I would not urge you simply to get off the PlayStation. I would urge you to understand who made the game. I would not urge you to take down your King James poster. I would urge you to think about the business that makes him possible. Perhaps you’d like to be part of that business some day. I would urge you think about what Kendrick is doing in his lyrics, to think about music. Do you know how to read music? Have you learned an instrument? Would that interest you? How about poetry? Have you ever read any? Would you consider trying to write some of your own?

I think we all get frustrated with the state of our community. I think it is easy to turn that frustration into a kind of catharsis by denigrating the dreams of children. I believe in taking the dreams of children seriously, and then challenging them to take their own dreams seriously. Again–ownership.

The Atlantic’s Ta-Nehisi Coates considers what kind of advice he’d offer to students in Baltimore County (and also students at MIT) if he were invited to speak to them.

The best advice and the worst advice I’ve ever gotten were three words long.

The best advice was “avoid the treadmill”. It was 2003. I was coming to the end of a master’s degree in a subject (political philosophy) and a city (London) I was ready to leave. I was 22 years old.

Rebecca was the advisor at the community college student newspaper where I worked between and after classes three years earlier, and we had—pre-Facebook!—stayed in touch through undergrad and now grad school. She was visiting London and invited me to dinner.

I had two months left until I completed my master’s and my visa expired. I had no idea what I was going to do, or even what I wanted to. There was the prudent thing, moving back to the States, getting a job, starting a career, buying a house, leasing a Camry, nothing wrong with that.

There was also, however, something I had come across two weeks earlier while drinking wine and Googling Nordic underwear models: Universities in Scandinavia are free.

I told Rebecca all this (minus the wine), and that I had found a program in Aarhus, Denmark—a master’s degree that as soon as I said it out loud I realized sounded even vaguer and more destitution-promoting than the master’s I already had.

“European studies!” I said.

Rebecca asked if I had ever been to Denmark, and what my logic was for considering this an option. I admitted I had none, it just sounded cool and I wanted to try it.

“So I have to decide,” I said. “Prudent, or Denmark.”

“Mike,” she said. “This is an easy one: Avoid the treadmill.”

I knew what she meant, but I asked her to elaborate anyway.

“You have a whole life of working ahead of you. Going home is easy. Getting a job is easy. Going to, whatever country this is, Denmark, making an impulsive decision and living with it for two whole years, that’s hard. This is what your twenties are for. As you get older, the hard stuff only gets harder.”

“And the easy stuff gets easier?” I said.

“No,” she said. “That gets harder too.”

The way stress works is, when you’re presented with a threat, your body produces adrenaline, a kind of internal crystal meth, that gives you the energy to escape or fight or defend yourself or pull an all-nighter or whatever you need to do to neutralize the threat. While the adrenaline is pumping, other functions—sleep, appetite, afternoon horniness—shut down while your body gives you enough energy to deal with the crisis at hand.

This makes sense, right? If you’re living in an environment where every once in awhile you need to run away from a lion, chase a gazelle, defend your village from the next tribe over, you need a system that takes precedence over everything else. You can’t be stalking a mammoth and suddenly be overcome with the urge to pee.

The problem, of course, is that stress isn’t something that only gets activated by extreme, once-a-month stressors. It’s something you activate yourself, something that reacts not to the objective threat level but to what you perceive as a threat.

These days, we don’t get hunted by lions all that often, but we do get hunted by bosses, partners, deadlines, bills, kids, early closing hours, late public transport, insomnia, status, proliferating Netflix queues. Since our bodies can’t differentiate between a lion and an overdue car payment, adrenaline becomes a kind of routine. We coast on it 9-to-5, deadline to deadline, and squeeze the tube even more over the weekend to get us through the neighborhood barbecue, the water park outing with the kids, the difficult conversation with the wife.

Like everything else that’s good for you once a month, adrenaline when you use it every day is a kind of poison. They do autopsies on people who were constantly stressed out and their pituitary gland is the size of a turkey baster. Constantly suppressing your immune system, ignoring your appetite, boosting your heart rate, these things are like fast-forwarding the aging process. People who are constantly stressed out are more likely to get cancer and strokes. Stressed out kids end up shorter as adults. When you turn off everything but your emergency generator, the normal stuff rusts and brittles.

Robert Sapolsky, the guy who I’m basically stealing all these insights from, studies stress in baboons in the wild. He says he can tell the difference between short-lifespan baboons and long-lifespan baboons by one thing: How do they act when they see a lion 200 feet away?

Short-lifespan baboons, the ones that that use adrenaline the way we use drip coffee, see the lion in the distance and immediately activate their stress response. A lion! Shit! What am I going to do?!

