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| Uncommon Sense | I've given up spending for Lent
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I vowed to cast out all nonessential spending during this holy season -- so I mooched, agonized over hair conditioner and wrestled the demon of spending on snacks. Bless me, Father, for I have spent.
By MP Dunleavey
It sounded like a piece of cake: Give up all nonessential spending for one week of Lent, my editor said, and write about it.
Want to see a movie? Tape it. Want to grab dinner at a restaurant? Cook at home. Meeting a friend for lunch, coffee, a humble glass of wine? "Not unless they're paying," he said, laughing evilly as he chomped on his cigar.
He must have triggered a chemical surge in the Irish Catholic lobe of my brain, because my first thought was: "One week, no extraneous spending -- how hard could that be?"
I was about to find out.
Day 1: Ash Wednesday
The problem with Lent starting on Ash Wednesday, I tried to explain to the Archbishop in a long, harrowing phone conversation, was that I already had dinner plans that night -- preceded by a haircut appointment. Couldn't we please start Lent on Holy Thursday instead?
Um, no.
So I had to resort to quick thinking. Haircuts are essential. It's not like I can cut it myself, right? Right.
But eating dinner out with my friend Melanie . . . well . . . that would be a violation. So I called Melanie and asked her to buy me dinner. She thought I was being cheeky, until I explained about the spending fast -- and my evil editor -- and then I cried, and then she said, "For God's sake, all right already, but you owe me."
An Unconscious Slip: At the hair salon I accidentally bought a bottle of color-enhancing conditioner, which Aaron, the genius who adds a teensy streak of auburn to my locks, seriously advised me to purchase. It wasn't until later that my Conscience smote me.
Me: OW! What was that?
Conscience: I am smiting you, you idiot. You can't buy color-enhancing conditioner when you're on a spending fast! This is Lent -- or have we forgotten already?
Me: Good God! I've failed and Lent isn't even 24 hours old! But listen, Conscience. Everyone has that initial slip-up on the road to salvation. It was completely unintentional, and I won't do it again, I promise!
With my Conscience temporarily appeased, I managed to put that snafu behind me. But the night was far from over. Although Melanie had promised to pay for dinner, when the bill came it turned out the place didn't take plastic -- and Mel didn't have enough cash!
The hounds of hell were barking at my heels. But since the situation was truly beyond my control, I paid the tab and considered my Lenten vow battered, but intact. Kind of like Britney Spears' virginity. I just wasn't sure how much more it could take. (The vow, I mean.)
Total Savings: $0.00
Day 2: Snackless Thursday
When I couldn't buy myself a cup of coffee in the morning (Rule #1: Thou Shalt Not Buy What Thou Can Brew At Home), I went into a tailspin.
Fatal Miscalculation: I'd assumed the spending fast would be easy -- because I hadn't given much thought to all the things I spend money on. Or rather, I'd underestimated them. Sure, as I've been careening down the road to financial sanity, I've gotten a grip on most of my big, obvious spending blunders. But who knew there were so many small ones! Well, honey, there ain't nothing like a spending fast to show the dings in your halo.
Lesson #1: Meals, big and small, but mostly small, are my downfall. Whether it's a cup of coffee, a muffin, a sandwich, a snack, a this, a that -- I'm constantly spending money on food. Which I didn't realize until I was bound and gagged by my Lenten promise.
Personal finance experts are always telling you that these little indulgences add up. That if you save the $7 a day you squander on a sandwich and soda for lunch, you'll be a millionaire by Christmas.
I've always believed in that, in principle. But since I don't spend $7 on lunch, or $4 a day on lattes, or any one thing consistently, I never noticed that I spend $1.79 at Dunkin' Donuts and $3 at the local diner, etc. -- which also adds up, just in smaller increments. And larger ones. Like when I met a friend (before Lent) and spent $15 on tea!
Lesson #2: Spending is a self-perpetuating cycle. In other words: I was more in the habit of buying random snacks than getting my butt to the grocery store, thus ensuring that I'd often need to buy a snack . . .
Total Savings: Breakfast, lunch and the snack I didn't buy that afternoon while running errands = $11.50
Day 3: Cranky Friday
Fresh resolve! I went to the grocery store and stocked up. Then I arranged to meet a friend later that night for a FREE drink (at a place where we knew the bartender), after which we'd COOK dinner at her house, followed by a RENTED movie. Creativity is the mother of frugality.
Boy, did I feel virtuous -- until my friend confessed, after our complementary beverage, that she no longer felt like cooking dinner. I explained that I would be happy to do the cooking, but I couldn't break my fast. She explained that SHE wasn't on a stupid fast, I was -- and she was going to order in dinner. Which she did. And I let her.
Lesson # 3: Your spending habits are entwined with your social life. If you change one, the other must also change. Or at least cooperate. And if that fails, you have to stand your ground or die trying.
Total Savings: Dinner, drink, movie = $43
Day 4: Starvation Saturday
My life is a minefield of eating opportunities and social obligations -- and one usually involves the other. Somehow I manage to go shopping with a friend -- and not only don't buy the dress that's on sale, but I don't eat anything afterward either. She graciously buys me a cup of green tea at the cafe, while I drool over her grilled chicken salad. "When is this fast over, anyway?" she asks.
Later: My boyfriend buys me dinner, since his kitchen isn't stocked either, and he's tired of hearing me whine.
Moral Dilemma: Does mooching off friends still count as a spending fast?
Epiphany: I haven't taken out my wallet, aside from buying groceries and gas for the car, in over two days. Where is my wallet?
Total Savings: (including the dress I resisted): $75
Day 5: Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
It's 1 a.m. on Sunday. My friends and I have gone to Open Galley night in Williamsburg, which is FREE. But now we're tired. And hungry. OK, I'm tired and hungry. So I walk into a diner. And buy a veggie burger. Is there anything more tasty than forbidden fruit on an empty stomach?
Bless me, Father, for I have now totally blown my spending fast.
Lesson #4: Weekends are a bitch.
Saving Grace: Technically, according to "Ask A Franciscan" by Father Pat McCloskey in the Lent FAQ section of American Catholic's Web site (you didn't know there were Lent FAQs, did you? See link at left under Related Sites.), the faithful are not obliged to fast on Sundays during Lent. But because I sinned deliberately, wantonly, hungrily -- I couldn't really let myself off the hook. Besides, I didn't know about the Sunday loophole.
That said, I decided to continue my spending fast for the remaining 35 days of Lent -- with some adjustments. Here's what I've learned:- It works. I'm saving money -- money I didn't even know I was spending. (Which is the best kind!).
- I'm now hyper-aware of my slippery spending slopes. Besides my food foibles, a far worse temptation is the unforgiving social climate of New York City, the city that never sleeps, and always spends, because no one is ever at home. And lastly . . .
- Not spending money on things I ultimately don't care about is an excellent reminder of all the things I'd rather spend money on. (Hey, maybe I can save for a vacation after all . . . ).
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