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We all have rules. They are our guide for right and wrong. They also measure how others are conforming to our well-ordered belief systems. For example, my rules dictate that any man over the age of, say, twenty-two, should never wear a baseball cap backward and in fact, should have a pretty good reason to wear one at all. Similarly, women over the age of sixteen should never leave their house with their hair in pigtails. I feel strongly about these rules and woe unto the breaker of these immutable laws who happens to catch my eye.
Perhaps this bit of puffery leaves you sitting in judgment of my rules, as I have just trampled on yours. I feel you casting a bitter eye as you read this. But stop for a moment and consider your rules. Where are your boundaries, your markers of right and wrong, the alarm bells that are set off when forbidden territory is invaded? Such boundaries are necessary, or at least handy, in helping us navigate our lives, stay on the road and out of ditches. There are occasions, though, when we just don't have enough information to establish helpful rules. Sometimes, we have to wind up in that ditch.
When it comes to money, we all have rules. One great example is the "How Much" rule - justifications for expenditures can calm one person's soul while raising ire in the next. I learned, a long time ago, never to impose my judgments on spending on a client. This was an ugly lesson to learn, terrifying, in fact. I walked into the sharks gaping mouth, happily, believing that I was somehow immune from harm. It just didn't work out that way.
Sam and Barbara were struggling with their spending. They desperately wanted to do some serious saving for their retirement and their children's college education. They appeared anxious and had evidently been fighting before they walked in to my office.
"How are you both? " I began. "It's been three weeks since our last meeting and your task was to isolate where some savings can be made in order for you to be more purposeful with your spending and therefore, save more."
Barbara said nothing. Sam shrugged. "Michael, we've gone through our budget and we're stuck. Can you help give us direction?"
The offer was simple enough. I just never saw the trap coming. Looking down at their detailed budget, I began.
"Well, it seems that there are many opportunities to trim expenses. Barbara, your Personal Care column seems pretty high."
My words hung in the air. Sam's eyes widened, and I noticed Barbara's face becoming an alarming shade of red.
"What!" she shouted. "How can you sit there and tell me I spend too much on my personal care. How DARE you! Did Sam tell you to say that?"
Sam's eyes widened even further, but probably not as big as mine. I could see it now, the gaping trap that my mouth had just set off.
"I-I-I mean, there are many areas where we have discretion."
Barbara shot back, "Do you KNOW how much he spends on books? Do you KNOW how much his golf costs? Do you KNOW what he spends on his lunches out and dinners with his friends?"
This time, Sam's eyes narrowed. His facial tint rushed to catch up with his wife's. "Are you kidding me? You spend a hundred times more than I do on clothes, and what about all those earrings, bracelets and other baubles you seem to accumulate. For God's sake, you have, what, one hundred pair of shoes, and let's not even begin to talk about your pocketbooks! Michael, you should see her closet, stuffed with junk..."
"How DARE you! How many sets of golf clubs do you have in the basement and what about the convertible you HAD to have? You talk about my spending. My pocketbooks are a trifle compared to the cost of that THING, that, by the way, Michael, he won't drive unless it's over sixty-five degrees and there are no clouds east of the Mississippi. Ridiculous!"
The genie was out of the bottle. As their faces became redder, I gave myself full credit for this devolution. It would not be easy to get the genie back into the bottle.
"Let's take a five minute break and then try to regroup," I said, retreating into to my office, where I searched for a bottle of vodka that I knew wasn't there. I poured myself a glass of water and gazed out the window, wondering how to insert some control or direction into this mess. After taking a couple of deep clearing breaths, I found my center. It was time to go back in.
I opened the door to the conference room and walked straight to the white board. Here I wrote four sets of numbers: their income, fixed expenses, discretionary spending and the savings amount their plan had dictated as necessary to meet their goals.
"OK, you two. Let's move off this cycle of blame, anger and frustration and focus on the issues. You both told me how important it was for you to save this amount. Now, you make this amount, and your fixed expenses are this amount. So, if you REALLY want to save the amount you said was necessary, you either have to make more money, make structural changes in your fixed expenses, like sell your house and downsize, or focus on the discretionary spending and decide how much you will cut. Based on our analysis, you need to reduce your discretionary spending by 37%. Not an easy task based on your current spending pattern. So, can you make more money?"
I looked at them both. They shook their heads, no. "What about selling your home and downsizing?"
Again, their heads shook east to west. I allowed the realization to penetrate before continuing.
"You do have one other option, rather than cutting your discretionary spending."
I had their focused attention. "You can not achieve your goals: not pay for college, and push back your retirement to an un-specified date." I emphasized both syllables of "un-specified" to demonstrate their need to take responsibility for all these numbers.
Thirty seconds went by in what felt like an hour.
Finally Sam threw up his hands. "All right. We have work to do, Michael. We obviously have very deep feelings about what we spend and why. I had no idea Barbara was so resentful. This is difficult, but it seems necessary that we uncover this and deal with it."
"I agree," Barbara offered. "Sam and I have been spending AT each other, using money as a weapon about our feelings. We really need to talk and it isn't fair to put you through this, Michael. We'll be back when we have this sorted out."
It was a long time before I saw Sam and Barbara again. In fact, we had only one other meeting - to settle their finances before their divorce.
This was the impetus for my immutable rule against suggesting spending cuts to my clients. It's just not my job and is rarely productive. Whenever a client asks for specific suggestion, I tell them that my rule forbids me to enter that arena. Instead I go back to the four numbers and ask the important questions.
What would life be without rules? It would be chaos, plain and simple. The next thing you know, men my age would be wearing baseball caps backward and women in the midst of middle age would be wearing their hair in pigtails. Surely the universe just can't take that much stress.
