felt out of character: a day at Wrigley Field, a trip to the top of the Empire State Building, tickets for Hamilton. There was no inexpensive way to do these things, but the expense was worth it every time. We had the memories to prove it. “Don’t you think this dinner qualifies as a signature experience?” he asked.
I saw his point. Instead of embracing the good things this experience had to offer, I’d been trying to think my way out of it. But if I could learn to change the calculus—and to focus on what my splurge was really getting me—I could save myself a lot of angst.
Change the Calculus to Decide If a Splurge Is Worth It
Many people struggle with overthinking decisions involving money. Could it be because we struggle to establish a clear way to think about atypical expenditures?
When I’m considering a splurge, I’m often afraid of doing something I’ll regret. Not because I can’t afford it or don’t wish to spend money, but because it’s out of character. But as Will pointed out, I’ll also regret not doing something that brings me joy just because it costs more than I’m accustomed to paying. Maybe according to our usual calculations it doesn’t make sense to spend freely on a fleeting experience, but splurges are unusual situations. How can we think about them in a way that acknowledges their uniqueness?
When I think back on past splurges, I remember them not in terms of cost per minute but in terms of memories—and those indelible moments take up ample space in my mind. My kids still talk about Biltmore, and the Cubs. When we go to the theater, we don’t hang on to the program—but the memories last. Of course we could have chosen to forgo those experiences in favor of something cheaper, but when I look at it from this point of view, I’m glad we didn’t.
When I think about what I hope to take away from these out-of-the-ordinary experiences, I think about a friend who once told me his favorite childhood memories all begin with the same words: let’s splurge. His mom loved to splurge, and whenever she said those words, the whole family knew an unforgettable experience was on the horizon.
When Thomas Gilovich and Amit Kumar studied whether people get more happiness from spending money on material goods or spending money on experiences, experiences was the runaway winner. This is largely thanks to the fact that our experiences connect us to others more than material goods do and play a bigger role in our sense of self. “In a very real way, we are the sum total of our experiences,” Gilovich and Kumar write.
Even long after they’re gone, experiences become memories we treasure and continue to share with others. “We consume experiences directly with other people,” says Gilovich. “And after they’re gone, they’re part of the stories that we tell to one another.”
The next time you’re considering a splurge, ask yourself, What is that money really buying me? What do I hope to get out of this experience? How do I measure the return on my investment? Life is a series of experiences. Our splurges may not come cheap, but the memories are priceless.
Remember That Money Is Not the Only Currency
Thankfully, not all splurges require big bucks. Sometimes a small expenditure feels pleasantly—incredibly—extravagant. One of my kids’ favorite memories is from their first trip to New York, when Will and I let them choose whatever they wanted for dinner for our last night in town.
They opted for a cafeteria-style place, the kind where you walk up to the counter, point to what you want, and get it on a plate, immediately. They chose pizza slices that were most definitely not on any “Best of New York” list. And then, the splurge: we let them pick out any drink they wanted from the refrigerated case. At our house, we drink all water, all the time. Soda is way out of character for us, but of course, my kids love it. The drinks cost us a grand total of $8, but money isn’t the only currency. My kids appreciated the rare indulgence and talked about their “amazing” dinner for ages.
Sometimes the “spending” is not of dollars but of something else.
My cousin’s family lives in a tiny town on the West Coast. My cousin and I were close growing up, and I don’t get to see her and her family nearly enough these days—especially since it takes three airplanes to get