The un-stressed baboons—the ones eating fresh berries and complaining about the morals of the next generation of baboons into their twilight years—they see the same lion and go “meh, he’s 200 feet away. He’s yawning, grooming, he doesn’t seem all that interested in me” and they stay calm. No adrenaline, no panic. They keep an eye on the lion—they’re baboons, they’re not stupid—but they don’t get all adrenaliney until there’s a genuine threat.

We all know that refrigerator-magnet phrase, “Give me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference,” or however it goes. For me, it’s never been the courage that’s hard, it’s the serenity.

In 2004, I applied to the master’s program in Denmark. I filled out the application, photocopied my old diplomas, wrote my admissions essay, mailed them off. Two months later, a letter came saying I was accepted. And then I started freaking out.

I don’t speak Danish. I don’t know anyone in the whole country. Where am I going to live? What am I going to do for living expenses? All of a sudden, the treadmill started looking pretty good.

It was five months since my conversation with Rebecca, and three months since my U.K. visa expired and I had moved back home to Seattle. I was working (OK, temping) at Microsoft as a copy editor, and living with my parents.

Steve was my boss at Microsoft. Former journalist, weekend kickball player, suburban dad, never missed a day of work or a misspelled word or a subordinate’s birthday. Totally a long-lifespan baboon.

And he gave me the worst advice I’ve ever gotten: “Trust your gut.”

He said it after I went into his office and told him everything I just told you: I was accepted to this program in Denmark and I had no criteria by which to judge whether this was a good idea.

“You don’t need criteria for these sorts of decisions,” he said. “It’s all about doing what feels right.”

It may not have been obvious to Steve, but I am firmly the first baboon. I see a lion—an unpaid bill, an unread e-mail, an uncalled acquaintance—not even 200 feet away, a mile away, on the horizon, barely visible to the naked eye, and my adrenaline spikes. The year I was living in London, I couldn’t get to sleep one night because I suddenly remembered I had forgotten to book a flight home for Christmas. It was May.

Like every American, I heard this stock advice—“Trust your gut”, “Be true to yourself”, “Follow your instincts”—all the time growing up, variations on the same Hollywood catechism, the pledge of allegiance to individuality we get installed on first bootup.

And the thing is, this advice isn’t necessarily bullshit. There are probably people out there whose instincts are all kindness and extroversion, whispering directives of generosity and serenity into their ear. Some people, I imagine, search their innermost desires and find the charm of a CEO, the selflessness of a Mormon.

I search mine and find the pessimism of an amputee, the selfishness of a marauder. I am constantly at war with my instincts, trying to project-manage away the anxiety, the me-firstism, the adrenaline they send me. Trusting my gut, really doing what I felt, would mean curling up into a ball until all my obligations—jobs, friends, family, personal hygiene—gave up and disappeared.

For Steve, trusting his gut would have meant doing the right thing. For me, it would have meant doing nothing at all.

After my meeting with Steve, I came home and I made a list: Stuff to Sort Out Before You Move To Denmark. Spend one hour every morning before work studying Danish. Post concerns on university message boards. Find potential friends in Aarhus on social media (OK, gay personals sites), talk to them on IM. Find out what “European studies” means.

It was work, but it worked. Six months later, I moved to Demark and started my program. Two years later, I graduated and got a job in Copenhagen. Four years after that, I moved to Berlin. Two years after that, I’m still here.

And yes, I’m still anxious. I still have to remind myself that my gut is cruel and manipulative, and should not be trusted with any decisions that affect us both. But just as amazingly, I still feel like I’m avoiding the treadmill. I work at an NGO that sends me to weird conferences and exotic countries. Back home, I rent, I bike, and don’t own anything I need to insure.

Moving to Denmark is the best thing I ever did. Not because I loved everything about it, or because it made me a less anxious person, or because I assimilated into it like a mermaid to a fairy tale. I didn’t.

It’s the best thing I ever did because for me, it was more awesome than staying in my hometown, moving commas around for a living, commuting in that Camry.

And that’s it, that’s my own three-word advice: Do awesome stuff.

Maybe it’s not moving to Europe, maybe it’s learning to play the piano, speaking Esperanto, writing a novel, becoming a professional wrestler, who cares. Find things you will someday want to brag about, things that would impress you if someone else did them, and do them.

If you’re like me, the furrowed-brow baboon worrying about his pension in his early 20s, find out what your awesome is and make a plan for doing it. Rules, lists, indicators, push notifications, whatever helps you pull rank on the lies your gut tells you.

