Saturation Point

 

I want it. 

But how much should I spend on it?

I used to just spend what I wanted. When I wanted to. Without giving thought to how much I was spending. 

I used to believe that spending more meant I was buying higher quality. And that spending less meant a better deal.

I didn’t give conscious thought to what I wanted to spend. I allowed the item, or the situation, to dictate its price to me - and I blindly followed.

I reacted to situations. I reacted to the price tag. I justified something if I wanted it enough.

I didn’t have my own personal idea about value. Or about what something was worth to me. Or about what the exchange of dollars really meant.

I was living in the world of instant gratification.

If I wanted something. I got it. And most of the time I didn’t even look at the price tag.

This is the very foundation of impulse buying.

If you haven’t taken the time to know what you want. And you haven’t consciously decided how much you’d like to spend. 

No worries.

Marketers will decide for you.

They know that they can seduce you with a sale.

Or a brightly placed display.

Or an “Only 3 left.”

They know that they can tell you why it’s urgent to spend. Now. This much.

And that it works.

I’ve spent thousands upon thousands of dollars unconsciously reacting to what the market-place offered.

I rolled out of a car lot with a brand new car. (Just take it over-night and see how it looks in your garage.)

I bought a Gucci dress that I couldn’t afford. (It was 30% off! When is Gucci ever on sale.)

I ordered a $400 bottle of wine at dinner - knowing full-well that I have allergies and can’t taste the difference between a $10 bottle and a $400 bottle. (Ordering the sommelier’s suggestion will make me seem so chic and knowledgable.)

So, either you can do it my way - and impulse spend yourself into a big black hole of debt - before you learn your lesson.

Or. You can learn a few tricks and apply them to your relationship with money. 

The way we think about a purchase determines the way we feel about it. And my goal is to help you deliberately feel good about any transaction. 

My favorite money feeling is abundance. It’s a feeling that comes from open, generous, there’s-plenty-of-everything thinking.

If you can’t find a way to feel abundant, then it’s not something you should spend your money on.

The price definitely influences the way we think about our purchases.

If the price is too low, we tend to see the item as cheap, untrustworthy, poorly made, and not as valuable. If the price is too high, we tend to see the item as not worth the exchange, not worth the commitment,  untrustworthy, or a rip-off.

There is a sweet spot for every transaction. It’s what I call the Saturation Point. It’s the point where the price is saturated with as much abundance as it can hold.  This point isn’t necessarily an exact dollar amount. The Saturation Point is typically a small price range made up of a low point and a high point. 

The high point is where paying a higher price diminishes the abundance. It’s the point of diminishing returns. When the price is raised past this point - the item doesn’t continue to improve for us. This is completely subjective and will change from person to person. It’s not about actual value - it’s about what we personally value. If the item’s price is higher than this - it’s better to keep our money rather than to buy the item.

The low point is where paying a lower price diminishes the abundance. It’s where the item isn’t worth ‘the deal.’  It seems too cheap. The item has lost it’s value. Again, this is completely subjective and will change from person to person. It’s about what we individually value. If the item’s price is below this point - it’s better to keep our money rather than to purchase the item. 

When we don’t know our Saturation Point - we are more exposed and reactive to marketing.  We spend too much on something because we are told that the higher price makes it better.  Or we spend too little on something because we want to get a better deal, or get it now, and therefore sacrifice what we are really wanting.

We can determine our Saturation Points for any item. Big, medium or small. For instance, a cup of coffee. My Saturation Point for coffee looks like this. 

Spending under a dollar makes me suspect that the coffee might be gross. Especially at a liquor store or gas station. Don’t get me wrong, it might be the best coffee in the world - but it doesn’t matter because I’ll never know. 

The Saturation Point is my story about what I want to pay. It’s not necessarily based on reality. It’s based on my story. And my story says that coffee priced under a dollar at a place that also sells Twinkies and lotto tickets is probably pushing dehydrated gray powder that they put into murky tap water and try to pawn off as coffee. Yuck. 

Spending $1 on coffee is still a little suspect. I’d have to see where it came from. I’d probably smell it. Look at the color. If it’s being sold in a styrofoam cup - then no. If it’s in a paper cup. Then yes. 

$2 feels good. That’s a typical price for good coffee (in my mind.) That’s coffee house coffee. Dark black. Smells great. Even in my mind.

$3 still feels good. This is definitely on the high side of my Saturation Point. If it was in an airport, or mall, or some other place where there’s the convenience factor that I’m paying for - then it would be a yes. But if this $3 cup was just an average coffee house - in an among other coffee houses. Then no.

$4 doesn’t feel good anymore. It’s too much to pay. I don’t want to spend that much on coffee. And I don’t care how good it is at that point. It’s past my Saturation Point.

So, dollar by dollar, I determine my Saturation Point for a cup of coffee. Anything between 2-3 dollars feels good to me. Paying more than $3 doesn’t add more abundance or more value for me. Paying under $2 doesn’t add more abundance or more value for me. 

