Living & Learning: Enough to Live On

My husband and I sometimes have to work through our differences when we are planning for holidays. Our arguments typically revolve around accommodation and -- if it is a long overseas trip – which airline to take.

He likes to keep everything within a certain standard.

He doesn’t mind paying a few extra rupiah or bucks or euros if it means he won’t have to stare at a granny floral curtain, tolerate a gaudily decorated room or sleep on a mattress that has seen better days.

Now, I am no backpacker, but when it comes to hotel rooms, in which we will only spend a few hours sleeping at night, I go by a lower standard.

As long as the room is absolutely clean, has a functioning and modern bathroom and odorless carpet, I am sold.

I’d rather we put our money to other uses -- food, drinks, shopping or sightseeing – than accommodation. Sometimes I give in to him, but more often than not, we compromise.

I’m happy to observe that this is hardly a major issue in our relationship.

Deep at our core, we both value the same thing – our pursuit of happiness over material acquirements.

Over the years, I have seen couples break up or live miserably over differences in their priorities.

One close friend, an outdoors enthusiast who enjoys mountain climbing and scuba diving, married a young doctor after being together for a year.

After they were married, it was obvious she did not like him going on diving trips or even hanging out with like-minded friends. She did not even swim, and felt no need to learn to do so. In fact, she barely had a social life, and, naturally, resented the fact that he did.

To her, life was about getting married, having kids and making as much money as one could to elevate one’s social status.

One child and three miserable years later, they filed for divorce – to no one’s surprise.

He has since remarried a mutual friend of ours and lives happily with a wife who enjoys the same things and who has a more nuanced perspective on life.

I do not deny the importance of making money. In fact, I work hard to earn a living, but at the end of the day, will a fat bank account guarantee happiness?

Judging from the numerous stories of dejected, self-destructive, suicidal billionaires in the world, the safe answer is, not necessarily.

A 1995 study by the University of Illinois revealed that a third of the richest people in the United States are not as happy as average-income people in the country.

There is a new term for this, Wealthy Fatigue Syndrome, a condition in which the victim sinks into a kind of inertia as money becomes available in near limitless quantities.

In an article in Britain’s Telegraph, therapists studying the angst of the very rich said often people spend money in a “mad attempt to cover up boredom and depression”.

To these people, excitement is a progressively elusive thing, requiring taking more and more risks, financially and physically.

Come to think of it, nothing is ever enough, is it?

Still, having money is wonderful. It gives you choices and, sometimes, freedom. It allows you to fulfill your needs, see the world, learn more, give more and make your life more meaningful and colorful.

With the first money I earned from giving private organ and piano lessons at the age of 13, I bought a “mini compo”, that iconic portable stereo of the ‘80s that was all the rage at the time.

More than two decades later, thanks to my jobs, I have fulfilled a lot of my dreams, traveling, taking up various pastimes, going on retreats, buying a car, getting an apartment, pitching in on a family business and generally living without many financial worries.

Having money allows my husband and me to explore some of the most amazing underwater life, celebrate the greatness of art and permeate our taste buds with the rich flavors of food.

Yet, I’m left wondering, would these experiences have the same impact on me -- on us -- had the circumstances been different?

If I had different values than him, would I not feel it a waste to spend money and time going to a remote area in Sulawesi just to spend the next three days paddling a rubber raft along the river, when, clearly, I could use the money to buy a branded handbag?

Like that credit card advertisement says, there are some things that money can’t buy, and these include the simplest of acts that give the simplest of pleasure.

To me, nothing beats waking up on a Sunday morning at our house, not having to rush for anything the whole day.

Over a breakfast of coffee and toast, each of us slowly reads the Sunday newspapers, looking up only to discuss where to go for lunch.

The pleasure of having the perfect life companion -- no cash or credit card needed.

Maybe I could use that argument against him next time we plan another trip.

+ Devi Asmarani

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