© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 07
Ever since I was a kid, I have had a special appreciation for money. I learnt my materialism from the bright excitement and anticipation of toy stores, bookshops and coin-operated arcade games. From the moment I received my first few cents for pocket money, I knew I had a friend for life. Unfortunately, the relationship has never been entirely consistent.
Once again, my good friend, money, has run out on me. This time it was a couple of expensive valves on a car, a broken microwave and a video machine repair that sent it on its way. I am almost at the point where I need an overdraft on my overdraft. The money will come back: it always does. But I really hate its absence, and I wish it would stay longer.
The idea that money can’t buy happiness is wasted on me. If it is true then how come the poor are so unhappy without it? Apparently it can’t buy health or long life, yet qualified medical professionals and a thriving pharmaceutical industry may have something to say on this matter, and the rich do seem to live longer than everyone else. I recognize that money can’t buy love, or at least not the sort of love that lasts longer than fifteen minutes, but there is so much else that money can buy.
Money is a two-faced beast. When you flip a coin, one side faces up and the other is the downside. The upside is having it. The downside is spending it and not having it. Clearly, you shouldn’t be able to have your cake and eat it. And with the price of a slice of cake compared to a new pair of toddler shoes, it’s not even certain that I can have that slice of chocolate cake, let alone eat it. Even the price of a decent cup of coffee makes me think twice.
Money has its own twisted logic. Thanks to the reasoning of bank managers, accountants and other scary people, you can have money without having it. This strange proposition is known as debt. It works this way: you can have and spend money that you don’t have so long as you have the money to pay for the money that you don’t have but that you are spending.
In terms of this arrangement, you can have your cake and eat it although it doesn’t taste very good, leaves you with lingering indigestion and forces you into the baking trade in order to pay the bank back for the initial slice of cake. Apparently the situation is beneficial to all parties concerned, especially the bank and those who have suppressed a lifelong desire to become bakers.
Looking at it this way, debt makes no sense whatsoever. Fortunately, like all good bank clients, I have ignored the strange logic, gone where the money is and kept up with the payments.
I used to spend my money on pleasures: a new book, a computer game, a good meal, a bunch of beers and even the occasional holiday. Recently, I changed the way I spend it. My daughter brought with her a whole new set of financial challenges: a bigger house, a suitable car, education, health care, personal insurance and expensive toys that are supposed to make her a genius but that she figures out and discards after just a few days. I’m being responsible. I’m spending for the family now!
Responsibility and money are a difficult combination for a materialist. But self-imposed deprivation brings a new sense of pleasure to acquisition. I examine the magazine with the CD on the front or a new book for deficiencies and highlights more closely now, seeking every drop of value. The rare slice of cake brings a new appreciation of half-remembered flavours to my jaded taste buds. Perhaps absence does make the heart grow fonder. Fortunately it hasn’t got to the point where my daughter and I quarrel over who gets to play with the building blocks.
If there is something to be said about money and happiness, it must be that some money can buy some measure of happiness, as long as you don’t spend too frequently and keep the financial industry happy.
All that being said, I still want lots more money. Wanting more money is as natural as a squirrel hoarding nuts in winter. Money also buys security.
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