When I tell peo­ple that I write about money, some respond by crin­kling their nose and say­ing, “Money? But that’s not what mat­ters in life!”

And then — more often than not — they’ll repeat that famous phrase, “money is the root of all evil.”

Well, that’s not exactly how the say­ing goes. Although that phrase is ingrained in main­stream pop cul­ture today, it takes its roots in a Bib­li­cal verse that reads: “The LOVE of money is the root of all evil.”

Since this month’s Jun­gle of Life theme is love, let’s take a sec­ond to explore the love of money.

What Do You Love?

If I asked you to make a list of things you love, what would you write?

Fam­ily, friends and pets come to mind imme­di­ately, of course. Then peo­ple start list­ing objects and activities.

“I love ice cream,” — an object.

“I love to swim,” — an activity.

“I love that cozy sweat­shirt I’ve had since high school,” — an object.

“I love to paint,” — an activity.

No one thinks its wrong to love an object or an activ­ity — unless that object is “money” or that activ­ity is “mak­ing money.”

When peo­ple tell me that money is the root of all evil, I reply that money is sim­ply an inan­i­mate object, like a cof­fee mug or a gar­den hose. It has no innate good or evil. That qual­ity comes from the mean­ing we assign to it.

Accord­ing to the “root of all evil” expres­sion, money itself is fine. Lov­ing money is not. But why?

It’s okay to love ice cream, cozy sweat­shirts, warm socks, Van Gogh paint­ings and the orange tea ket­tle that your sis­ter gave you six years ago. Why is money sin­gled out as the one object that it’s not okay to love?

I picked those exam­ples for a rea­son. I’m bet­ting no one objects to lov­ing “ice cream and warm socks,” but some peo­ple would object to lov­ing sports cars, glitzy man­sions and emer­ald neck­laces. Why? Because those objects remind peo­ple of money.

This is usu­ally the point where some­one says, “Hold on. A mega-mansion uses tons of envi­ron­men­tal resources.”

True. But so does ice cream pro­duc­tion, from the methane-emitting cows to the cost of main­tain­ing a sub-zero freezer truck.

The tea ket­tle you use to drink Jas­mine Green Tea required some­one to build a fac­tory, pro­duce a ket­tle mold, inspect the ket­tle, pack­age it, deliver it, mar­ket it, account for its rev­enue and loss, and legally pro­tect it.

Every­thing uses resources and costs money. Why pre­tend that it doesn’t?

I believe that “love of money is the root of all evil” is only half the story. I believe that phrase is talk­ing about a blind, jeal­ous, pos­ses­sive love. The phrase “love of money” is refer­ring to the type of co-dependent love that causes the two part­ners to become lesser, instead of more whole.

But I do think we owe it to our­selves to cre­ate a healthy love for money.

Here’s a rad­i­cal idea: Why not “love” money by being a good stew­ard over it? Nur­ture and pro­tect your money, in the same the way you might nur­ture and pro­tect your garden.

Steer clear of pos­ses­sive, co-dependent love, the kind that causes you to stag­nate. Move towards a whole­some love in which both you and your money are able to grow freely.

Money, after all, is a tool that can buy acres of rain­for­est, send your nephew to col­lege with­out stu­dent loans, and pay for the vet­eri­nary appoint­ments that your puppy needs. It’s okay to love money for the life it gives you.

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by Paula Pant

Want to save money? Focus­ing on ONE spe­cific goal can be more effec­tive than spread­ing your­self (and your money) too thin.

Con­ven­tional wis­dom says that the best way to save more money is by ear­mark­ing small amounts of money towards a wide gamut of goals.

For exam­ple, your monthly sav­ings might look like this:

• My next car pur­chase — $75 per month
• A “rainy day” fund — $100 per month
• A down pay­ment on a house — $150 per month
• A trip to Italy — $50 per month
• A new dish­washer — $50 per month
• Total Sav­ings — $425 per month

But this spread-yourself-too-thin strat­egy can be dis­heart­en­ing. After 1 year of sac­ri­fic­ing con­cert tick­ets, restau­rant meals and cute new clothes, you’ve only man­aged to save $600 towards that trip to Flo­rence and Rome. That won’t even buy your air­line ticket.

What’s wrong with this sav­ings strat­egy? Lack of focus.

(Now, a quick dis­claimer: I’m not say­ing this is a bad strat­egy. If it works for you — awe­some! This post is writ­ten for peo­ple who have tried this strat­egy, felt dis­heart­ened by their lack of progress, and — as a result — have given up on their dream trip to Italy.)

What’s the alter­na­tive? Focus on ONE goal at a time. Stop spread­ing your­self thin.

Here’s what that model would look like:

• A “rainy day” fund: $425 per month

After 8 months, you’d reach your goal of a $3,400 “rainy day” fund, at which point you turn your com­plete, unadul­ter­ated focus to another goal.

