February 2016 - Frugaling

My definition and intention with frugality has remarkably little to do with money. Rather, I’m motivated to save and protect time. Being frugal allows me time to read, write, and enjoy my time with friends — it’s not just about padding my bank account. With a lower cost of living, I can maximize my work-life balance.

As a Ph.D. student, I’ve been asked how I have time to “do it all.” Doctoral programs tend to be arduous and lengthy. But I usually blanche at this hyper work-focused “compliment,” which usually comes from peers and fellow colleagues. They look at my “accomplishments” and wonder the recipe. They quickly surmise it takes lots of time.

It’s not true and doesn’t accurately represent my values. Once I got into graduate school I threw away the perpetual drive for good grades and professor’s good graces. While I care about what they think, I’m not motivated to perform in the classroom. I don’t really care about essays or exams. My heart and efforts are always outside the classroom.

When I was an undergraduate student at Colorado State University, I realized A grades were very difficult to achieve. The plan often included late cram sessions, lost weekends, sacrificed social gatherings, flashcards, and fewer passions outside academia. Not only was I paying to be there, I was without time for anything but school.

To know what an A grade took also meant knowing what a B felt like. In college, the B is considered the new average. It didn’t feel like an option to “slack off” and shoot for Bs. But I knew that Bs were easier to receive and life became relaxed. I could get a B in almost any class with a bit of study and meeting expectations for essays. I didn’t have to stress and worry and struggle. It just happened. As soon as I entered graduate school, this new philosophy took hold.

Today, the answer is simple for my acknowledged “successes”: I’m a self-identified B student. For many of my peers it’s hard to let go of the control, academic achievement, and rigor for classroom activities. I can’t blame others, as we’ve usually spent about two decades in training and indoctrination. Doing anything less than stellar inside the classroom is tantamount to treason. Unfortunately, by failing to let go of this mentality, time is lost. It’s time to think about another, better way.

Here are ten reasons you should become a B student:

1. Develop a well-rounded life (and resume/CV)

In the academic world, a resume is called a curriculum vitae (“CV”), but the same general rules apply. Everything related to my studies (work, research, teaching, and clinical work), which will be used for future employment, is in this document. My CV serves as a history of involvement and diversity of activities. It says a little something about who I am and want to be perceived as. But my grades and GPA don’t represent me. In fact, I don’t even put my GPA on my CV. My goal now is to develop a well-rounded life. If beneficial experiences for future employment come around, perfect!

2. Participate in anything at the flick of a finger

Previously, I was held back when offered opportunities to participate. I remember all the way back to high school when I declined an opportunity to travel for a golf-team match because of a class conflict. School frequently came first. When I relinquished some of the focus and power on classroom materials, I could — without much concern — participate in activities that enriched my schedule and made me happy. Recently, a professor asked about serving on a committee and I immediately said yes. If it means a grade suffers, that’s an okay trade off.

3. Stay grounded with your friends

Academic endeavors never trump friendships and relationships. A class is for a semester, these people are (ideally) for life. Curiously, I think I believed this, even as an A student. I would stress over friendships while in class, and feel pressure upon leaving to study more. It was the vicious cycle. Now, friends are a huge priority in my life. Interestingly, with better, healthier friendships first, my grades got better. What strange logic, right?

4. Read for fun

In my second year of graduate school, motivated by the master note-taker, Tim Ferriss, I began tracking how many books I read. It was abysmal at first, but over the next few years it rapidly escalated. To lose myself in a good book is more powerful than a class could ever really be. It’s just me and the book — wherever we go. In the last three years, I’ve read 51 books — all while “achieving,” “publishing,” and getting fine recommendations from professors. And yet, it had nothing to do with grades. Intriguingly, like the preceding reason, my essay writing improved because of the reading. I can write faster and with greater clarity — all while maintaining a B average.

