A penny saved...
Oct. 11th, 2002 01:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaOver on rasseff they've been discussing thrift, and whether or not it's a moral virtue. It's gotten me thinking.
My parents both believe in the traditional Protestant work ethic, which extends to their feelings about money. To them, saving (and not "wasting") money has a moral as well as a practical dimension. In other words, they'd say that you don't just save money so there will be enough to go around, you save money because it's a positive virtue to be thrifty. They aren't miserly or money-grubbing - they've always given money to charity, and my mother keeps a job with lousy pay because she thinks it's important work. But their reflexive tendency is to pinch pennies.
I'm not nearly as thrifty as my parents - my restaurant bills are the biggest evidence of that. But I recognize that I've made a lot of their attitudes my own. Some of it has served me well - I'm grateful for my bone-deep understanding that there's a difference between "what I can afford" and "what I should spend." But some of it is just weird. And most of the weird stuff isn't conscious. Consciously, I believe that it's important to spend money on treats and quality-of-life improvements, even if you don't need them. But unconsciously, I can see the skewed impact that the Gospel of Thrift sometimes has on my habits.
For years I had two VCRs, one that didn't rewind and one that didn't play. (Together they made one working VCR, so why replace them?) For the last year,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
curiousangel and I have been using a vacuum cleaner with a broken front panel. We didn't buy a new one until the broken one actually lost its suction. We could have afforded a new vacuum cleaner. I could have afforded a new VCR. But I'd grown up turning on my window fan with pliers, because the knob had broken off before I was born. Nothing seemed odd to me about continuing to use a broken appliance.
I know what the heels of shoes look like when the rubber wears away. I wear them until that happens, and usually I keep wearing them for at least a little while after it happens. By the time I bought a new winter coat last year, the lining was almost completely ripped out of the old one. I haven't thrown out the potholder with the burn hole or the stained kitchen towels. None of these things make any sense when I consider them rationally. There's nothing practical or reasonable about a person with back and leg problems wearing shoes that are worn-out enough to have an impact on my gait. But unless I make a conscious effort to think about the cost-benefit ratio, I'll wear shoes until they're in pieces.
In recent years, my parents have loosened their spending habits considerably. Silly as it sounds, the first evidence that a major change had occurred was that my mother started buying candy at times other that Halloween and Easter. (I grew up hearing that candy was "too expensive," and having to use my own allowance if I wanted some.) And lately they've been traveling all over the world, several vacations a year, trying to see as much as possible before my father's progressive eye disease leaves him blind.
The last time I saw my mother, she reminded me of the back surgery I had when I was thirteen. I spent two months in bed, unable to turn over, sit up, lie down, get out of bed, dress, bathe, eat, or reach something more than an arm's length from the bed without help. The TV we had at the time didn't have a remote control, so I couldn't turn it on or change the channels without help.
My mother reminded me of this, and then said, "You know, we could have gone out and bought a TV with a remote control. They didn't cost that much. But I never thought of it. I just figured that we didn't have one, so you would have to make do without it."
I'd never thought of it either. Not at the time of the surgery, and not any time since. They were dedicated about caring for me and entertaining me during that long slow recovery, and it never occurred to me to think that they might've extended their efforts to replacing an old TV that worked perfectly well.
Then I started thinking of other things I'd never thought of. When I spent years in pain so severe that I couldn't walk without crutches, I never paid the extra few cents a gallon to have my gas pumped for me. I never took advantage of the supermarket's grocery delivery service, because there was a charge. I remember that I got on the subway once in Boston, on the way to see my doctor, and no one offered me their seat. I had to stand, crutches and all, for several stops. Afterward I seethed and resolved to speak up and demand a seat the next time, but it never occurred to me that maybe next time I should take a cab. Even though there was a four-block walk from the subway stop to the hospital. Even though there was snow and ice on the ground. Cabs are expensive.
I don't understand any of this, looking back. I don't understand why I was willing to pay the cost in pain to do things the cheapest way possible - no, that's not quite it. Why it never even occurred to me to weigh the cost. It probably cost five dollars to have groceries delivered in Iowa City. I always had an extra five dollars to spare. But I never even thought about it.
I don't necessarily think it's bad to try to do things cheaply. I don't necessarily think it's wrong to try to hold myself to a high standard of fiscal responsibility. But I wish that I could say that I make those decisions consciously, that I'm not making senseless - or even harmful - economies because of unconscious habits of thrift.