You start putting $425 per month away for that trip to Italy. After 6 months, you have enough saved to go there.

When you return from Italy, you start focus­ing on the next goal: a new dish­washer. Within 1 month, you’ve got it.

Isn’t that more sat­is­fy­ing than spread­ing your goals too thin (and there­fore need­ing a longer time frame to reach those goals)?

This idea comes from the “snow­ball” method of pay­ing off your debt. It’s a the­ory that states that you should pay down your small­est debt first, regard­less of its inter­est rate. Focus all your money on just one spe­cific debt. Once that debt is repaid, focus all your money on the second-smallest debt. And so forth.

That the­ory has many crit­ics who argue that you’ll pay a lot more in inter­est by focus­ing on your small­est debt, rather than your highest-interest debt. But its sup­port­ers say that focus­ing on one small goal at a time is more effec­tive than spread­ing your­self too thin.

The hyper-focused method may (or may not) be the best method for repay­ing debt — but it’s cer­tainly a great way to save for a goal.

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by Paula Pant

Instead of:

• Max­ing out your credit cards as an indi­rect way of show­ing peo­ple you care about them.

Try:

• Writ­ing a heart­felt note telling some­one you care about them. Pair it with a small token of thanks: freshly-baked cook­ies, for exam­ple, or a small toy for their pet.

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Instead of:

• Dri­ving your­self crazy rac­ing to hol­i­day par­ties and reunions that you don’t really want to attend.

Try:

• Giv­ing your­self a break. Say “no” to the invite, put on your fuzzy pajama slip­pers, and watch that roman­tic com­edy you haven’t had the time to see.

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Instead of:

• Giv­ing money you can’t afford to char­ity, out of a sense of guilt or a desire for tax reduction,

Try:

• Becom­ing per­son­ally involved with a local cause. Bring bal­loons to child can­cer sur­vivors spend­ing the hol­i­days in the hos­pi­tal. Visit an elderly per­son spend­ing the hol­i­days alone.

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Instead of:

• Giv­ing your busi­ness asso­ciates grief about the fact that their report is a week late,

Try:

• Giv­ing them a break. They’re under stress just as much as you are — maybe more.

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Instead of:

• Giv­ing some­one a handout,

Try:

• Giv­ing them men­tor­ing, encour­age­ment, and advice so they can develop the con­fi­dence to suc­ceed on their own.

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Instead of:

• Giv­ing your neigh­bor, your gro­cery store clerk, or your local gas sta­tion atten­dant a polite nod with lim­ited eye contact

Try:

• Giv­ing that per­son a hearty smile, direct eye con­tact, and a heart­felt inquiry into how their day is going.

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Instead of:

• Giv­ing an anony­mous blog­ger grief for their polit­i­cal or reli­gious opinions,

Try:

• See­ing the world from their point of view, if only for a minute.

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Instead of:

• Giv­ing resent­ment to some­one who wronged you,

Try:

• Giv­ing that per­son the ben­e­fit of the doubt.

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Instead of:

• Giv­ing your atten­tion only to the peo­ple, places and causes that are most famil­iar to you,

Try:

• Giv­ing your­self the joy of expe­ri­enc­ing some­thing new and different.

 

by Paula Pant

What’s the first thing that pops into your head when you hear the word “consumption?”

Bob might think of con­sum­ing food. Turkey smoth­ered with mush­room gravy. Mashed pota­toes topped with melted but­ter. Roasted squash with pesto.

Angie might think about con­sum­ing alco­hol. Loads of it. Beers dur­ing the foot­ball game. Shots at the bar. Wine with din­ner. A mar­tini apéritif.

Gina thinks of oil and gas con­sump­tion: drilling in the wet­lands, fuel­ing inef­fi­cient cars.

Will thinks of home energy con­sump­tion: leav­ing the lights on, fail­ing to caulk or seal drafts around doors and windows.

And I think about finan­cial con­sump­tion: spend­ing money we don’t have on things we don’t need.

“Con­sump­tion” is a Rorschach test: one word, tons of inter­pre­ta­tions. Few other words have so many mean­ings or apply to so many topics.

Take a sec­ond to con­sider what pops into your head when you hear the word “con­sump­tion.” I’m bet­ting that the first thing you think about is a topic that applies to your life in one of two ways:

1. You Rock At It — It’s a topic you feel pas­sion­ately about. Will thinks about home energy con­sump­tion because he’s so com­mit­ted to hav­ing an energy-efficient home. He adds insu­la­tion to his attic, he screws aer­a­tors onto his faucets, he installs motion-activated light sen­sors in each room. Gina thinks about gas con­sump­tion because she car­pools with her Prius.
    
2. You Stink At It – Er, that’s my crass way of say­ing that you rec­og­nize this topic as a weak­ness. Angie thinks about con­sum­ing alco­hol because some­where in her sub­con­scious, she real­izes she shouldn’t drink so much. Bob thinks con­stantly about food even though his cho­les­terol is high and he needs to lose weight.