If you’re not like me, if you’re the baboon polishing an apple and smoking a cigarette while the lion in the distance walks steadily you-ward, ignore me. I have no idea how your brain works. Just stop telling the rest of us to listen to ours.

Maybe I’m supposed to say that it’s really about being able to tell how far away the lion is, shrinking your pituitary gland through meditation or Pilates or multivitamins or whatever. But nothing I’ve done has made me any less anxious, no achievement has led me to that serenity I read on the bumper stickers. With stress inevitable, anxiety unavoidable and awesomeness finite, all I can do is work on tapping the one I might be running out of.

And if I’m in the middle of doing so and someone tells me to be myself, trust my gut, follow my heart, I have a built-in answer: “I can do better than that.”

Michael Hobbes lives in Berlin. He blogs at rottenindenmark.wordpress.com. Photo: David Berkowitz

TO: LOGAN
FROM: BETSY
SUBJECT: I FUCKED UP

I am out of money and don’t get paid for a week. I do this every single month and I am so mad at myself and I’m never going to change, am I.

TO: BETSY
FROM: LOGAN
SUBJECT: RE: I FUCKED UP

You’re never going to change with an attitude like that, says your mother. And my mother. And me. Look, Betsy: Of course you can change. Of course. Whether you do change is about whether you want to change or not. Do you actually want to change? Do you want to actually stop spending all of your money before you get new money?

I mean, it sounds like a good goal. It’s pretty much my goal every time I check my bank account and there is no money in it. But it’s not my goal three weeks before I run out of money and it’s not my goal two weeks before I run out of money and it’s not even really my goal when I’m down to my last $20. My goal is to do what I want for as long as I can do what I want. And then I run out of money and I can’t do what I want for a little while. But then I get paid and I can again.

I make real decisions during those weeks before I run out of money: that is me, making decisions to buy drinks and coffees and flowers and sandwiches, this gal, right here. And then I wake up one day and check my bank account and it’s empty and all of a sudden I DESPISE the person who made those decisions. A pox on her house. I forsake her. Loathe that human.

And then I get paid and money money money, I’m going to get an ice cream I’ll worry about this all later/never/when I run out of money again.

A lesson that took me a long time to learn: I am never going to wake up and be a person who doesn’t want to spend the money in her pocket if there is money in her pocket. That’s the kind of change I was trying to believe in but that kind of change doesn’t exist. Barring traumatic brain injury, humans don’t go to sleep and wake up completely different people. Change is active. For me it’s meant paying all my bills as soon as I get paid. It’s meant taking out cash so that I know exactly how much I have until I don’t have anymore. It’s mean learning to pause before I say yes to going to meet people out in the world and thinking, is this what I want to do with that last $20? It’s meant getting another job.

To change you’ve got to actually change your behavior. Hack the heck out of your finances. Give yourself an allowance. Split up your bank accounts. Prepay all your bills. Do what you have to do to save your money from yourself. And then do what you want with what’s leftover. You’ll still run out—if you want to—but you’ll be choosing that. Stop hating yourself. You’re doing okay.

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

My husband lost his job about a month ago and his emergency fund has run out (we keep our finances mostly separate and it works for us, I don’t want you guys or any of the readers judging the size of his emergency fund). We are very fortunate that our expenses are manageable enough that he can contribute what he’s able to from his unemployment and I can make up the difference to get the bills paid. I’m the main breadwinner and do well enough for myself that I don’t mind, but I might have to put my aggressive debt reduction plan on hold until he starts working again.

So here’s the thing: I’m in grad school, but have continued making student loan payments to try and make a dent in the principal before I graduate. I also am using the snowball method to pay off my credit cards. If I ultimately have to either stop paying my loans (which are in deferment while I’m a student) or go back to paying just the minimums on my cards, what’s the better choice? The dollar amount I would save monthly is the same. — J.

You’ve done the math. Honestly, if the dollar amount you’d save is basically the same, do what feels right to you. Financial experts like to tell people to prioritize student loan debt over credit card debt because if you ever have to declare bankruptcy, you can discharge your credit card debt but not your student loan debt. The federal government can also garnish your wages if you default on your student loans.

What if I had to declare bankruptcy!? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I reckon you won’t be declaring bankruptcy anytime soon. A person who is in aggressive debt payoff mode is probably not worried about declaring bankruptcy. If I were in your position, I’d defer the (probably lower-interest) student loans, and focus on getting rid of the (probably higher-interest) credit card debt. Once the credit cards are paid off, I’d start tackling those loans again. But again, do what you feel is right—if the student loan debt bothers you more than the credit card debt, continue throwing money at the student loans and pay the minimum on the credit cards until your husband finds work again. You can’t really go wrong. Best of luck to you and your husband.

