Perspective

I'm visiting a close friend in Dallas right now, and as former housemates, we've kept up our tradition of late-night conversations. Last night, we spent three hours discussing the idea of spending money on unnecessary things, trying to figure out the ideal, ethical way of handling money. We see wealth as a responsibility—a test—that we want to pass. But with so much available, how do you balance enjoying your success without becoming excessive?

We started debating what kind of home we'd choose when we got rich one day: a sprawling estate with a backyard, a three-story house, or maybe an apartment in a fancy area. Which city would we choose to live in? Is it really worth it, or is it immoderate?

But then it hit us: what's wrong with my friend's current apartment? Why not just keep it or maybe expand it a little for a family, but stay satisfied with it?

For context, he's living in an apartment that's typical for a typical computer science new grad employee. God bless Texas, as they say, for its affordable housing. For around $1,400 a month, my friend rents a studio with a bedroom. It has all the amenities—pools, gyms, a furnished kitchen, a laundry room (which I needed so much in NYC this summer). On top of that, the apartment has temperature control, secure parking, and it's located in a safe neighborhood within walking distance of a supermarket.

While we fantasized about luxurious estates, it struck me: this apartment is probably better than 80% of all homes in Kazakhstan. My friend mentioned it's definitely better than 90% of all houses in Egypt. I asked, "What would your parents think if you brought them here and showed them how you're living?" He responded, "They'd be extremely proud."

As international students, just a few years ago, we were content with much less—sharing rooms with siblings, dealing with unstable electricity, taking a bus to school, and living without computers. Today, we easily spend on at least one latte a day, which, in a year, adds up to the two-month salary of an above-average earner in Kazakhstan.

And yet, we find ourselves dissatisfied with what we have, despite it being far more than what most people on this planet have ever known—and far more than what most people of the past ever experienced. Here we are, failing to recognize our own blessings, while those we see every day on our screens and in the streets, who face true misfortune, say Alhamdulillah and carry on with their lives. There are children who go to bed hungry and lack basic medical care or education. There are thousands of humans affected by conflicts and natural disasters, forced to live in shelters made of cardboard and plastic bags. While we grow tired of seeing people in need in our videos and scroll past, they are also tired of being in those videos and living their reality. They are our peers, our contemporaries—our neighbors.

Sometimes, it feels deeply uncomfortable to go out and buy ice cream or chocolate, knowing that these people, who haven't done anything to deserve their hardships, are living in such conditions while we enjoy comforts that we don't deserve either.

We've gone from kids who grew up with very little to people who are ready to overspend on comfort and indulgence. And this conversation made me realize how easy it is to lose perspective and become unmindful.

Let's not forget how fortunate we are; and when asking for wealth let's not forget to ask for wisdom and gratitude; and then be grateful for the ability to be grateful.

And while we didn't reach a conclusion to answer the question we started with—what's the right way to spend—we definitely agreed on what is not.

This isn't to say we shouldn't spend on ourselves, but rather that we should do so wisely and without excess while giving generously from what we have been provided with (3:92).