But there’s a com­mon thread between all the top­ics that “con­sump­tion” applies to: using some­thing vs. wast­ing it.

You can use food to sup­ply nutri­tion to your body, or you can stuff your­self silly. You can sip wine – even Jesus turned water to wine – or you can pound drinks until you blackout.

You can use the least amount of fos­sil fuels nec­es­sary to lead a pro­duc­tive mod­ern life, or you can – as my room­mate used to do – crank the heat­ing sys­tem in your home up to 85 degrees while wear­ing shorts and a thin T-shirt in January.

You can waste your hard-earned money on knick-knacks, or you can spend on high-value items and expe­ri­ences that bring joy to your life.

The key to dis­tin­guish­ing waste­ful con­sump­tion from “value” con­sump­tion is to sim­ply be a lit­tle more delib­er­ate, a lit­tle more mindful.

Ask your­self:

• Do I really need another slice of turkey?
• Do I really need a third glass of wine, or can I stop at two?
• Do I want to spend this $20 on another sweater, or do I want to add it to my Pay-Off-The-Mortgage-ASAP fund?

Some peo­ple over-consume. Oth­ers take the knee-jerk oppo­site reac­tion and deprive them­selves. Nei­ther tac­tic is sustainable.

But con­sum­ing mind­fully? It’s sim­ple. It’s bal­anced. And it ups your qual­ity of life.

So think back to the first topic that popped into your head when you thought about “con­sump­tion,” and ask your­self: How can you approach that area of life more mindfully?

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by Paula Pant

Both my dad and my good friend Kara (not her real name) saw huge changes in their bank accounts in the past few years.

Their home prices sank. Their invest­ments were cut in half.  Their busi­nesses teetered on the verge of col­lapse. And it’s dur­ing this time of tremen­dous change – these tough times – that their emo­tional strength was tested.

But their reac­tions are wildly opposite.

Kara never wanted to learn about money in the first place. Even dur­ing the so-called “good times,” when home prices were sky­rock­et­ing and the mar­kets were on a bull run, she thought it was greedy – and sad – to devote her energy to think­ing about money.

At the same time, she knew she was sup­posed to start sav­ing for retire­ment. So she opened a 401(k) and put her retire­ment con­tri­bu­tions into mutual funds, which some­one told her was a ‘safe bet.’

But she never paused to learn about the mar­ket. She doesn’t know how large of a fee her fund man­agers pay them­selves out of her nest egg. She never learned to ask her­self what level of risk she would pre­fer. She never set finan­cial goals.

Then the mar­ket chopped itself in half.

Kara now sees invest­ing as too risky, too fraught with down­side and loss. She knows that her retire­ment sav­ings have been cut in half and she mulls over the hours she spent earn­ing that money.

“Do you know how long it takes me to earn $1,000?” she tells me. “And it just dis­ap­pears – poof! – just like that, in a day! I didn’t even get to spend it on any­thing fun!”

Kara focuses on loss. She views the down­side as ‘per­ma­nent,’ not as a tem­po­rary dip in the roller coaster of life.

She’s only 28 years old but she’s already sworn to avoid ‘risk’.

“What hap­pens if I’m about to retire and we go through this reces­sion again?” she tells me. “I’ll be screwed! I just want to put my money some­where safe.”

My 70-year-old dad took the oppo­site reaction.

He sees the change as tem­po­rary. For the moment, his chips are down. For the moment, his retire­ment port­fo­lio is smaller and his home is worth less. But it’s only for the moment. Just wait until tomorrow.

“But Dad, you’re 70,” I tell him, and he replies, “which means I still have 20 or 30 more years to go!”

He views eco­nomic change as a time when wealth is trans­ferred from one group to another – and he won­ders, “How can I posi­tion myself on the win­ning end?”

But he’s only able to do that because he invested the time – decades ago – to learn­ing how stocks, busi­ness and real estate work. He set goals. He won some and he lost some. He learned to take it all in stride.

A few weeks ago – actu­ally, on my mom’s 70^th birth­day – we were all sit­ting at din­ner when he said to me: “Homes are on sale right now. I want to buy a rental prop­erty but I don’t want to do any of the repairs and main­te­nance. I’m going to pay a prop­erty man­ager to do it, unless you want the job?”

And I thought: “Here’s a man who knows how to lever­age oppor­tu­ni­ties – and how to make the most of people’s time and talent.”

Our response to tough times is a win­dow into how we view the world: as a place of scarcity or a place of abundance.

The more your per­sonal finances change – as your debts are repaid, your income increases, or your nation’s econ­omy under­goes a mas­sive shift – the more oppor­tu­ni­ties you’ll be blessed with. “Change” equals another chance.

It’s exhil­a­rat­ing to rec­og­nize your per­sonal wealth for what it is – a roller coaster – and to choose to enjoy the ride.

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by Paula Pant