I’m a 20-something living in NYC, and I work full-time and freelance on the side here and there. I just filed my taxes, and I should receive a total refund of approximately $1,100. I don’t have any credit card debt (anymore), but I do have some student loan debt that I’m still paying off. I should mention that I’m in the process of moving to Chicago, and I might have to purchase a car once I’m there (although I’d rather stick a fork in my eye). I’m also trying to save for my wedding. So, should I throw my entire refund at my student loans? Or should I put my refund into savings? — K.

So I’m posting this question because a lot of people have been emailing me variations on this same question: I’m getting a refund this year—what should I do with it?

There’s no one right answer to this question because people earn different amounts of money, have circumstances that are unique to them, and have different priorities. Not everyone has student loans, or weddings or houses they plan on buying. If I were the letter writer above, I would not throw the entire refund at my student loans—I’d squirrel it away into savings and decide what to do with it after I made my move to Chicago. Moving is expensive, and it often comes with unforeseen costs, so that $1,100 will come in handy when the time comes (and that time will definitely come if it’s discovered that a car is indeed needed after the move).

Let’s talk more broadly about what we should think about when getting our tax refunds (if we’re lucky enough to be getting tax refunds this year). The first thing you should think about: Do you have an emergency plan in place if you lose your job? It’s a good idea to have at least $1,000 in a savings account just in case (emergency money). I’ve mentioned this before, but financial “gurus” usually say you need three months, or six months or a year’s worth of savings to fall back on if you lose your job. This is an arbitrary rule of thumb. What they really mean is: What would you do if you lost your job? Some people don’t have family or friends who would let them crash with them if they couldn’t make their rent or lost their home, so they absolutely need a pile of money to fall back on in those circumstances. But a lot of us do have people who could let us crash on their couch or sleep in a spare bedroom while we get back on our feet, so it’s not as necessary to hoard as much cash for “emergency savings.” So have $1,000, and then go from there depending on what your emergency plan is.

Next up: Retirement and debt. If you’re worried about what you’re going to do when you’re retired and don’t have a retirement account, open one up. That’s what you should think about next. See here. (Note: Personally, I save for retirement, but am not too worried about it. That’s because I expect to work past the typical retirement age of 65—not because I’m afraid that I won’t have enough to live on, but because I like what I do! It’s not like I’m going to stop writing once I hit 65.) If you have high interest debt, you should definitely pay those down, because investing in a retirement account won’t do you any good if you have, say, credit cards with killer interest rates. So make paying down that debt a priority.

If you have your emergency plan and debt/retirement in order, sure, you can use the refund to tackle your student loans if it really bothers you, or put it towards a down payment for a car or house, go on vacation, or buy yourself something nice. You know what’s important to you and what your priorities are. After you take care of the big things, you can do whatever you want with your money.

This past winter, the guy I had been dating for a few months asked me to be his plus-one to a black tie wedding. We didn’t make it to the wedding, since he later broke up with me for having “too many feelings,” but in that moment, before all that, what I told him was that I had nothing to wear.

“So, I’ll buy you a dress,” he said.

I had been sort of mystified since we met about his financial situation. He was a film editor, but didn’t work much, as far as I could tell. He owned an apartment in Murray Hill that was notable mostly for the great bagel place across the street, but it had a doorman and it was his. It seemed clear that his parents helped him out, and even nearing 30, he still felt he could use those funds to buy me dinner, which he did with seeming impunity. The point of all this is that I didn’t ask questions, because despite how it factors into every moment of our lives, money is often the last thing we talk about in a new relationship.

“I don’t want you to buy me a dress,” I replied. And I didn’t, suddenly faced with all sorts of gender panic flags.

“Why not? You can’t afford it. Look,” he said, cutting me off, “we just won’t go out for dinner this week, and I’ll use the money I would have spent on that to buy you a dress.”

We were walking down Park Avenue. It was early spring, sunny but cold. I stopped short.

“Wait,” I said. “That’s not how it works. There isn’t some quota of money you’re supposed to spend on me each week.”

But there was, to him: I was a column on his expense sheet, and he could distribute those funds as he saw fit. This isn’t to say he wasn’t generous, or that I ever did anything more than meekly reach for my wallet at the end of another spectacular dinner, but I held firm about the dress, and the relationship dissolved soon after.

What is it that happens with money in relationships? I’ve seen it with my parents, with friends: with the exception of infidelity, no one thing has wrenched apart more couples than money, and the value judgments, petty arguments, and power struggles that come with it. In my most serious relationship, my boyfriend and I were just young enough that we could avoid talking about our finances if we wanted to, which we mostly did, for all of our eight years together. When we did argue about money, it was because I thought he spent too much on beer. Also sometimes cheese, but I really like cheese, so I griped less about that.

