Last week, I was listening to a podcast about debt. While the host and guest talked about debt in the traditional sense – mortgage, loans, credit cards and negative bank balances – I was most struck by what they called invisible debt. Debt caused not by spending too much but by wanting more. It is a debt driven by desire and social comparison.
The premise of the discussion was trying to unravel the contradiction between the fact that Americans are on average both wealthier and unhappier than their counterparts living in comparable parts of the world.
One theory they floated centered on the mental calculation that “happiness = what you have minus your expectations.” If you have more than you expected, you are happy. If you have less, you are not. If they are relatively equal, you are content.
We define what we “have” in many different ways; relationally, emotionally, socially, psychologically and materially among them. We may be loved, but we expect it to be demonstrated in a certain way. We have friends but we may expect to see them more than we do. We may have a home but it may not have all the things we expected in our “dream house.”
Dreams, desires and expectations are, of course, not bad. Quite the opposite. They motivate us to push ourselves, to succeed, to be better in so many facets of our life. At the same time, they can also be engines for disappointment.
Growing up with so little drove me to want more. As I rose up the ladder, naturally so did my desires. I was exposed to more possibilities and promise. But there is something pernicious about desire.
Social comparison is when we compare what we have to others around us. If you are “moving up” in life, you will invariably always know someone who has more – however you choose to define it. Social media can fuel an almost insatiable desire – comparing our interior life to someone’s exterior posts. Everyone else’s vacations and relationships seem perfect in comparison. Growing up, there was a desire or pressure to keep up with the Joneses – a reference to your immediate neighbor. Today, you can feel compelled to keep up with the Joneses and the Kardashian’s and everyone in between.
I wrote the poem below when I was in my early twenties:
“I wish to live a simple life; a home, three kids, a loving wife.
I wish to have simple thoughts; of things I have not of things I’ve not
I wish to see simple things; like children smiling, swinging on swings
I wish I did not know what I do, so that these wishes could come true.”
A simple life is hard in a complex world. Perhaps it shouldn’t be. When I wrote those words many years ago, “I did not know what I do” referred to demons that I feared I would never overcome – fortunately I did.
Reflecting on it today, I see different meanings in that same phrase; ones attached to our own desires, expectations and comparisons. Knowing what we want and yet not having it is painful if not paralyzing.
On the same podcast, they noted that our desires – in all forms – are a proxy for respect and attention. We long to be seen. But how? They offered this thought experiment to draw out our answer:
How would you live if nobody was watching?
What would you care about? What would you wear? What would you do? They posited that most of us would act differently. Probably be more content. Perhaps even enjoy a more simple life.
We will always desire. It is part of what makes life exciting, moving us forward or even up. At the same time, it is important to question what we desire and where these desires come from? What kind of attention and respect do we seek and from whom?
When I was younger, I loved reading GQ magazine. I wanted what I saw within those pages; the fancy suits, sporty BMW, exotic vacations. I desired these things because I hated being seen as poor and desperately wanted others to see me as rich – materially anyway.
As I grew older, my desires changed. I wanted to be present in every possible way for my children – because I knew the stings of an absent dad. I wanted to be a stable husband who was there for my wife; always treated her with love and respect, because I never saw my mother experience that. I desired to make a difference in the world with my work because I craved validation for who I was not what I have.
More and more I desire a simple life. Enjoying my home, three kids and loving wife. Focusing more on what I have, not what I’ve not. Seeing beauty all around me in the faces of children doing childish things. Trying to be the best version of myself for others and re-examining what “I know” so I don’t get in my own way.
This Week’s Recommendation. Listen to the podcast referenced above and if so inclined read the book on which the conversation was based, The Art of Spending Money.
Like this post if it resonates with you.