Some people have a relationship with money.
I have a passing fling.
Money comes to me, stays a little while, gets to know the place and goes on its merry way. We don't get attached. We don't make plans. We don't ask questions.
I am, as economists would put it, a pass-through entity.
Some people get money and think: "How much can I save?"
I think: "What is this thing that just showed up in my account, and how do I get it out of there?"
I don't do it on purpose.
I just have an incredible talent for turning any number into an experience.
Money lands.
Me: nice.
Money: don't.
Me: too late.
The worst part is that at the moment of purchase, my case is stronger than a whole legal team's.
"I need it."
Why?
"Because I don't have it."
Fine, but do you really need it?
"I don't understand the question."
All it takes is for something to exist and for me not to have it yet, and a certain tension develops between us.
And then there's that special category of expenses that aren't shopping.
That's maintenance of me as a phenomenon.
Coffee? I didn't spend anything. I hydrated my personality.
Lunch out? Basic servicing of the organism.
A new little something I could have done without? Mental health for the living room.
Delivery? Logistics.
Taxi? Transport of strategically important personnel.
Me?
I exist, therefore I cost.
That's actually my entire financial philosophy.
I'm not expensive.
I just have operating costs.
And, unfortunately, they're daily.
I woke up - expense.
I left the house - expense.
I felt an emotion - 14.90.
I'm bored - a budget disaster.
I especially love it when I tell myself:
"This month I'm really not buying anything."
With me, that's more of a literary genre than a financial plan.
Fantasy.
Because the very next day I'm standing somewhere with a shopping bag in my hand, explaining to myself that this one doesn't count because it was on sale.
If something costs 100 and I buy it for 60, I didn't spend 60.
I saved 40.
Please respect the math.
By that logic, the more I buy, the more I save.
At some point I'll probably get so rich off discounts that I'll have to hire an accountant.
I also have a favorite financial technique.
I don't check my balance.
Because as long as I haven't looked, the possibilities are endless.
It's Schrödinger's bank account.
I have money and I don't have money at the same time.
And then I open the banking app and the experiment is over.
Suddenly I become a very modest woman.
"Material things have never mattered to me."
Of course they haven't.
You can't afford them anymore.
And every time, I promise myself that starting next month I'll be a different person.
Organized.
Responsible.
A woman with a spreadsheet.
A woman who knows what a "fund for unforeseen expenses" is.
The problem is that with me, every expense is unforeseen.
I didn't foresee getting hungry.
I didn't foresee seeing something pretty.
I didn't foresee that it would be Tuesday.
And Tuesday, as we all know, can get seriously expensive.
That's why I've stopped saying I waste money.
That sounds irresponsible.
I put money into circulation.
I support the economy.
Small businesses.
Big businesses.
Medium-sized businesses.
If a business exists, I'm there for it.
Somebody has to be.
So the next time someone asks me:
"Where does all your money go?"
I won't panic.
I won't open the app.
I won't go digging for receipts.
I'll look at them perfectly calmly and say:
"On me."
Because some things have a price.
And I, apparently, have a subscription.