I’ve seen couples who split all income and expenses down the line, and others who are blindly proprietary. Some rely on government-worthy spreadsheets, while others maintain a strict code of silence. I’m fascinated by the myriad of ways in which partners approach these loaded, complicated issues. And since I’m currently exponentially single, I wondered if I might be able to work on my own financial hang-ups before I inadvertently screw up my next relationship by giving each complex a seat at the table.

Enter Zach Teutsch. Zach is a labor educator and financial coach in Washington, D.C. As Sandy was rolling up the East Coast, he and I chatted about happiness, power, and how your finances reflect how good you are in bed.

Meghan: Hi Zach!

Zach: Hi Meghan!

Meghan: Beautiful day out there!

Zach: Happy Hurricane Sandy to you.

Meghan: So, money! Could you tell me briefly how you got into what you’re doing?

Zach: Sure. While I was in college, I was very interested in how money related to happiness and fulfillment, and I lucked out to find a brilliant professor who worked on that intersection, Dr. Brooke Harrington.

After college, I went to work for a big union (SEIU) in their Capital Stewardship Program. It focused on pension policy and helping to protect members’ collective retirement assets. After that, I joined AFSCME to run their Investor Education for Working Families project, which helped that union’s members learn key financial and investing concepts. Eventually, the project moved to the NLC/AFL-CIO where it exists today. I got to help teach thousands of union members over the years.

Outside of work, I enjoy occasionally taking on financial coaching clients. A lot of my clients are couples in their 20s and 30s who are working on integrating their financial lives.

Meghan: Wow. There are a lot of acronyms up there. What was it was about the money/happiness balance that interested you?

Zach: I always wondered what it was that makes people happy. It was clear that money must play some role, but it was also clear to me that just having money wasn’t enough. And in some cases, it actually made it less likely that people would be happy.

Meghan: I was reading recently that the difference in the level of self-described happiness between someone who makes $30,000/year and someone who makes $70,000/year is substantial, but after $70,000 there are no perceived differences.

Zach: There is a lot of debate in the literature about how strong the correlation is between money and happiness, but everyone basically agrees that having enough money to subsist is important to being happy, but having enough to live a luxurious life isn’t.

Meghan: I find that fascinating.

Zach: Me too. Once a person is financially secure, then the strongest drivers of happiness are things like community, friendships, family connection, fulfillment (often through work), and a sense of giving back. Most of those things are free. I felt a little bit like a Hallmark ad when I said that.

Meghan: So do you see that emotional correlation a lot in your work? Like, do you become a de facto therapist from time to time?

Zach: Yeah, money issues are usually tied to broader relationship issues. You can’t competently work on money challenges without touching non-money concerns. Here’s an example: Lots of couples have problems talking about money. To untangle those issues requires understanding whether the couple communicates well about other things and where they don’t, why they don’t. Many couples, for instance, have a fight and then try to work on the underlying issues while they are still steamed. That doesn’t work for Becca [Zach’s wife] and me, and it doesn’t work for most other couples either. Whether the topic is money, sex, or in-laws, it’s best to talk about it when everyone is calm and removed from the thing that initially triggered it.

Meghan: You are a therapist! I knew it. So, was money something you and Becca talked about early on in your relationship? When is the time to have that discussion?

Zach: Well, Becca and I famously met on Craigslist. But in the housing section. She moved into the co-op house I lived in, so we actually had a financial relationship before we had a romantic one. Most people don’t have that experience. But for us, it was great to know we had shared financial values before we were together. For most couples, I think they mostly find out how the other views finance by watching rather than by discussing, which is too bad: It’s much more effective to talk about it! Most people don’t know where to begin though.

When I facilitate conversations about this, often when couples are thinking about long-term commitment, I start by asking for stories from their past. Emotion is very powerful in this area and much of that comes from our childhoods. In a sense, financial approach is largely autobiographical.

Meghan: Meaning how your parents dealt with money?

Zach: Exactly!

Meghan: I am acing this course.

Zach: Amen sister.

I ask people what they worry about when they worry about money. The range is surprising sometimes. Some people worry about running out. Others worry about having too much left when they die. Some worry about people trying to be their friends to mooch off them (we should all have so much money as to worry about that!).

Often worries are so specific that it is immediately obvious where they are from. Like, I am worried that things will seem good and I will switch jobs, then the economy will get bad while I am chasing my dreams, my startup will fail and I’ll wish I hadn’t changed jobs. Money is hard to talk about for lots of people. Especially people who come from families where it is taboo. Lots of families just. don’t. talk. about. it. So, for some, it feels transgressive, almost dirty, to have an open, frank discussion.