The important thing to know is at what point does spending more (or less) money on an item make the item (or purchase) better?

At what point does spending more (or less) make the item (or purchase) worse?

This can apply to small things on your grocery list like a loaf of bread, avocados, or bananas. I’m not willing to buy a bunch of bananas for $1. If the price is too low on bananas, I don’t feel good about paying my money toward an industry that might be promoting unfair and unsafe work practices. When I pay a higher price for bananas, I find my Saturation Point. I like supporting fair-trade bananas. Yet, I am not willing to pay $10 for a bunch of bananas. At that point, it is higher than my Saturation Zone - and I have stopped feeling abundant about the price.

Knowing your Saturation Point for big-ticket-items helps simplify the purchasing process. Know what you’re willing to spend on a car, a vacation, a new computer, or a house. And that it’s based on feeling good - rather than on the market or the merchant.

On a larger scale, we can look at the total amount of possessions we own in terms of Saturations Points. We have houses, cars, toys, clothes, and vacations. The money that we spend on these things can add immense value to our lives. It can make our lives easier, better.  But past the Point of Saturation, spending more actually makes our lives more complicated and worse. The bigger house, the better cars, the extra stuff, the storage units, the food we throw away each week, the toys that are bursting out of our kids closets. These things do not make our lives more abundant. They don’t create ease. They don’t simplify our lives. They do not bring more joy. They bring more headaches, more need for storage, more time for organization.

Instead of having the money in the bank, we have a piles of stuff.

This isn’t about not-buying. This is about really understanding what you desire and why. It’s about determining your own value system - and trusting yourself. It’s about caring about yourself. And your money.

When we spend our money mindlessly, without checking in on our Saturation Points, we may spend too much. And spend money that we regret. Or we may spend too little. And may settle for something that we really didn’t want.  

I want you to have what you truly want. I want you to have a rich and meaningful life. 

I want you to allow yourself to have the things that you desire. 

And. I also want you to have money in the bank. 

If You Really Knew Me

If you really knew me, you'd know that I am a tough.

Direct.

Go-getter.

You'd know that I'm not afraid of asking.

Or answering.

Difficult questions.

You'd know that I love the truth.

And that I still continue to stretch the depths of my authenticity.

And that this practice is difficult for me.

You'd know that I love my work.

And the women that I get to work with.

As much as my own heart beat.

You'd know that I am crazy. 

And insecure.

And that I forget to be nice sometimes.

And I'm not really polite.

You'd know that sometimes I am afraid.

And that I forget that I am worthy of love.

And that I procrastinate.

And that I can be lazy.

If you really knew me, you'd know.

Sometimes I'm afraid to show up.

To tell you who I am.

To risk not being liked.

And to brave being rejected.

If you really knew me, you'd see.

We are more alike than different.

We are built of the same stuff.

We both suffer when we believe painful stories.

And we both celebrate when we win.

Loving ourselves is a work in progress.

It takes practice.

And compassion.

It takes commitment.

And patience.

If you really knew me, you'd know

That ultimately.

It's not so much about whether or not you like me.

But it's about whether or not I showed up.

Enough.

For you to have an opinion.

Help Wanted: Stubborn Seeking Sanity

I'm not sure if I've made this clear yet.

But, I'm pretty stubborn.

I don't learn my lessons quickly.

Or easily.

I typically like to wait until I'm completely debilitated by some type of self-induced stress-related illness.

(Read: kidney infection that could have completely been avoided by maintaining my body by drinking a readily available liquid known as water.)

Or until the aftermath of a really dramatic emotional breakdown. 

(Read: the horror of seeing how puffy my eyes are after crying. My own vanity usually sets me straight immediately.)

Or until I've received an e-vite to my own intervention.

(Read: Requesting a larger recycling bin from the garbage company to hide the extreme quantities of empty wine bottles exiting my kitchen door.)

So, it shouldn't surprise you that I'm not quick to ask for help.

From anyone.

In fact, I avoid asking for help.

Like I avoid decaf.

(Read: A very painful and debilitating poison that renders a perfectly beautiful drink ugly and useless.)

My daughter has this same red-headed independence-issue.

One of her very first sentences was: "I do it."

Getting dressed: I do it.

Eating: I do it.

Pushing a stoller: I do it.

Which takes me to yesterday.

Rummaging through my head looking for solutions.

Trying to figure out how I can do more.

Be more.

Fix more.

Accomplish more.

I caught myself staring at my living-room wall in a sort of catatonic trance.

(This happens when I am overwhelmed. I either completely shut-down. Or turn to Pinterest. Neither are very productive.)

And suddenly I saw the irony of the situation.

Here I am a "Coach."

Yet, I'm so friggin stubborn that I'm trying to be the entire Team.

I've stopped being the Coach. And instead I'm trying to be all of the Players.

I'm not asking for help. 

I'm not making time to train people to help me.

I'm not allowing people to help me.

I'm not being a coach.

