert's proposed answer to this conundrum is to find other people who have made this decision and ask them how happy it made them. That sounds a little ideal to me, and is far from easy when you're staring at that brand new Gibson Les Paul with your internal salesman in full swing and an eager external salesman giving the distinct impression that your next 5 minutes will decide if his family eats this week...
My take is that we can only do the best with what we have. Nothing beats 'taking time' when making a decision, and the amount of time you're willing to take will likely be a snap-judgement on the overall risk you're taking (not necessarily a bad thing either, if you're to believe Malcolm Gladwell's findings documented in his excellent book "Blink").
Gilbert's proposed answer to this conundrum is to find other people who have made this decision and ask them how happy it made them. That sounds a little ideal to me, and is far from easy when you're staring at that brand new Gibson Les Paul with your internal salesman in full swing and an eager external salesman giving the distinct impression that your next 5 minutes will decide if his family eats this week...
RSS Feed
