holidays Archives - Frugaling

“Welcome to the Eastern Iowa Airport,” a big-brother-like loudspeaker exclaimed. Then that generic male voice droned on about watching your bags and reporting suspicious activity. Despite the boring interjection that repeated unnervingly in my ear for about 6 hours (I was a wee bit early), I knew I was flying home for the holidays — that’s all that mattered.

The quaint, small-town airport was filled with Christmas trees and holiday garb. Personally, I loved the colors and lights. People tended to be cheerier and friendlier — saying “happy holidays” and “merry christmas” in the place of “what the heck are you doing blocking my way to ‘Zone 2’ of this aircraft?”

Airports are the perfect place to people-watch — holidays amplify the eccentricity! A woman wearing a pink jumpsuit walked by with bells on her feet — each step providing jingles to everyone around her (whether they wanted it or not). A big-bellied man yelled and paced around the hallways, which made me wonder if this person needed a psychological intervention. His frustrations and screams were broadcast across the terminal. Then, I got a glimpse of his microscopic earpiece. My mind settled on him being “sane, but needing a cease and desist order.”

In between auditory assaults, I sought respite in a book about “vandwelling” and paying for graduate school on a shoestring budget. My phone grabbed at me to answer various travel plans and requests. When I put down the visual stimuli, reading material, and the fellow travelers quieted, my mind raced and face flushed for embarrassment: I hadn’t purchased a single present for my family.

I filled with dread, and puzzled how I’d fix this apparent problem. I realized I had no idea what people wanted, anyways. I’m away from family at large stretches of time, and there’s nothing that can supplement regularly seeing people in person. Frankly, I felt out of the loop.

The last couple years, I’ve been a sorry contributor to colors under the tree. While my family understands my small bank account (net worth: ~$500), and I recognize that I hate the consumer/consumption focus of the holidays, I’m still affected by the expectations of gift-giving. I want to provide happiness and laughter to those around me — to be liked and care for others. I want to see glistening eyes — appreciative because I got something that speaks to their passion, interest, and love.

When I finally arrived at my parents house, I asked my mom what I should get everyone. I confessed that I hadn’t purchased anything, and she nearly interrupted me before I could finish the sentence. “Oh, we are in the same boat, it’s going to be a small Christmas. I have no idea what to get anybody either,” she said.

I smiled at the irony of the holiday. If you looked in the newspaper, watched television, and/or surfed the web (sans ad blocker) — without knowing the true meaning of the holidays — you’d think it was merely another sale season where capitalistic pressures stress consumption for self and others. We know Macy’s, Nordstrom, and Dillard’s all have sales. We know Claus-laden Christmas cards of red and green will occupy the aisles of grocery stores.

As humans affected by these messages, my mother and I were both feeling the strain of not knowing what to get everyone, but also feeling compelled to do so. Frankly, it felt stupid that we were bucking the internal messages (buy less) for the external scripts (buy endlessly), which are nearly built-in now.

My favorite Christmas memory was not the year that I unwrapped a remote-control car. My favorite Christmas memory was not the packs of baseball cards I’d requested. My favorite Christmas memory was not the cast-iron skillet, which I have yet to understand how to use (sorry, mom!). No, at the heart of Christmas and my current state of happiness is that I’m home and around family. I’m too happy about what I currently have to care about meeting the demands of our conspicuous economy.

Now, watch this ridiculous video and have a wonderful holiday!

For my first year of graduate school in Iowa City, I wasn’t able to get back to see family for Thanksgiving. Motivated by the irony and sadness of spending the holiday alone, I watched a sappy movie and ate a cold turkey sandwich. This sorry state was only amplified by my linoleum/concrete floors that were like permafrost ice blocks for my feet, and the dingy, yellowish light of my apartment. All I could think was, “If I were rich, how would this be different?”

Dreams of a vacation I didn’t have

Presumably, I would’ve sat near the front of the airplane — speeding to my destination. The service would’ve been better, too. Maybe I could’ve afforded a first-class ticket. Perhaps this could be a regular weekend getaway. Luggage fees wouldn’t have been usury and awful — just mere pennies to my millions. Although, I probably would not have needed to pay for those fees anyways, as my credit cards and connections would lead to waivers. Either way, I would’ve been wealthy enough to afford whatever outcome. I would never stand in front of a ticket counter, after buying a ticket online, and be surprised that there’s an additional bag fee — breaking my budget and robbing me of my little available savings.

Finally at my destination’s airport, I would’ve rented a car. Not just any car, but a luxury vehicle to speed around the mean streets — something familiar and like my lifestyle. Again, I would have enjoyed the whisk and breeze of skipping lines, priority rentals, and free upgrades. My parents, family, and friends wouldn’t have needed to worry about me; I’d show up on time, no help and reliance necessary. Time would continually be on my side, as waiting would be heavily reduced.

As I walked through the airport, and saw the nice luggage and bags, I could have looked them up on my phone and instantly purchased my own. I wouldn’t need to hesitate to buy something so practical and helpful. Why not get some class with a Louis Vuitton set? Throw in those shoes, too! Traveling in style feels better.

Going home, I would have been excited to see all the friends and family I could. But I’d have to look sharp. Maybe I could stop by my favorite barber for a cleanup? My photos would be filled with the material goods that ooze success. I could show my parents, in person, what they had raised — that I had picked up my bootstraps and become a capitalistic achievement. They could be proud of my wealth and ability.

Thanksgiving without family, but not without heart

Reality is a cold shower. I can’t remember the last time I purchased something and didn’t feel guilty, nervous, and anxious for the added expense. I had looked at plane tickets for this Thanksgiving, but at nearly $500 plus airport shuttle fees, I couldn’t afford it. In a way, it felt like I was forced into frugality, without a choice (unless you consider debt to be an option, which I don’t).

As my friends and the rest of this consummate college town fled their studies and small-town lives for another location, there was a powerfully isolating feeling to my thriftiness and decision to stay. I fully expected it to be another cold turkey sandwich and night alone, but that all changed when a co-worker invited me to dinner. He knew I’d be here, without plans, and suggested I tag along.

What really matters

In that moment of deep gratitude, the Louis Vuitton dreams subsided. Pictures of first-class comfort and VIP lines faded. Suddenly, I felt humbled by his generosity and honored to be included. I was truly thankful — without any need for material goods, money, or proof of my worth.

Wealth is a funny target. If I only wanted to make money, I should’ve chosen a different career. Instead, I was motivated to help others and temporarily delay earning potential. My path to occupational success likely won’t include boatloads of cash.

Undeniably, if I had enough money available, I would’ve flown to Colorado to see my family. And honestly, if I had the money, I would’ve loved the creature comforts of first class. Both of these decisions would get me spending more money and being less frugal.

But at the end of the break, it was clear and simple: I just wanted to enjoy the day with people who are kind and open-hearted. Wealth just didn’t matter. If I were rich, I would’nt have wanted anything more than to share that moment with those I care about.