"The Queen of Versailles"

I know it isn't polite to talk about money--well, I'm learning that it isn't. But it seems like everyone has been talking about money for the last four or five years, so why not me? Anyway, I have mentioned on this blog and elsewhere that T and I have been through a tight time financially these past few months. We're out of the worst of it now (thanks to a new disbursement of student loans) but we have learned some--I think--extraordinarily valuable lessons.

Tonight I watched a documentary called Queen of Versailles. The cover features a blond, boobed, botoxed forty-something trophy wife of the guy who was building what turned out to be the biggest home in America. I've recently discovered the wealth of documentaries available on Netflix, and I clicked on this one for a lark, thinking it would be some Jersey Shore rip-off that I would watch for about five minutes out of curiosity and then turn off in disgust or boredom. One hour and forty minutes later, I now think I know the secret to being happy for the rest of my life. And I'll give you a hint: It's not money.

The film opens with a portrait of an evidently happy, if not slightly unequal, marriage. The husband is a time-share mogul in his seventies, his wife, a mother of eight in her forties. Both come from humble backgrounds. One of them built an empire. The other inherited it by marriage. They have everything: Private jets, limos and drivers, maids, nannies, and a net worth of $1 billion. Their current house is enormous, but it isn't big enough so they are building an even larger mansion whose design is based on Versailles, the French palace of Louis XIV.

Then the financial crisis of 2008 hits--and it hits the family hard. Huge real-estate ventures go into default and eventually foreclosure. Construction is halted on the Versailles house. The family is forced to cut back. No more private jets, drivers, fewer maids... Even the Versailles house is put up for sale. It becomes quickly evident that the house they live in is colossally mismanaged. Junk litters almost every surface. Pet reptiles and fish die of neglect in their aquaria. More than once, a member of the household steps in dog poo in the house.

The portrait of the evidently happy marriage begins to fall apart. The husband literally cannot separate work from personal life. He is desperately unhappy about his financial situation, and his mood affects the whole family. The worst of it is, he doesn't seem to communicate any of this to his wife, whom he regards not as a partner but more like one of his adult children--a liability, essentially. Rather than saying to her something like, "Hey, maybe we shouldn't buy all of these useless gifts for Christmas--board games we already have, bikes that will not be ridden, etc.--let's cut back," (I mean, it's not like they were destitute) he just blows up about something like all the lights in the house being on and the electric bill. His moods and tempers seem to be totally irrational to the rest of his young family.

The oldest daughter is actually an adopted niece who literally came from sleeping in the streets to living this opulent lifestyle says it all. When she was poor she looked at people like the Siegels and thought "What could they ever want?" They have it all. But then, she says, "You get used to it. And then you just keep wanting more, and nothing is enough." Bad news when you can't have everything.

It was a very fascinating, sobering, peek into a lifestyle of which I have no experience whatsoever. I come from a very middle-class upbringing. I never wanted for anything, but I didn't get everything I wanted either. Most of the toys I owned I bought with my own money that I earned cleaning the house or doing yard work. I still have all of my plastic horse collection because I cannot bear to give it away. It took me years to build up, and I took care of them. Now, I spend my money on more prosaic things. Like food. And electricity. And sometimes a new pair of pants.

I learned--or rather, remembered--something tonight as I watched this film. It was this: If you want to be happy, stop pining for what you don't have and take care of what you've got. Put your clothes away. Make your bed. Use the food in your fridge. Wash your dishes. Exercise yourself.

It's so simple it can be summed up in a well-worn cliche: Waste not. Want not. We can be happy with less. Why is it so hard to remember?

Learning to be Gracefully Poor

T and I are in that stage of life that I always hear older, well-off people talk about. They lean back in their chairs, stare dreamily into space as if into the Past and reminisce about the days of eating dinner out of a can, putting babies to bed in dresser drawers and making ends meet in creative ways.

Yeah. We're there. It's lucky we don't have a kid because that kid would likely be sleeping in a laundry basket.

Seriously though. I have seen this stage in our lives on the horizon for some time now--since we got married, in fact. I halfway expected it to hit RIGHT when we got married but, surprisingly, it didn't. And while we did not go out and spend thriftlessly, there was a thriftless element to our lives--a certain license we gave ourselves for impulse buying and occasional sprees--that we absolutely cannot afford now. We probably couldn't afford it then. Now, we know better.

My first impulse, as we settle into a long stretch of relative poverty, is to rage. Rage! And to fret. I did not grow up in a "rich" household. I didn't always get what I wanted, when I wanted it. But when I became a young adult and got my first real job and opened my own bank account, suddenly... I had this new-found freedom to spend. There were people around me (notably, parents) to pick up the slack, if needed. I got used to that.

Now, I'm having to un-learn that, because that is generally not how real adulthood works. I am grateful that my parents helped me transition into this stage of my life, but now that I'm here, it's hard.

T and I have had to learn discipline: to not go the easy route on everything; not alleviate boredom by spending; not eat out because it's convenient; not drop money on something that will give us instant gratification... but maybe, learning to wait a little bit in order to get that something for less. (Or even for free!) We haven't always been comfortably cool in our home this summer; we haven't been able to see and go to many of the places we want to see or go to in this endlessly interesting and expensive town.

But it's okay.

As we are now settling into a routine of careful, careful spending, I find that I'm beginning to wear this stage of our lives as a badge of honor. I'm proud of nights spent in, playing cards. Of meals prepared in our own kitchen. Of books checked out from the library instead of bought.

I find that I'm starting to not miss spending. It feels good to stretch out what little we have in our bank account and to make it last.  I dream of traveling and wearing the clothes I want, and all that, yes. But thank heaven I am learning not to take any of that for granted. Hopefully, this is something we can pass on to our children, who will likely grow up in a home where they will want for nothing. Just as we both did.

In the meantime, the key is learning how to be poor, but gracefully. Cutting back where we can while maintaining Generosity. Saying in our hearts, "I would give, if I could. And I will give what I can." Also, to be grateful is key. We don't have a lot of discretionary spending money right now, but we are not poor in the direst sense. We live in a nice apartment in a safe neighborhood. We have nice furniture. We don't go hungry. We have what we need. Indeed, we are so far from poor, it's almost laughable to say that we are. Much of what we have is due in large part to the generosity of others.

So here's to generosity. Here's to being rich in the ways that matter. Here's to paying it forward and backward and every direction we can.