5. Brainstorm and cultivate new methods to earn

Remember how I said time is the key variable? Well, being able to renegotiate my academic schedule allows me to find ways to earn money, too. As a student for years, I cannot and do not accept the rationale that it’s okay to take on more debt to focus on academics. Instead, I redirect time gained from being a B student to endeavors like Frugaling. They’re passion projects, which hone my writing ability and have healthy income benefits.

6. Encourage creative thinking

Classrooms tend to emphasize rule-following, timeliness, intrinsic motivation, and rote memorization. And don’t get me started on the dry, pedantic, boring textbooks! I’ve rarely been encouraged to be creative within a classroom. Actually, I take that back… There was art class in third grade. But aside from elementary school, creativity has been stifled and discouraged. An essay has objective and traditionally strict expectations. The professors have grading rubrics. Staying and coloring within the lines is a must. By breaking out of the classroom mindset, I can draw, write, photograph, and participate in the world as I see fit.

7. Write for fun

I didn’t like writing when I was younger. Writing was associated with classwork. It was a chore and/or homework assignment. Writing never let me be free — it only asked of me. Then, as I stole back time, writing became a love. I process my thoughts, concerns, and inner debates in words. The words can be read back years later — providing an arc and timeline to my days.

8. Advocate within your community

I’m a firm believer in social justice. Essentially, social justice is about working to correct society’s wrongs. An example of this would be the recent advocacy for affordable housing that I worked on last semester. Vulnerable populations were being disturbed by rapidly escalating rental prices in the university/campus community in Iowa City. I felt like participating and providing a voice. My grades and classroom involvement waned. Those textbook readings and presentations didn’t much matter to direct action. I will never forget that advocating for others is far more important than an A.

9. Stop defining yourself by your grades

Grades used to represent my identity. To be an average or above average student wasn’t enough of a title. I was desperate for excellence. This drive for titles was an insecurity of mine. Without excellence, who was I? Was I a good enough student for graduate school, employment, etc.? What I learned is grades are terrible measure of a person. When I refocused my time, I lost unhealthy competition, sleepless nights before exams, and stress throughout the semester. Now, I’m defined by my actions around school — not in it.

10. Embrace the weekend

Whereas weekends used to be dedicated to studying and writing essays, now they are largely for recharging. I write for Frugaling on the weekends (usually). I read for fun on the weekends. I hang out with friends on the weekends. I run when it’s sunny on the weekends. All it took was the acceptance of the second letter of the alphabet: Mr. B.

“The reason they call it the American Dream is because you have to be asleep to believe it.”
–George Carlin

Mortgage loans have been around for centuries. In the late 1700s, colonists used loans to encourage settlement and economic expansion on federal lands. The leaders of the new world parcelled out land, while encouraging lower classes to settle and build. Ironically, these lands were calculated, bought, and sold as if these new owners always laid claim to the land — denying Native Americans the right of ownership, executing them, and pushing them further and further West.

Nonetheless, the colonies and post-Revolutionary War period in America included basic mortgage loans. Eventually, in the 1900s, these loans grew in popularity and necessity. Homes, condos, and bare land was more expensive and unaffordable for the working classes. Increasingly, people needed financial support to invest in real estate — to find shelter.

Thankfully, banks were available to help everyone out. Without financial institutions and their mortgages, it’s unclear what would’ve happened. In today’s economy and real estate market, most people are unable to afford a house without credit. On the surface, it seems that many Americans would be homeless or forced to forever rent — unable to own. We’re forced to choose mortgages without a substantial alternative.

But let’s hypothesize for a moment. What would happen if mortgages suddenly disappeared? What if they weren’t an option for the impoverished, working classes, or even middle classes of America? What if banks were unable to write even one more loan?

For starters, it’s likely the entire real estate market would collapse. The decimation of domestic markets would domino throughout the world, and cause an economic meltdown. People would be unable to eat, shop, or pay for their continued existence. Landowners would quickly benefit from skyrocketing rental prices, but huge swaths of population would be forced to seek shelter elsewhere. The working classes would need to leave en masse from cities.

