As I write this, I’m on my way back to South Africa after an amazing road trip to Namibia with some friends. It was one of those trips I almost said no to because, you know… “budget.” Not that I didn’t have the money, but I felt like it would ruin my carefully planned spending. Now, I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to missing out.
I’m one of those people who truly believe in saving, living frugally, budgeting, and planning well in advance for any expenses. That mindset has served me well, especially when unexpected costs pop up.
The best thing about having a saving mindset is the peace of mind it gives you. Knowing that somewhere, there’s a “vault” you can open when something unexpected happens. I think that’s why so many people are drawn to wealth creation. Even the idea that an expense worth R100 000 could be handled without panic is appealing. Because most people have felt this on a smaller scale. Like when a surprise R500 expense pops up and you can cover it without stress.
I have to be honest, though: I haven’t always been frugal. In my early 20s, I had what I call “lucky moments” with money, though I blew every cent. I worked for an NGO that paid me well for a short contract, which was a big deal for a student. I also had a side hustle as an extra in films and ads. The pay was roughly R600 a day, often handed to us in hard cash in a brown envelope, like a construction worker in the 90s.
You’d see the excitement on some of the guys’ faces as they called their girlfriends, waving the envelope like a Tuanshan – the Chinese handheld fan. “Ndikuphathele ntoni baby?” (“What must I buy you, baby?”), you’d hear, as the guy blushed, kicking small stones and tracing little hearts in the ground with his shoes. Good old days!
R600 might not sound like much, but as a student in those days, it would typically last me the entire month. And here I was making that amount in a single day. Sometimes, though, the crew would tell us they’d pay via the bank “within three months”. You’d sit in your room at res, wondering when the money would come. Then, out of nowhere, a notification would pop up: “+R4 700…”. Haha, what’s my name? That’s how I’d feel. I’d want to scream from the rooftop: “Where are my haters? I want all of you one by one,” because money – especially unexpected money – changes your mood for the better. Your day would go from zero to a hundred real quick. It was usually more than the usual R600 because the amount covered multiple shoots, minus tax, which always made me wonder how much it had been before deductions.
Naturally, I’d spoil myself – a trip to the V&A Waterfront, buying clothes, eating fancy food. Thank goodness I was single; the money was all mine. Although, to be fair, some “strangers” noticed the signs and tried to close the distance.
Still in my early 20s, I also landed a short online job helping improve Facebook’s translation algorithms. They tested my fluency in English and my home language – a breeze for me – and suddenly, I was making money online for the first time. I don’t even know how I got that job, but it paid decently.
Looking back, I see I always had a bit of the “hustle culture” in me. Opportunities seemed to find me. The only problem was, no matter how much I made, I blew through it fast and ended up broke again… back to my default settings. Dumb financial decisions, sure, but those reckless days are still some of the best of my life in terms of memories.
When I got my first “serious” job, an internship with the City of Cape Town, I promised myself I’d never live that way again. I’d seen the shame of borrowing money after being “loaded” just a few days before. I’ve never liked borrowing, but my recklessness sometimes left me no choice.
That’s when I became more intentional about personal finance. I still made the occasional impulse buy (I still do, though rarely), but now I had conversations with myself before spending. Part of me sometimes missed those “millionaire days” of carefree spending, but the thought of having to borrow again kept me disciplined. Call it pride if you want, but that dislike of borrowing money became my biggest motivator to save.
During this “financially responsible phase”, I noticed something else. The guilt and anxiety I felt whenever I spent money, or even thought about spending. I was constantly calculating what else that money could be used for. I stopped living in the present. Everything was about “the future” or “during retirement” – even though I was only 22. Sheesh.
And yes, that discipline was probably wise for someone so young, but it took some soul out of my life. Sure, it was satisfying to check my banking app and see my savings grow, but it stung to watch my friends having fun while I sat out.
Even today, I still wrestle with this balance. As in, living below my means, but knowing when to “live a little”. I almost skipped the Namibia trip – one of the best experiences of my life – simply because that voice in my head told me to be “responsible”.
I hate to admit it, but being overly frugal is rooted, at least for me, in a scarcity mindset… the fear that money will run out and I need to hold on to it. If you trusted that you could earn money again, you wouldn’t feel so much guilt when spending. I’m not saying you should spend recklessly, but I’ve realised that sometimes, creating memories is worth more than simply hoarding money.
You’re not on this planet to just exist. Yes, the golden rule of personal finance will always apply: live within your means. But more importantly, live. Don’t punish yourself with unnecessary restrictions on what you want to do, what you want to try, or where you want to go.
Even my dumbest financial decisions gave me some of my happiest memories. Harvard professor Dr. Arthur Brooks, who has studied happiness and money for over two decades, finds that money itself doesn’t bring happiness, but spending it on experiences does. These experiences, of course, often come at a cost.
I’ll always advocate for financial literacy and for young people to be responsible with money. But you’re not here to just “exist”, only to look back with regrets because you deprived yourself of the things you wanted to do.
Maybe this essay is my way of reminding myself to keep that balance… to stay responsible, but also to live. After all, dying with money in the bank but no memories would be a sad way to spend your time on earth.
© Phumzile