When the Reason for Austerity Is Panic
An update on Austerity Month.
In January, I wrote about my experiment with Austerity Month. I had been inspired by the Frugalwoods’ Uber Frugal Month Challenge, and I decided to try it and make it my own.
One of the things that I like about writing for The Billfold is that the comments are often insightful. In my last post, a couple of you pointed out that for you, extreme frugality only worked if there was a reason.
So I wondered: what’s my reason?
Then it came to me: panic.
There are a lot of things for which I want to have money in the future. For example, I would love to own real estate someday. (In New York City, that’s a dream that could easily take over a decade, and that’s if I’m both dedicated about saving and lucky.) I would love to take a trip to Germany to visit a friend who moved there several years ago. But most of all, I want to give my future self choices.
I came home from work on November 9th and watched an episode of Doomsday Preppers on YouTube while I made dinner. I occasionally succumb to internet rabbit holes about preparing for the apocalypse. I was fascinated by Anne Helen Petersen’s piece about Survival Mom. I checked out Lisa Bedford’s book from the library, and I even wrote a poem about it.
But while I’m fascinated by people who write about survivalism, I don’t act on the occasional impulse to load up the cabinet with enough shelf-stable food to feed a bunker-bound family for several years. (I once bought some freeze-dried strawberries from the grocery store and then, finding them disgusting, begged my friends to eat them so I didn’t have to feel guilty about throwing them out. Would my post-apocalypse self want them? Maybe, but is it worth dragging them through several moves with limited pantry space to find out?)
Still, I could do more to prepare for events that are a little more likely than an imminent apocalypse. For example, it’s likely that I’ll lose power, or be stuck at home due to a storm. And financially, it’s possible that I could get sick, or need to take care of a family member. I might need to move, or have a plague descend on my apartment.
Will money protect any of us completely from misfortune? Of course not. Joan Didion’s memoirs are good reminders that life will give you grief regardless.
Financially, the stakes feel higher with the first U.S. president in office who has neither political nor military experience. Healthcare is getting less affordable, and safety nets are being eroded. How do we prepare for that?
I learned from Austerity Month that for me, it’s more useful to think of doing something rather than not doing something. For example, the best habit that I established this month was packing a lunch to bring to work. I got into a routine that usually included a sandwich with ham, cheese, and honey mustard, and a salad with cheese, nuts, fruit, and some kind of homemade dressing. I ended up saving about $150 in a month, and ate like a king.
But when I think of this in terms of “not eating out,” or worse, “not being allowed to eat out,” it’s depressing and becomes a chore. If I think of it as “bringing my own food,” it feels more like a chance to make everything according to my exact preferences, and not having to stand in line for it. I hate standing in line.
My lowest moments in Austerity Month came when I was too hardline about it. I unexpectedly had to work on a Sunday when I was doing laundry, so I decided to make a special trip to the more expensive laundromat that has wireless, where I had never been. I turned on the robot vacuum, packed up my laundry and my laptop, and prepared for a day of getting everything done.
Then I got to the laundromat. The wireless didn’t work.
“I’ll finish the laundry. Go to that cafe you like,” my boyfriend suggested. “It’s a really good place to work.”
“But I can’t spend money,” I said.
“Then go home,” he said.
“But the robot vacuum needs time to clean,” I said.
I’m embarrassed to say that I wasted an additional ten minutes arguing with the laundromat attendant who said that the wireless network that included the name of the laundromat was not theirs. Then I attempted to guess the passwords for all the other networks. It didn’t work.
Wasting that time in an attempt to stick to my plan to not buy food was false economy. I went to the cafe. The robot vacuum finished vacuuming. I bought a goddamn croissant and I got my work done. I could’ve avoided the angst.
The other angst that I could’ve skipped was guilt over buying candy. I love candy, especially gummy candy. According to Frugal Month rules, I tried to cut it out. But what if I bought the ingredients to make candy, and taught myself a new skill? Even though the cost of the ingredients exceeded a bag of gummy bears, I decided it was okay. If the experiment failed, it would only make me appreciate the perfection of Haribo more.
