Boston Gal's Open Wallet

A few months back, just before Iceland alerted the world to our global economic woes, I took a hard look at my Social Security Statement—that unflinching “newsletter” stating not only your expected Social Security pay-out but also your yearly income since that very first tax return. In the past, I’d always loved S.S.S.D. (Social Security Statement Day) because I would immediately glance back to 1996, my earning heyday where I raked in a massive $76,000, and let myself believe I was making that much every year. Well, for some uncontrollable reason, this time I happened to look at my income for the ten or so years since then, and I immediately spit out my $3.75 Odwalla Mango Mama. And not because it had suddenly turned sour. I ran to the study, knocking one of my four kids out of the way en route, and ripped open my wife Lisa’s statement. “Oh, my God!” I screamed. “She’s right!”

For years, Lisa had been telling me we were living beyond our means. “Please, please, Hodding, don’t buy that hand-carved black walnut countertop!” she’d implore. In fact, once she even kicked me out of the house for nine months in hopes that I’d wake up. But like that alcoholic who downs yet another Two-Buck-Chuck, I wasn’t ready. I knew that my next book was going to be an international bestseller and I felt entitled to live as did my father (although he was 25 years older than I) and all those successful, happy people in ads and on TV. Here I was, though, finally seeing the raw truth. Our average combined income—drum roll, please—for the past decade had been … $41,000. Thanks to those heady days of refinancing, deft shuffling of credit-card debt, deceased grandparents, and a lucrative house sale, however, we had lived, year after year, as if we were making $120,000. Like 70 percent of our fellow Americans, we were living off our VISA cards with no means of paying them off any time soon. As a result, we had $75,000 in credit-card debt and owed $245,000 on a $289,000 house. What had I been thinking?

Which brings me to my point: I like Frugal Hodding better, too. Out of all the things we’ve done during the past 12 months to make ends meet, this no-spending experiment was the most difficult, exacting aspect, as well as the one of the most rewarding, successful, and life-changing. As it turned out, we didn’t make it the whole month—we bought a tank of gas so our whole family could go to Helen’s soccer game 90 miles away, and then we chose not to miss the Common Ground Country Fair, an annual festival (and Carter Family ritual) celebrating Maine’s organic farmers and growers—but we went plenty long enough to make our whole family glow with pride and knowledge. We already knew there was a much better place than the Land of Excess, but now we felt it deep inside.

The kids kept telling me there was no difference between what we’ve been doing all year and this past month, besides my opportunistically coasting in neutral on every downhill. Their opinion, in itself, signaled success to me because it meant they didn’t feel deprived, but it wasn’t completely true, at least from my viewpoint. Although the kids have their own money, they didn’t spend any this month, either. Also, unlike most middle-class kids, they were made very aware of what it takes to not only get by but to feel satisfied. They took part in the scramble to pull this off, suggesting meals that could be made from the garden, baking cookies, and coming up with more things to barter.