Frivolous

Aviva and I spent a night away last weekend, a 24-hour getaway that was my graduation gift to her. We started out at Wingaersheek Beach, shoes in hand, walking at low tide towards sun-warmed rocks, watching toddlers playing in the small waves. Ocean, horizon, sailboats, lighthouse — it’s a recipe for deep breaths and near-instant relaxation.

We ogled the beachfront houses and fantasized about spending whole summers on the water, then headed to Rockport for lunch and to shmy around a bit before checking into our little hotel. After eating panini and people-watching, we stopped into a gallery and then a store called Pon, where the Hay crates in the window had caught Aviva’s eye. The store was artfully arranged, with appealing if quirky displays of the kinds of items one mostly buys just for fun.

For me, though, “buys for fun” has largely been an oxymoron.

I mean, yes, I buy stuff I don’t need — I’m American, after all. But I am much more likely to buy something as a gift for someone else — something I rather enjoy doing — than to spend money on myself for no real “reason.” I usually have a justification, i.e. I need new running shoes so that I don’t injure myself. In other words, I have a double standard. And as a dear friend pointed out to me in a different context not long ago, that’s just not cool. One standard. Period. If I would tell you something, I need to tell myself the same thing.

So much of my inner work these days has to do with this. I think of it as a kind of synching up of what I say and how I talk about things and my actions and behaviors. So if you saw something cute in a store that you didn’t need but just wanted, and you could afford to buy said item without hardship, you know I would encourage you to get it. Ditto on topics such as boundaries, self-care, and rest.

Recently, the subject of money came up with my coach.

I was telling them how there was still a disconnect between my actual income and my relationship to money. In a word, a scarcity mindset has plagued me for a long time. I could write a whole different post about the origins of that, but suffice it to say it’s an amalgam of passed-down family and ancestral conditioning along with periods of real financial stress.

I should say here: I have never been truly in financial straits, not in an acute sense. And so in some ways, it’s also an affront to folks living in actual poverty to perpetuate this attitude of fear towards “having enough” when it comes to money. That alone would be reason to course correct, along with a desire to live joyfully and not hold onto a false belief that this in any way negates the deep gratitude I feel every day.

It’s a trip, once you start down this road, to realize just how much we can cling to self-deprivation as some kind of twisted proof that we aren’t greedy or (G-d forbid) shallow. And that says a bunch about some of my internalized beliefs around money.

All of this is to say: I’m transforming this shit, and while it’s not always easy or comfortable, whew, it’s time and I’m beginning to feel the energy in it.

Along these lines, my coach gave me an assignment a couple of weeks ago, which was to buy something “frivolous” (their word) every day until our next session.

“I hate this assignment,” I whined to my wife.

“This is silly,” I complained to my friend.

“It’s perfect for you,” they both chimed back, independently of each other.

In the first few days, I bought a graphic novel, a pretty deck of cards for Aviva, and frozen yogurt. In the next few days, I fell pretty much fell off the wagon of frivolous purchases. And it was somewhere in there that we wandered into Pon The Shop (not to be confused with a pawn shop!), where these beautiful Italian plates caught my eye, with their bright, cheerful colors and designs and their pleasing heft. I glanced at the prices — $32 each.

“You should get one!” Aviva encouraged.

“Maybe…” I said, but then decided not to.

As I write, a “rule” of my mom’s comes back to me: If you see something you love but can’t decide whether to buy it, wait 24 hours. Either you’ll forget about it, or you’ll still be thinking about it. Then, if the latter is true, you can go back. It’s sound advice.

In any case, that’s more or less what happened. We went back to the hotel to chill for a while before dinner. I took a little nap while V showered, and then we ventured to Gloucester to find some food we could bring back to our room since by then it was raining and we’re not eating indoors because of Covid. We got falafel from a Lebanese place called Markouk Bread (highly recommend), watched the penultimate episode of Pose, and went to sleep. The next morning, after a walk in the drizzle to coffee, we packed up and headed home.

Fast-forward a few days, and I was falling down on my assignment to buy frivolous things. Mani pointed out that it wasn’t too late to make up for lost time. I texted Aviva and asked if she remembered the name of the shop with the plates. At first she didn’t, but then it came back to her. And sure enough, those pretty Italian plates were available in the online shop. I bought one of each.

They arrived yesterday. Each came carefully packaged, the individual boxes wrapped in tissue paper corresponding to the fruit — yellow for lemon, green for pear, orange, and red for the cherries. I carefully washed them and they’re now drying in the dish drain. They are so lovey. And we are no worse for the wear.

Hard work, as we well know, does not always amount to financial security, much less abundance. It’s one of this country’s biggest myths and most cruel travesties, that while billionaires go to space in dick rockets, millions of children wake up and go to bed hungry even as their caregivers work multiple jobs, while conservatives accuse them of wanting handouts. I could go on. And I wonder if this is at the heart of why I’ve distanced myself from a narrative that goes something like this: “I’ve worked my ass off and now I am finally at a point where things feel solid, abundant even, and it’s ok to enjoy that.”

But the thing is, that narrative is TRUE. And by owning it, I am in no way disowning my values. On the contrary, I’m living them even more fully because I’m being honest. And if I’m not honest, then the whole thing is kind of sus.

So, here’s to being honest.

Here’s to not treating myself in any way less lavishly than I treat my loved ones and clients.

Here’s to aligning word and deed.

And here’s to frivolous things as an expression of joy, with no need for apology, shame, or justification.