Meghan: Have you ever worked with a couple whose views were just wildly far apart? Do you ever think, Oh, well this isn’t going to work out.

Zach: It is very stressful when a saver and spender throw their lot in together, since there is a kind of judgment involved. It isn’t just that they have different approaches to money, but slightly different values.

Meghan: Right, it feels so personal.

Zach: Exactly.

Meghan: How do you get around that?

Zach: Savers often feel that spenders are judging them as un-fun. Spenders often feel that savers are judging them as irresponsible. Often, though, they aren’t! Just one of the reasons it’s good to talk. Sometimes couples learn that their fears about what the other thought just aren’t true. When that happens, there is usually a palpable feeling of release. They had been avoiding talking for months or years because of what they feared the other thought and then, it turns out, the fear was unwarranted. Chats about money are almost never as bad as anyone thinks.

Meghan: So, let’s say a spender and a saver get together—do you ever recommend that a couple not merge their finances?

Zach: I haven’t ever recommended that, but I have occasionally suggested waiting, baby steps, or a trial period. Some couples do better to keep finances separate for sure. It depends on how one views what it means to be a couple.

Meghan: What do you mean by that?

Zach: For instance, some couples view themselves as a team. That when one of them succeeds, they both win, and vice versa. Becca and I usually think of ourselves this way, so it is natural for us to have completely merged finances. Other couples think of themselves more as individuals who go through life together but are more independent. For them, keeping partially or wholly separated finances can work. Personally, I hated tallying up bills when I lived in a co-op house. I found the spreadsheet super annoying. As soon as Becca and I moved into our own place, well before we decided to get married, we opened a joint checking account. We each kept our original accounts as well. When either of us would go to the grocery store or otherwise spend money on house stuff, we’d use the debit card from our joint account.

Meghan: See, that seems so rational. To get uncomfortably personal for a second, I’ve never been able to wrap my head around that. Sharing finances. I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of using someone else’s money as my own. What’s wrong with me? Am I just insanely selfish?

Zach: I’m sure that’s not why! Tell me more about what you are worried about.

Meghan: This has taken an alarming turn, sorry -

Zach: If it isn’t too personal for you, it surely isn’t for me.

Meghan: I think a lot of it has to do with power? Maybe? I hate the idea that I could feel beholden to someone, or that I could be seen as entitled. I just have this knee-jerk reaction of, “But it’s not mine. I didn’t earn it. I don’t deserve it.” Does that make sense?

Zach: Totally! A lot of our lives are spent learning to keep score. For some people, it is an amazing release to eventually stop keeping score. But it takes time, and works best if it happens gradually. Or, not at all! It’s fine not have shared finances. In fact, if a couple tried it before they have done enough trust building, it will usually cause more trouble than it will create connection.

Meghan: So for people who are alone and bereft like me, is there work you can do to prepare for being in a couple and being more open about money and spending? Even if you never decide to share finances across the board?

Zach: Absolutely. We might have to cut this next analogy…There are some parallels to sex here.

Meghan: Oh, no, this is perfect.

Zach: Being a good sex partner requires having some sense of what your own needs are and experience with meeting them. It’s really the same with money. The more a person gets to know themselves financially, the better shape they are in for talking about and working with someone else on it. Paying attention to what felt good and what felt shitty helps each of us know what works for us and what doesn’t. Knowing how we react emotionally to different situations is very important. The more you know yourself and your needs, the better a financial relationship will work. We get to know ourselves by paying attention and identifying patterns. The more self-aware we are, the better we can know and communicate our needs.

Now I think I am sort of rambling.

Meghan: No, I suddenly totally understand money.

Zach: Do you ever listen to Dan Savage?

Meghan: Religiously.

Zach: I think part of his shtick applies here. He encourages us all to be GGG: good, giving, and game. I sorta think it’s the same with being a good financial partner as it is with being a good sex partner. Think ‘good in bed,’ ‘giving equal time and equal pleasure,’ and ‘game for anything—within reason. Or, in financial terms: Good at communicating, giving the benefit of the doubt to your partner’s decisions, and game for anything—within reason.

I should probably tighten up the definition.

Meghan: That’s great. I think Dan would be proud.

So, for the poor souls who don’t get to meet with you in person, do you have a Top 3 list – 3 practical, concrete things that couples can do to better their financial relationship?