The end of mortgages would spell destruction and terror for the financial institutions that profit from their existence. Banks — big and small — would go belly up. Insurance companies would cease to exist. And a slew of related industries would (i.e., from appraisers to real estate agencies to utility companies) struggle to continue. The stock market would follow the steep declines elsewhere as the economic engine would slow to a halt. Money would be stuck. Over time, trillions of dollars would disappear — poof! — from the world markets. They wouldn’t return, either.

My, how powerful a few documents can be! Imagine how one contract prevents global catastrophe — end times. Moreover, that this agreement separates people behind walls — street and shelter.

Mortgage loans make little sense, though. The continued propping up of home prices through financial instruments ensures working classes spend the rest of their lives working. Renting isn’t much better either. With little incentive to build affordable housing for working classes, builders have increasingly constructed luxury condos for upper middle classes and beyond. A recent Yahoo Finance article highlights this shift:

“…a growing number of Americans must spend more than 30 percent of their income on rent — a level that the government considers financially burdensome. Over the past decade, that number has jumped from 14.8 million to 21.3 million, or 49 percent of all renters.

“A surge in apartment construction has done little to help address this problem because in many metro areas, a large proportion of new apartments are concentrated at higher-income levels. The median rent on a newly built apartment was $1,372 a month in 2014, about $500 more a month than what about half of renters could afford without being financially burdened.”

This story exemplifies the catch-22 for working classes: either fork over astronomical, burdensome amounts in rent or “purchase” a home through mortgage loans. Either way, banks and other financial institutions are complicit in the bubble. They own your future. Unless you’re independently wealthy, you lose.

Increased access to capital through mortgage loans encourages people to buy bigger homes than need at prices they can’t afford. Homebuilders respond by building bigger homes and charge more for new developments. Families and households buy more to fill bigger homes, as well. The cycle is vicious, expensive, motivated by consumption, and facilitated by an endless supply of cheap money via the Federal Reserve. It’s the antithesis of minimalism, frugality, and simple living, but we have little choice than to participate.

As the story continues, wholesale gentrification of vulnerable communities can occur. Those with poor credit and/or unable to make down or monthly payments must vacate. To refuse the paradigm means leaving good neighborhoods and schools. Home prices are propped and buoyed by the continued investments of the masses. Banks encourage people to spend more than they can afford on spaces larger than they need. And all I can think is, “Who were these mortgages meant to benefit?”

A mortgage is less a contract with your bank, and more a contract with your employer. To take out a 30-year mortgage loan is a financial conscription to work. It’s a benefit to your employer and guarantee for decades. You can’t stop working, as the consequence would be disastrous. Mortgage loans are the perfect economic engine for the wealthiest of our economy. They can make vast sums from borrowers and sit back to watch their money multiply.

Sadly, we’ve accepted these rules. We’ve cozied up to banks and pledged to pay them back for half our remaining lives.We’ve played the game by repeatedly checking FICO scores. We’ve shown them our good credit (when possible) as examples of personal responsibility, when it says nothing of systemic bias, racism, and uncontrolled job loss.

We are left with few choices. I dream of resisting the system and regularly think about living in a van or tiny home, but I’m afraid my partner and family wouldn’t care for this reality.

As a future psychologist, I’ll be lucky to make $65,000 to $75,000 to start out, which would necessitate participation in the mortgage loan game. And this says nothing of the student loan debt that would be necessary to pay off six years of doctoral education.

No house could be purchased outright unless I worked for decades and lived in a passenger van in the meantime. Yet, one of the most fundamental psychological needs is shelter. Without it, we cannot talk about saving money, cooking at home, or living well. People need the safety of shelter, but over the centuries, our homes have ballooned in price and size. Our inflated budgets have been decimated by a simple financial tool that we accept as a necessity for existence.

Nobody seems to bat an eye. Nobody says this is senseless. Nobody resists the status quo. Rent or “buy,” the same trap is set.

So, as preposterous and provocative as it might sound, what if we killed mortgage loans?

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