I'm being a moron.

I'm acting like a toddler saying: I do it.

When I really can't.

The truth is: I can't do it all.

Because I'm not supposed to.

I know I'm not the only one who does this.

We get so many accolades for being super-heroes.

We set impossible standards for ourselves and completely burn ourselves out trying to achieve them.

But we need to remember:

Asking for help doesn't make us weak.

It makes us strong.

Sometimes we are a player.

Sometimes we are the coach.

But, to be successful we always need the entire team.

What a Lemon Tree Taught Me About Money

I have an over-achieving lemon tree in my back yard.

It's a small tree. It doesn't take up a lot of space.

But it is serious about lemon production.

It's not like a regular citrus tree with its arms reaching up to the sun. It more like a weeping willow with heavy lemon-laden branches. 

There are at least five hundred lemons on it right now. (I didn't count... just go with my story here.)

When I first moved in, it was spring.

I thought lemons were in season.

And I picked tons of them.

And tried to use them all.

And then they rotted on my counter tops.

And the lemon tree kept on making lemons.

Summer came.

Still lemon season.

I ignored the tree.

The lemons fell on the ground and ended up getting mowed into the lawn.

And the rest went to compost.

And the lemon tree kept on making lemons.

Fall came.

And with it came the heat of the Indian Summer.

And hundreds of lemons ripened and fell.

And the lemon tree kept on making lemons.

Christmas came and went.

We made lemonade.

And that tree kept on making yellow ornaments.

The entire first year - I watched it.

Expecting lemon season to stop.

Being worried that I wasn't using them.

Worried that they were going to waste.

Worried that someday I might really need a lemon and that I didn't enjoy the lemons in the right way.

At the right time.

Three years later...

I now know that it's always lemon season in my back yard.

I cook everyday with lemon.

I put it in my water.

I use it for tea.

I have trained myself to use more lemons on purpose.

Every morning I go out an pick lemons.

By the next day. The fruit bowl is empty.

And it's time to pick more.

Four or five a day. Sometimes more.

And still.

My daily lemons don't even make a dent.

My tree still looks a weeping willow.

And there are still lemons all over the ground.

I now love my lemon tree.

I love picking the lemons.

And using the lemons.

And knowing that it's always going to be lemon season.

I love knowing that I always have more lemons than I need.

Even when the recipe might call for 10 or even 20 lemons.

It's not going to wipe out the lemon supply.

It's impossible.

My lemon tree grows them faster than I can keep up.

Which got me to thinking...

Wouldn't it be cool if we could think about money in the same way that I now think about my lemon tree?

We would stop being worried that this is "money season."

We would stop feeling pressured and afraid that we will run out.

We would stop forcing it to grow faster.

Or slower.

We would know that hording it - for fear that there will be a day that we won't have it - makes it rot.

We would know that ignoring it - for fear that we don't have what it takes to be responsible to it - kills our enjoyment of it.

We would know that when we use it - even when we use a lot of it - we don't wipe out the supply.

There will always be more.

What if we had the same faith in money that I have in my lemon tree?

What if we knew that there would always be more than we need?

That the tree will keep on making more than we can use.

Maybe then, we could just relax.

And pick the few we want for today.

Appreciate our beautiful trees.

And know that there will always be more for tomorrow.

Why Losing the Lottery is Awesome

 

I didn't win the lottery.

I know. Shocker, right?

I'm guessing that you were one of the bazillions of people who didn't win either. 

Losing the lottery was one of the highlights of my week. Not specifically the losing part. The playing and the losing.

I talk about money all day with my clients and with my students. I love asking hard questions about money. I love asking people what they think about money.

If they love it.

If they want more of it.

And why.

I always want to know why.

What would you do with $640 million?

Create an annuity and live off the payments?

Buy a house or 20?

Give your family money?

Help your friends out?

Quit your job?

Build a bunker for zombie armaggedon and stockpile rubber and ammo? 

Consistently, what I heard was:

I just wouldn't have to worry anymore.

The weight would just be lifted.

I would be able to breathe.

According to the Los Angeles Times - people in parts of LA stood in line for up to 5 hours just to get a chance to spend their money on a little piece of paper that.

For a few short hours.

Held all their hopes and dreams.

Of not having to worry anymore.

People want to believe in miracles.

They want to believe that a little orange piece of paper can erase their worries.

They want to believe that a string of numbers can completely transform their life.

Well, I've got a miracle for you.

And you don't have to stand in line.

Or pay money.

Or have a 1 in 178,000,000 chance in winning.

This miracle works 100% of the time.

For free.

When you stay in this moment.

When you discipline your mind toward gratitude.

When you focus on the here and now.

You will find yourself.

In peace.

You will find for yourself that you don't have to worry anymore.

You will see that...

Worry is a choice you do not have to make.

And yes, financial worry seems a lot easier to avoid when you have $640 million in your pocket.

At least that's what you might think.

But worry is worry.

And it is available.

But so is peace.

If you practice.