My parents both believe in the traditional Protestant work ethic, which extends to their feelings about money. To them, saving (and not "wasting") money has a moral as well as a practical dimension. In other words, they'd say that you don't just save money so there will be enough to go around, you save money because it's a positive virtue to be thrifty. They aren't miserly or money-grubbing - they've always given money to charity, and my mother keeps a job with lousy pay because she thinks it's important work. But their reflexive tendency is to pinch pennies.
I'm not nearly as thrifty as my parents - my restaurant bills are the biggest evidence of that. But I recognize that I've made a lot of their attitudes my own. Some of it has served me well - I'm grateful for my bone-deep understanding that there's a difference between "what I can afford" and "what I should spend." But some of it is just weird. And most of the weird stuff isn't conscious. Consciously, I believe that it's important to spend money on treats and quality-of-life improvements, even if you don't need them. But unconsciously, I can see the skewed impact that the Gospel of Thrift sometimes has on my habits.
For years I had two VCRs, one that didn't rewind and one that didn't play. (Together they made one working VCR, so why replace them?) For the last year,
curiousangel and I have been using a vacuum cleaner with a broken front panel. We didn't buy a new one until the broken one actually lost its suction. We could have afforded a new vacuum cleaner. I could have afforded a new VCR. But I'd grown up turning on my window fan with pliers, because the knob had broken off before I was born. Nothing seemed odd to me about continuing to use a broken appliance.I know what the heels of shoes look like when the rubber wears away. I wear them until that happens, and usually I keep wearing them for at least a little while after it happens. By the time I bought a new winter coat last year, the lining was almost completely ripped out of the old one. I haven't thrown out the potholder with the burn hole or the stained kitchen towels. None of these things make any sense when I consider them rationally. There's nothing practical or reasonable about a person with back and leg problems wearing shoes that are worn-out enough to have an impact on my gait. But unless I make a conscious effort to think about the cost-benefit ratio, I'll wear shoes until they're in pieces.
In recent years, my parents have loosened their spending habits considerably. Silly as it sounds, the first evidence that a major change had occurred was that my mother started buying candy at times other that Halloween and Easter. (I grew up hearing that candy was "too expensive," and having to use my own allowance if I wanted some.) And lately they've been traveling all over the world, several vacations a year, trying to see as much as possible before my father's progressive eye disease leaves him blind.
The last time I saw my mother, she reminded me of the back surgery I had when I was thirteen. I spent two months in bed, unable to turn over, sit up, lie down, get out of bed, dress, bathe, eat, or reach something more than an arm's length from the bed without help. The TV we had at the time didn't have a remote control, so I couldn't turn it on or change the channels without help.
My mother reminded me of this, and then said, "You know, we could have gone out and bought a TV with a remote control. They didn't cost that much. But I never thought of it. I just figured that we didn't have one, so you would have to make do without it."
I'd never thought of it either. Not at the time of the surgery, and not any time since. They were dedicated about caring for me and entertaining me during that long slow recovery, and it never occurred to me to think that they might've extended their efforts to replacing an old TV that worked perfectly well.
Then I started thinking of other things I'd never thought of. When I spent years in pain so severe that I couldn't walk without crutches, I never paid the extra few cents a gallon to have my gas pumped for me. I never took advantage of the supermarket's grocery delivery service, because there was a charge. I remember that I got on the subway once in Boston, on the way to see my doctor, and no one offered me their seat. I had to stand, crutches and all, for several stops. Afterward I seethed and resolved to speak up and demand a seat the next time, but it never occurred to me that maybe next time I should take a cab. Even though there was a four-block walk from the subway stop to the hospital. Even though there was snow and ice on the ground. Cabs are expensive.
I don't understand any of this, looking back. I don't understand why I was willing to pay the cost in pain to do things the cheapest way possible - no, that's not quite it. Why it never even occurred to me to weigh the cost. It probably cost five dollars to have groceries delivered in Iowa City. I always had an extra five dollars to spare. But I never even thought about it.
I don't necessarily think it's bad to try to do things cheaply. I don't necessarily think it's wrong to try to hold myself to a high standard of fiscal responsibility. But I wish that I could say that I make those decisions consciously, that I'm not making senseless - or even harmful - economies because of unconscious habits of thrift.
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no subject
Date: 2002-10-11 02:43 pm (UTC)