When I was a little kid growing up in Tamaqua, I knew one family that was rich. They had a giant brick house on a landscaped lot that was surrounded by a brick wall. They had a two car garage, an above ground swimming pool and a finished basement with a bar. The parents were friends of my parents. They had two girls – one my sisters age and one my age. Although I only really liked the older daughter, I was “assigned” to play with the younger one whenever our families got together, which was often.
I had a lot of fun swimming in their pool, climbing on their brick wall and playing with their cool toys. Their house was fascinating to me. Everything was so nice. They had a pool table. They had little cars we could pedal around their long patio. They had life-size dollhouses with a full child size play kitchen. They were so rich that they had a cleaning lady and a guest bedroom!
Every winter over Christmas break they would go to Disneyland in Florida and return to school with tans.
In my town of working class second generation immigrant Irish, German and Italian blue collar families, this rich family was an outlier.
The rest of us shared bedrooms, wore hand-me-down clothes, camped at the state park for vacations, rode our parents old bicycles and cleaned our own houses. A big night out for us was playing miniature golf and getting an ice cream cone. We were all in the same boat and life was pretty good.
I was only envious of the rich family getting to go to Florida every winter. I loved the summer and thought going swimming at Christmas would be so cool. (It was I found out when I lived in Florida decades later).
Until I met my future wife when I was 21, I lived like most of my peers. We worked crappy minimum wage jobs through high school so we could buy Levi’s jeans, get fast food, and go to the movies on the weekends. More often than not we walked, rode bikes or took the bus everywhere. I knew 2 kids in my high school who had cars. The rest of us would beg our parents to let us borrow their car to cruise around on weekends.
The “rich” kids I knew in high school had a few things the rest of us did not:
- Two parents who hadn’t divorced.
- They went to Catholic School vs. public school.
- Their parents had a nice car like a Buick, a K-Cars or a Thunderbird.
- They had Jordache Jeans instead of Levi’s and more than one pair of leather hi-top Nikes.
- Their parents made them dinner and bought them pizza on Friday nights.
- They had more than one TV and some even had cable.
- Their houses were nicer – bigger, with finished basements, pool tables, driveways and patios.
As for the rest of us, we made do and it was alright.
We knew about rich people from TV, movies, and magazines. We knew rich people :
- Flew on planes.
- Vacationed at Disneyland or Caribbean beaches.
- Ate in fancy restaurants.
- Had maids and nannies.
- Drove luxury cars.
- Got manicures and haircuts at expensive salons.
- Lived in mansions.
We never attempted to live like we were rich. It was simply out of the question. We didn’t have the money.
And then something changed. I think it was access to credit cards. At least it was for me. As soon as I got my first credit card I started buying things I didn’t have the money for.
I took my dates to fancy restaurants like Chili’s and ChiChi’s where meals for two cost $30 instead of pizza shops or McDonald’s where it cost $10 for two.
I bought $1000 worth of home gym equipment instead of making do with the $40 set of Sear’s barbells, the yard sale bench and the doorway pull-up bar that had served me for 3 years.
Eventually, after I met my future wife, I “upgraded” my spending to live even more like rich people. We ate at fancy restaurants, bought top shelf booze, had a weekly cleaning lady, rented houses in nice neighborhoods and lived beyond our means for many years by financing our lifestyle with credit cards.
The problem was, we weren’t rich.
Which brings me to today – many years later and a bit wiser.
I see so many people making the same mistakes I made by financing a lifestyle they cannot afford using debt.
- They spend way to much to be “served” – by waiters, baristas, hair stylists, manicurists, masseuses, cleaning people, bartenders and uber drivers.
- They buy expensive clothes that instagram models, reality stars and movie stars promote.
- They lease cars they cannot afford to buy.
- They buy the largest home they can get a mortgage for or rent “luxury” apartments.
- They vacation in Europe and the Caribbean.
And, just like I was (and still am), they aren’t rich.
When I was young, I lived within my means because I had no choice. After decades of being crushed by debt due to my own poor choices, I embraced frugality and minimalism in my 40s and rediscovered the freedom that comes with living within my means.
I’d love to be rich. If I was, I would undoubtedly upgrade certain parts of my life to make things more convenient and pleasurable.
But, I am not and I no longer try to live like I am.
This way has always been better.