My first attempt was a complete failure. I found a simple gummy bear recipe that used gelatin, flavored gelatin, sugar, and water. I was surprised to find afterward that I had essentially made off-brand Jello. I don’t like Jello.
My second attempt was also a failure. This time I used a gummy bear recipe from a healthy-living mom blog that preached the gospel of making candy yourself so it was healthier and free from the evils of commercial candy. That should have been a red flag. This recipe also resulted in off-brand Jello, but with real fruit juice. Not gummy bears.
Someone on an internet forum suggested that the texture problem was more about freshness than the recipe. They thought that leaving it out on the counter would result in a more Haribo-like texture.
Never trust the internet (she writes on the internet). My off-brand Jello remained off-brand Jello; its only metamorphosis was growing mold.
In conclusion, it’s probably just fine if you buy some gummy bears when you want gummy bears. Don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s worth it.
So I started buying small bags of gummy bears for myself, even though it violated Austerity Month.
And I began to think about how I would shift my strategy once the month ended. A friend made a joke on Twitter about getting overdue fines on Elizabeth Warren’s personal finance book. Elizabeth Warren has a personal finance book?! I thought. I’ve never hit reserve so fast.
The book is called All Your Worth: The Ultimate Lifetime Money Plan and it’s co-written by Warren and her daughter, Amelia Warren Tyagi. It came out in 2005. (I wish they would write an update, but I understand they’re busy.)
As I read their recommendation for the 50/30/20 rule, I began to feel better about my own savings rate, which is about 20 percent from automatic transfers. Sure, I’d flailed in my attempt at austerity. But it was always meant to be a short-term experiment to show me what long-term habits I could implement. I would like to increase my savings rate, so I may aim for 50 percent must-have, 20 percent wants, and 30 percent savings instead. Either way, I like the idea of a set percentage allotted for fun and joy — and preventing me from turning into a gummy bear-less miser. (Here’s a post from The Simple Dollar that lists some alternate budgets based on this formula.)
Austerity Month also made me more willing to fight for myself. I moved recently and although I updated the credit card company with my new address, I didn’t get my statement. It threw off my system for paying bills and when I paid online, I calculated the wrong amount for the total balance owed. I ended up owing $25 interest as a result. In the past, I would have let it go, since I hate making phone calls to customer service. But this time, I was livid that I could have put so much effort into packing my own lunches, and have $25 in savings wiped out by a clerical error. So I called and asked if they would please refund the interest, and make sure I get my statement next month. It took five minutes, and they said yes.
I also fought to get my security deposit back on my old apartment. Management had told me that it would arrive within 10 weeks, and I’d marked the day on my calendar. I hadn’t gotten it yet, so I called. They said it was delayed due to the holidays, and I would get it by the end of January. I hadn’t. I called twice more. Then I came home to a check in the mail.
I can’t say if my dogged follow-up truly sped anything along, but I still feel good about financially advocating for myself and making sure that I got what I was owed. I felt — dare I say — empowered.
My attempt at austerity has also made me more grateful for what I have. I recognize the privilege of being able to see cutting down on unnecessary expenses as an experiment rather than an economic necessity. I’ve started making small monthly donations to organizations I support, like WNYC and the ACLU. I would love to eventually be more strategic, and maybe open a Donor Advised Fund.
I haven’t found a solution yet for feeling panicked about the world, but I do take some comfort in making small donations when I feel anxious. If bringing ham sandwiches to work helps me do that, maybe I can keep up the habit.
Abigail Welhouse is the author of the poetry chapbooks Too Many Humans of New York (Bottlecap Press), Bad Baby (Dancing Girl Press), and Memento Mori (a poem/comic collaboration with Evan Johnston). Subscribe to the Secret Poems of Abigail Welhouse at tinyletter.com/welhouse.
This story is part of The Billfold’s “Resolve” series.
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