Self-Denial and Self-Indulgence

Is there a proper middle way?

Awhile ago I saw a tweet that went, “Don’t wait till you’re in your 40s to buy a set of dishes you really like.”

The other day I saw an interesting tweet, to the effect of, “When you want to do something or buy something, do it, because it helps you form your sense of intuition and gut feeling. Help yourself understand what you want and need, and let that feedback loop operate.”

That’s really interesting. I think a lot of people would read that idea as very self-indulgent. Allergic to sacrifice, hardship, self-denial, delayed gratification. “If it feels good, do it.” That was my initial reaction. But I’m not so sure. I think there’s something to it. And I’ve been realizing that figuring this out is one of the big tests of early adulthood.

I’ve noticed how, now that the money I spend is my own, I find it much harder to justify going out to eat, or trying some neat new product in the supermarket, or updating my clothes when I don’t strictly need to. Little things I used to do for myself on a whim, without having to convince myself I deserved them.

But now I think: do you order the entrée you really want or do you settle for your second choice to save a few bucks? Do you buy the ice cream you really like, or get the one on sale? Do you drive to the store half an hour away to get the hot dogs you really love, or buy the ones that are okay at the local store? Do you spend the money on durable shoes, coats, furniture, or do you buy the budget stuff and hope it lasts long enough to have ultimately saved you something?

I was reading an old Reader’s Digest cookbook from the 1970s, full of home economics-type stuff that was probably a bit old-fashioned even when it was published. And there are all these tips on how to save a few pennies here and a few pennies there. I sort of do that myself—when you shop and cook a lot, you really have to—but keeping that in mind at all times is like running a mental process in the background, and it seems like the kind of thing that can slowly drain your energy.

So I try not to do it too much. We waste very little food, but when I happen to have them, I just get rid of the scraps of vegetables (one third of a parsley bunch or a bag of celery), or bits of leftover dinners, rather than try to find a use for absolutely everything. We use laundry pods and dishwasher pods to make those tasks quicker and cleaner. We run the dishwasher if it’s half full or more at the end of the day. We bought a cordless vacuum cleaner—less powerful and more expensive than our main one—so that we could vacuum on the spur of the moment without messing with a cord. (My wife did, anyway; I wouldn’t have thought I needed it, but I like it.)

A lot of folks my parents’ age see a trendy product, and see me spending three times as much as I need to just to save a few seconds. I think they, like the dad in Calvin and Hobbes, link adversity with building character. But I see a product that saves not only time but frustration—the detergent is all caked up, or it spilled everywhere; the cord won’t stay in the wall—and as a writer who largely sets my own schedule, I do my best work and summon my best focus when I’m not frustrated. So I like to think that removing inconveniences and giving myself little pleasures makes me more money in the long run.

But how do you know if this stuff is making you happy or not? I remember once one of my friends told me his mother gets short-tempered when she’s hungry, but she doesn’t realize she’s hungry. She just feels annoyed. (I’m not sure she’d agree with his characterization.) Now, if I’m annoyed and hungry, I can usually make the connection. But I wonder how often I fail to make such a connection. That’s what that idea is getting at, about developing your intuition and sense of self.

I said I didn’t think I’d have bought a cordless vacuum cleaner on my own. I don’t even replace my computer on my own. I like using my old laptops, which still basically work. They’re a little slow, and one of them can’t pick up the WiFi at my favorite coffee shop, but…they work! It’s hard for me to replace something that works. It also requires giving up my belief that there’s something virtuous about keeping consumer goods in working order for as long as possible, and that consumerism is morally questionable.

I don’t want to buy a new laptop, but part of me knows I should. Yet aside from the cost aspect, I’m honestly not sure what would make me happier: keeping two aging laptops in service, which gives me a sense of pride in my thriftiness, or just throwing in the towel and having a new, blazing fast machine. (For a couple of years, anyway, and then cue the whole thing over again. That’s another reason I hate replacing things.)

This all makes me think of an article I wrote about keeping seasonal things special, back last year. I basically said that I liked the idea of not being able to always have what I wanted at any time. It’s depressing, deflating, it dilutes the sense of time and place and, well, specialness.

One fellow responded, to the bit about special holiday-only recipes, that it’s good to “up your game” instead of reserving stuff you really like for once or twice a year.

Now I didn’t mean I cook and eat like a slob except at the holidays, when, yes, I do in some ways “up my game.” But I cook plenty of nice and sometimes complicated or fancy dishes year-round. What I meant was this (from the piece):

Rice stuffing is for Thanksgiving, prime rib is for Christmas, salami bread is for Easter: If these foods crossed my plate outside their appointed seasons, I would mourn the loss of that specialness more than I would enjoy eating them with greater frequency.

Now, I think I would. But I can’t really say for sure. Maybe the whole conceit would just vanish, and I’d think, “Damn, it’s pretty nice eating prime rib every month.” (But again, the cost.) Or maybe I’m right, and I’d feel deflated, and I’d be anxious that Christmas dinner wouldn’t feel so elusive and awaited and special. And then I wonder if maybe this whole discourse in my head is a symptom of spending too much time thinking about food and errands and domestic stuff, instead of work and social life.

But I can’t really say for sure.

Sometimes it’s hard to even tell what you really want. What’s a temptation, what’s a prick of conscience, what’s a signal you should listen to, and what’s just a completely neutral desire for some everyday thing that’s perfectly fine to indulge or not indulge? Which self-denials build character, or steward your finances, and which ones just make you imperceptibly more irritable, and out of touch with your intuition and your sense of yourself?

I can think of two very particular, low-stakes times when I did what I thought I wanted. One night, back in grad school, I didn’t really know what I wanted to eat for dinner. I wanted sushi…too expensive. But I could get sushi at the local buffet for a few bucks less. But I didn’t really want to drive. But it was close. So I drove, paid, sat down, and realized I didn’t really want to eat at the buffet after all. Why didn’t I know I’d ultimately feel that way? How could I have known before I plunked down the cash?

The other time—just this last Thanksgiving—I’d forgotten to bring the bag of cheeses and deli meats from Trader Joe’s that I’d bought to bring up (we traveled to my parents’). I could easily have bought similar products at any local supermarket, but I really wanted those exact Trader Joe’s products. The closest Trader Joe’s was half an hour away. Crazy! Unnecessary! Don’t I hate driving and cars??

Well, I drove the one-hour round trip for a piece of excellent truffle cheddar, a stick of Volpi salami, and a jar of grilled marinated artichokes. Perfect antipasto ingredients. I was practically beaming the whole hour I was in the car.

I guess the lesson I’ve taken from experiences like this is, if I’m uncertain, take that as a signal that I don’t want it that much. Don’t treat that uncertainty as an invitation to argue with yourself. And if I am certain, just do it. Don’t challenge that certainty by playing devil’s advocate against yourself.

Is this just a lot of idle thinking? Or does it matter in great things as well as small things, as that tweet up at the top that sparked this piece suggested?

If you’re my age, or have been recently, how did you balance financial concerns and greater responsibility with not denying yourself too much?

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Related Reading:

Getting Good at Doing Things Wrong

Kitchen Contentment

Make It New Every Day

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