If there is a difference that stood out from the first between Sandy and I, it was our experience with wealth, or in my case, the lack of it. Sandy parents were clinicians. Of course, they were not in private practice, instead they worked at the VA in SF and at UCSF, which meant they never made egregious amounts of money. Still it was enough to afford to live in Marin, CA, to send their kids to private school from K-university, to travel, and to hire help when they needed it. Sandy worked part time during his summer, but he never worried about whether he would be able to pay his tuition or rent. Such an upbringing could have formed a person plagued with entitlement issues. It did not. Neither Sandy nor his siblings have supercilious tendencies. All have strong work ethics instilled in them by their unpretentious parents. In truth, it’s why I can manage around his family. If when I visited his parents for the first time, I had stepped into a stylish home to find a mother garnished in makeup and the latest fashion or to find that his father was at all concerned about the trappings of wealth beyond having a nice car and some tech gadgets, I would have been across the Golden Gate Bridge before Sandy fully introduced me – on foot. But that’s not who they are. They walk comfortably along a line between wealth and work. They go to the symphony in the same twenty year old garb my parents might wear to church. Observing my parents-in-law from a distance, I can appreciate their choices with little judgment.
All the same, when I look at myself as similarly advantaged, I am abashed. I am embarrassed to own, wear or use any extravagant finery. I found after Eliot was born that I could not stomach using a certain, popular, intelligently designed, but luxurious stroller. I returned it and found something only slightly less expensive, but less recognizably pricey. For years, I have repeated this pattern. And when I cannot replace or do without some exorbitant item, I distance myself as much as possible from its purchase:
- the brand new mini-van with all of the accoutrement with leather seating: Sandy’s car.
- the nice house: we got lucky with the sale of our condo that let us afford more than we otherwise would have.
- the leather furniture: floor model on sale.
- the private school for Eliot: Sandy insisted, but Eliot really needs it.
- the nice outfit I’m wearing: Goodwill.
- the cleaners, gardener, dog walker: Sandy throws money at the problem.
- the several thousand dollar tricycle: I don’t have a car, so in comparison…
- the annual trip to Cape Cod: Sandy’s family.
Over and over again, I attribute the selection of a particular expense to Sandy, or I explain it as not really being as excessive as it appears. I harbor a deep-seated fear of being perceived as wealthy. I do not wear my diamond engagement ring or anniversary band. When I walk by someone destitute I rue the nice shoes or jacket that I wear and want to assure them that I got them at the thrift store.
With the exception of his tendency to replace rather than tend or repair, generally, Sandy is not a frivolous spender. He admittedly defaults to purchasing new, but he accepts that I forage at thrift stores, seek hand-me-downs and delight in street finds.
I mentioned that I was writing this entry to Gwen on our walk this morning, and she asked if I would prefer to have less/make less. What a thought-provoking question! I don’t believe anyone likes having less money. It’s easy to forgot how much I worried about money before Sandy. I was perpetually concerned about making enough for tuition and rent in college. I abandoned my original bachelor’s and teaching credential, because I could not afford to student-teach. I worked two jobs for a year before coming to California to pay off credit card debt. At some point after several years in California, I used a credit consolidation service to pay off another round of credit card debt.
Yet, in spite of the evidence, I tell myself that if I had to make do with less, I would. I definitely live to our means now. I enjoy the ease of our wealth as much as Sandy in my perpetual supplement/vitamin and other Amazon purchases, therapeutic work (massage, chiropractor, therapist, acupuncturist), and as I mentioned earlier, my Kindle book collection, among other things.
I’ve been considering the notion of setting up my own personal financial account to which I would place some of my earnings. The idea being that I could donate to my own charities or make purchases about which I don’t have to feel guilty. But if I had to pay for my own health care services and supplements, would I?
I admit one thing that troubles me considerably is our disproportionate incomes. Working for a university or a non-profit suits me. It is an aspect of identity that I can claim comfortably. I confess being staff at the university versus being a graduate student or faculty rankles just a bit, but the university is where I want to be, which means, I will never make a substantial amount of money. Sandy works for Google. Sandy will make more money than me for as long as I continue to be employed in the public sector. In theory, I could proportion our contributions and our expenses.
I should note that the fact that Sandy manages our money is probably a contributing factor. The feminist in me cringes that he not only does he make so much more than I do, but he also manages the family books. My original reasoning for having Sandy handle the financial paperwork was because it was a discrete task that he could do. Getting Sandy to stay on top of laundry or dishes or sweeping or managing the boys care and camps or other project management seemed impossible. So he picked up the tasks that were easily defined and regular. I got the amorphous ones. Now I wonder if we should consider re-assigning our household tasks. What if he had to schedule all of the boys lessons and camps, remember to order new flea meds and arrange appointments for everyone? What would happen if I managed the finances?
I don’t see myself picking up the cooking, I will concede.