Zach: 1) The Your Partner is a Reasonable Person principle: When a partner’s position seems odd, it is usually because the couple hasn’t talked enough about specific personal experiences they have had. When it seems like our +1 is over-reacting, it is usually because we don’t know the full range of what they are reacting to. Sometimes something seemingly small really pisses one of us off. If the other is surprised, try to ask: “You seem really upset, did this remind you of something?”

Usually it did, like, “The way you just talked to Y reminds me of when my dad used to talk to X. That relationship was really mean and it makes me sad to think about it.”

The same is true for money: small things can make a big difference! Find out why they trigger such intense emotions and you’ll be most of the way to the answer.

2) Sweat the Big Stuff: Cutting out lattes is great. The strongest way to become more financially secure, though, is to focus on recurring expenses, especially big ones. When we got rid of our cable, we started saving $60 a month (we had cheap cable). That’s more lattes than either of us drunk in a month.

3) Start: The first, hardest, and most important step to having a good financial life is starting! There is a great old joke on just this theme: “Question: How many therapists does it take to screw in a light bulb? Answer: One, but the light bulb has to want to change.” It’s exactly the same with money. Both people have to want to change their financial life or it isn’t going to work. It is critical to have open communication and shared values. It is good to start small.

Bonus tip: Have a Vision: Starting is the hardest part, but sticking to the plan can also be hard. It is hard to save up for the sake of saving up. It is much easier to avoid buying a new pair of pants or whatever if the thing in the future is tangible, like a trip to Vietnam, moving to a place that doesn’t have roaches, or something else super awesome!

Meghan: Like super awesome pants! Those are incredible. Thank you so so so much for talking to me, even in a hurricane!

Zach: My pleasure. I had a ton of fun.

Meghan: Me too! Say hi to Becca. Stay dry.

Zach: You too!

(Postscript: We did. We were very lucky.)

Meghan Nesmith hangs out in Brooklyn and on Twitter.

Every business “expert,” career advisor, and their mothers will warn job seekers to avoid vocal fry, up speak, mumbling, meandering, cursing, spitting, or slip-ups, Freudian or otherwise. I’m guilty of committing all of the above, but my worst verbal tick, I’m sorry to say, is over-apologizing.

Of course, admitting fault is thoughtful and expected, but apologizing in excess can be a form of self-sabotage. Much to my chagrin, it’s also hard to stop kicking yourself.

In third grade, my teacher Mrs. Garber tried to exorcise my habit. Each time I apologized, she’d dot my forehead with a Crayola red marker. If I didn’t apologize for the day, she’d put candy in a bowl and give it to the class. But when Ms. Garber discovered that the school cook had been slipping me desserts, she was livid. Who knew my wolfing down an extra pudding pop was a civic matter? Still, Mrs. Garber snatched the candy bowl away. You can imagine how thrilled my classmates were. Whatever I’d been sorry about, I was never as sorry as I felt after that public humiliation.

Perhaps if I’d finished my doctorate in clinical psychology, I’d know the cause (or cure) of my sorry habit. Sure I was raised to respect those who admit when they’re wrong, but who wasn’t? I did consume loads of British television (or tele) programs. Perhaps I learned from Faulty Towers or Upstairs Downstairs that the English will preface even the most mundane question with an apology, like “Sorry to bother but….” It seemed then (and now), that in England, verbalizing humility doesn’t translate as a lack of self-respect.

Of course, the business world, whatever side of the pond you work on, doesn’t reward compunction. Obviously, most corporations, which (or who?) are technically individuals now, don’t take responsibility for missteps unless they have to. I have a pulse. I also get that mentality filters down. Workers are not rewarded for apologizing. But I didn’t realize how sorry I’d be for over apologizing until I became a corporate shill.

I was hired to write for children. It was a dream job and came with the usual perks: health insurance, unlimited printing, and stale, but free, coffee. I loved being able to pay rent on time, save, and, moreover, enjoyed my work and colleagues. A couple months after I started, my youngest colleague Kayla got promoted to be my supervisor. I wish I knew then how sorry I’d be for congratulating her.

We still sat next to one another. Before her promotion, I’d pushed for Kayla to take the most coveted corner desk near the only window, wanting to protect the runt in our division. Back then, we’d get lunch, initiate meetings outside of the office, and she’d confide her own aspirations to me that she wanted to become a novelist. But once in charge, she kept her headphones on, stopped answering my emails, and barely made eye contact. She didn’t want to acknowledge the change and, as a result, couldn’t have made it more awkward.

I tried to mirror her cues and take a stab at avoiding the avoider. I focused on my work, branched out and connected to other colleagues. But I’d walk by meetings in the glass walled conference rooms, meetings I used to be invited to, confused as to why I was no longer needed.

