The Cost of Living

I've been hearing people complain about the cost of living for my entire life.

Well, my entire known existence. Thirty years.

I can definitively remember 2008.

The recession.

I was a child, riding around with my dad, watching him react to the numbers posted outside gas stations. I didn't understand the economy, but I understood the energy in the car.

We're in a recession.

I remember when $2.50 could buy a gallon of gas. I remember when gas cost less than that. I've lived long enough to watch prices rise, fall, and rise again.

And through it all, the conversation has remained remarkably consistent.

Everything costs too much.

Gas costs too much. Groceries cost too much. Housing costs too much. Living costs too much.

And, well, sometimes it does.

But lately, I've been wondering what happens when we change the conversation.

Not because the prices have changed.

Because we have.

In Between Blessings

Financial literacy has been one of the greatest gifts I've given myself.

I've read the books. Rich Dad Poor Dad. Think and Grow Rich. You're a Badass at Making Money.

I've practiced the imagery, the affirmations, the intentional thinking.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something.

I've mastered making money.

I'm constantly making it.

Now, the rate at which it comes to me? That's what we're working on.

But financial freedom requires more than earning money. It requires understanding it, respecting it, and recognizing how we relate to it.

And sometimes that understanding arrives while you're pumping gas.

The other day, my tank was on E.

All my bills were paid. There was food in my refrigerator, food in my freezer, snacks in my pantry. Water in the house. Electricity. Prescriptions. Everything I needed to sustain my life was taken care of.

I was taken care of.

But my checking account was waiting for its next blessing.

I had enough money to fill my tank. Somewhere between forty and fifty dollars would have done it.

And ordinarily, that's exactly what I would have done.

Fill it up.

Because that's what I do.

But this time, I thought about something I'd heard Jay-Z say about being able to afford something twice.

And I thought about what affordability means to me.

My savings are my savings. My investments are my investments. The money I've intentionally placed somewhere has a purpose, and I don't need to disturb it simply because it's there.

So I looked at what was available in my checking account.

And I asked myself a different question.

Do I need a full tank of gas?

No.

I needed enough gas to get where I was going.

I could get more later.

And there it was.

Plenty does not mean you need to have it all.

I didn't have to empty what was available to me just because I could afford to.

I could have enough.

And leave some.

What a beautiful little lesson to learn at a gas station.

The Good Stuff

I think about groceries similarly.

Yes, food can be expensive.

But I love food.

I love nourishing myself. I love opening my refrigerator and seeing fresh fruit, ingredients I recognize, and possibilities for meals I haven't made yet.

I love taking fresh veggies, preparing them with care, and finding different ways to enjoy them throughout the week.

Tonight, they're part of a salad.

Tomorrow, perhaps they're tucked into a sandwich.

A little leftover turkey and rice can become something entirely different with a handful of greens and vegetables.

A cucumber can become several meals.

I don't need to use everything at once to enjoy everything I have.

And perhaps that's another form of wealth.

Knowing how to make something plentiful.

I buy organic when I can. I choose ingredients that make me feel good. I could probably grow some of these vegetables in my backyard, considering I buy the same handful over and over again.

But I don't.

Not right now, anyway.

Right now, the best I'm willing to do is use my good old money to purchase food that nourishes me.

And I'm grateful I can.

I recognize that not everyone has that choice. Sometimes the price really does determine whether someone eats well, eats enough, or eats at all.

I don't want to dismiss that.

I simply don't want to spend my own life resenting every dollar I use to take care of myself.

Because that's what I'm doing.

Taking care of myself.

And I think that's worth something.

What I Learned About Being Taken Care Of

I'm a first-generation American, raised in a Caribbean family.

Growing up, I witnessed people working hard to make money, then sending that money to other people.

People here taking care of people there.

And there is something beautiful about that.

There is love in it.

There is sacrifice.

There is community.

But my experience also taught me something else.

I witnessed what it looked like when someone's ability to live depended on someone else's ability to earn.

And as a child, that weighed on me.

Because I was one of those people.

I needed someone to feed me, clothe me, house me, and care for me.

That's childhood.

But somewhere in my little mind, I understood my existence as something that required resources from another person.

And I didn't want to be a burden.

So I did what I could.

I kept my grades good. I kept my room tidy. I took care of myself.

And when I woke up to make myself a good breakfast, I thought about my daddy.

If I was going to eat good, surely the person who bought the groceries should eat good too.

So I'd make enough for him.

And I think that little girl understood something I've carried into adulthood.

When I take care of myself, I create opportunities to care for others.

Not because I owe everyone everything.

Not because my existence is a debt that needs to be repaid.

But because care has a beautiful way of extending beyond the person receiving it.

When I wake up and stretch, when I nourish my body, when I make sure my spirit feels light, I carry that with me.

Into my home.

Into my work.

Into every room I enter.

And the people around me experience whatever I've brought.

I want to bring something good.

So I have to give myself something good to bring.

I Finally Have a Reason

For years, I've wanted to make more money.

Who doesn't?

I've imagined the lifestyle, the opportunities, the freedom.

I've told myself I wanted to make more so I could take care of my family.

And I do.

But I think I was borrowing a definition of taking care of family that I had inherited.

One where making more money meant having more money to give away.

And while I understand the beauty of that, I don't want to become the person everyone depends on financially.

I don't want my wealth to be measured by how many people I can sustain.

I want the people I love to be well.

I want them to take care of themselves.

And I want to take care of myself too.

Because I've realized what I actually want more money for.

I want to see them.

I want to go to Africa and spend time with one of my dearest friends.

I want to go to Spain and visit my nieces.

I want to fly to South Florida more often instead of making the drive.

And when I fly, I'd love to sit in first class.

Comfort Plus at minimum, please.

I want to be able to say yes to the beautiful experiences that come with loving people who live all over this Earth.

I want to celebrate with them.

Visit them.

Sit at their tables.

Walk through their neighborhoods.

Hear about their lives, knowing I have the freedom to stay a little longer.

I want to be present.

And presence, sometimes, costs money.

Not because love has a price.

But because participating in life requires resources.

And suddenly, I understand why I want more.

Not to prove that I can earn it.

Not to become everyone's financial safety net.

Not to accumulate things simply because I can.

I want more money because I want more life.

More experiences.

More opportunities to show up.

More freedom to move through this beautiful world and love the people in it.

And that's a reason I can believe in.

The Cost of Living

I think I'll always hear people talking about prices.

It's part of the human experience.

We'll notice when things cost more. We'll remember when they cost less. We'll question why the numbers keep changing while our needs remain the same.

And we should question things.

We should want systems that allow people to live well.

But I also want to remember what exists on the other side of those prices.

Gas means I have somewhere to go.

Groceries mean I have a body to nourish.

A plane ticket means there's someone I want to see.

A home means there's somewhere I get to return.

And money?

Money is one of the resources that helps me participate in all of it.

I'm learning that I don't need to have everything to have plenty.

I'm learning that taking care of myself isn't selfish.

I'm learning that making more money doesn't have to mean taking on more responsibility for everyone else's life.

Sometimes it simply means having the freedom to live more of my own.

And as I continue this journey toward financial freedom, I find myself feeling something different when I spend money.

Not always excitement.

Not always comfort.

But increasingly, gratitude.

Gratitude that I have something to spend.

Gratitude that I know what it's for.

Gratitude that I'm learning when enough is enough, and when it's time to welcome more.

Because I do want more.

I'm ready for more.

And for the first time, I don't have to invent a reason.

I have a life I love.

And I want to live more of it.

With love,