Swimming in insecurity, I started to over apologize.

“Sorry if I missed something, did you send the email with the meeting time?” I’d ask, knowing full well she had not invited me.

No answer. Silence. There’s a fine line between towing the line and strangling yourself, and I started to lose my footing. I felt ill when I heard we were getting performance reviews. I hated tests so much that I’d thrown up during my GRE.

But Kayla gave me a perfect score! Her comments were equally effusive. She then asked me to rate her. I was supposed to review my supervisor and have her sign off on it. I couldn’t indicate how I felt and expect her to sign off without repercussions. I gave her positive scores and didn’t add any comments. Yet, I idiotically took her positive review as evidence that things would be fine; even though I’d lied in my review of her.

Things did seem okay for a bit. After a couple more months, Kayla even invited me to a meeting. She took credit for what I’d worked on for the past 11 months and didn’t introduce me to new folks at the table. I decided to say something. I didn’t apologize. I simply asked her if we could talk. She said no and shoved her headphones back in.

A week later, I got sacked. It was a Tuesday afternoon. My boss gave no notice. No pay through the rest of the week. My health insurance would expire three days later. Kayla made no eye contact. I was told that my being “let go” was merely corporate “restructuring.” As she took my papers out of my hand, shut down my computer, and offered to walk me out of the building, the only thing I had to be grateful for was that she didn’t apologize. She wasn’t sorry.

Catie Lazarus is a writer and comedian. She has contributed drivel to The Daily Beast, Slate, Cosmo, Bust, Gawker, and edited the “Kvetch Section” for Heeb Magazine. She also hosts the podcast Employee of the Month, which is taped live monthly at Upright Citizens Brigade Theater.

The toilet in our second bathroom stopped working last winter. We’d installed a low-flow converter thingamajig, but it wasn’t flushing anymore, and now we needed to un-install the faulty flushing mechanism and put the basic flusher back in.

But we didn’t, because it just wasn’t a priority. We didn’t have any out-of-town guests coming through, and the toilet in the master bath worked fine. Every weekend brought other pressing things to be done, or things that were just more fun than fixing the toilet. Months rolled by. Most of the time, I successfully ignored the fact that we only had one functioning toilet, and that the only reason for the shortage was my own laziness and general distaste for basic plumbing work.

I spent July in Boston, and as the date for my return home came closer, I felt increasingly anxious about coming back to a malfunctioning bathroom. After months of turning a blind eye to this problem, I did something I should have done months before: I called the plumber. Forty-five minutes and $90 later, the toilet was fixed. I could have possibly done it myself for the cost of the flushing mechanism, but it would also have cost me at least half a day, significant anxiety, and possibly a visit from the plumber if I didn’t get it right.

There’s no shame in calling a plumber, even if you have the capacity to fix your own bathroom. There are times when you won’t have the mental or physical energy to do something, so you pay someone to do it for you. That’s one of the reasons why we keep money in the bank.

I may be a mediocre plumber, but I’m pretty handy with a sewing machine. Last spring, I sat down with a stack of clothes I’ve accumulated over the past few years. I have a habit of buying things on sale even if they don’t quite fit, always meaning to take them to be altered. Of course, I never do—I accumulated too-long blazers and too-big dresses, skirts that needed taking in and jeans I never wore because they were bootcut instead of skinny.

All told, I probably would have spent at least a hundred dollars at the tailor to make the clothes fit the way I wanted. Plus, I’d have to take the time to try everything on and explain what I needed to have done. Not to mention, I’d have to find time to look up local tailors and find one who seemed reputable. If it takes me four months to get the toilet fixed, you can imagine how long it takes to work up the energy to haul a bunch of clothes I never even wear to the tailor.

So instead of doing all of that, I just altered everything myself. I took the dress in a size or two so that it fits me perfectly. I brought the sleeves of my blazers up so I no longer look like I’ve borrowed my father’s suit jacket. I turned my bootcut jeans to skinny jeans. In just a couple of afternoons, I recovered at least half a dozen previously-unwearable articles of clothing.

All that cutting, measuring, and sewing also helped me hone and feel more confident in my alteration skills. I figured out how blazer sleeves are constructed, so now I don’t have to let the fact that the sleeves are too long keep me from buying a jacket. I perfected my technique for skinnify-ing jeans. And damn, does it feel liberating to be able to do my own alterations.

A large part of adulthood is learning to tell the difference between tasks you should pay someone else to do, and ones you should just do yourself. I don’t always make the right call, but I’m getting better.

Sydney Bufkin is a graduate student by day and an anxious person all the time. You can find her on Twitter, and her occasional musings about technology, the academy, and reception study here.