Months after getting engaged, with the help of James, David and I found and purchased a 1915 Colonial on a tree-lined street, thrilled to have a place of our own. At $312,000, the house was much nicer than a fixer-upper and bigger than the houses either of us lived in growing up. With three stories and in a nice neighborhood, it was also way beyond what most couples in their early thirties could afford. But we simply cashed in stock options. And with co-workers and friends living in similarly sized and even grander places, I saw our house as normal.
My view of travel was similarly warped. After taking a trip to Greece, David and I had vacationed in Morocco. We’d then gone to Portugal and Spain for our honeymoon. So, when we talked about where to go next, Hawaii sounded boring. Where was the fun and sense of adventure in staying so close to home? We wouldn’t be learning to say “thank you” in a foreign language or experiencing a different culture. I didn’t like the idea of just sitting around doing nothing. On the other hand, Hawaii was family-friendly and with Emily just eight months old, we decided to go.
Arriving at the Kea Lani in Wailea, we were greeted by smiling women in long, flowing dresses who placed purple leis around our necks and tropical juice in our hands. We then wandered the open-air lobby and let Emily splash her feet in the fountain until a man in a blue and white flowered shirt introduced himself as Gary and offered to show us to our suite. After changing into swimsuits and taking a few photos of Emily looking cute in her bikini, we headed outside.
Half-naked toddlers were running across the freshly cut lawn and rows of adults in colorful swimwear were sitting at the swim-up bar. In the water, groups of children were tossing beach balls and screaming “Marco Polo.” Looking forward to showing Emily the wonder of sand and the thrill of the ocean, we walked past the pool toward the beach, where David began crawling around, coaxing Emily to follow. He dug holes and suggested sand castles. But Emily didn’t want to leave the comfort of the terrycloth. She didn’t even want her feet to touch the ground. And when David picked her up and we walked toward the ocean, she burst into tears.
Back at the pool, it was obvious that baby-blue tiles and sparkling clear water were more welcoming than loud surf and hot sand. Emily clapped with excitement and tossed herself into the water. David caught her, put her back on the side of the pool, and she launched herself into the water again, giving us our first glimpse of the repetition she would continue to love. When it came to Brown Bear, Brown Bear and Goodnight Moon, and then to the movies 101 Dalmatians and A Bug’s Life, Emily wanted to hear the same words and see the same pictures over and over again. She was learning about herself and her world.
During our time in Maui, David and I also enjoyed repetition, waking with the sun every morning, relaxing over breakfast, then jumping, splashing, and playing at the pool until naptime. Every evening, when the tiki guy made his rounds, lighting torches to inaugurate the cocktail hour, we made our biggest decision of the day—where to go for dinner. With time and familiarity, we were learning about our world too, and I was becoming increasingly comfortable with doing nothing but relaxing. In fact, enjoying the wonders of Hawaii, ten days on Maui became something I wanted to repeat—every year.
In the middle of the night, however, my eyes popped open, my thoughts glued to Emily. Were we setting her up to be spoiled? If she only experienced Hawaiian vacations and exotic travel and never had to make trade-offs or stay at home, would she become entitled? Was all this luxury harming our daughter? For hours, I was unable to sleep.
The next morning, in the light and warmth of the Hawaiian sun, the monstrous question of whether our vacation was spoiling our daughter didn’t loom quite as large—until we were perusing the breakfast buffet, choosing from guava and papaya, homemade pastries and breads, sausage and bacon, pancakes, waffles, and eggs made to order.
“Do you think Emily is becoming spoiled?” I asked David.
“She’s eight months old,” he replied. “She’s just living life.”
As a Microsoft employee, I knew my medical benefits were good, but didn’t understand how truly excellent they were. Except for employees who wore glasses and raved about the free pair they could get every year, no one at Microsoft talked about healthcare. Most everyone was too young and too healthy to need or to use insurance and none of my friends or acquaintances were suffering from illness or injury. Healthcare wasn’t yet a topic of discussion in our country either. So, while I knew, intellectually, that medical coverage was a benefit, I didn’t think of healthcare as a luxury. It shouldn’t be.
When my period never resumed after Emily’s birth, I didn’t think twice about the cost of seeing a doctor. Nor was I worried about the price of the hormones she recommended, or about returning for a second appointment when the medicine she’d prescribed didn’t kick my system into action. When my blood-work came back normal, I wasn’t concerned about seeing an endocrinologist. I simply got the care I needed, which included an MRI. When the results came back normal and there still were no answers to why my period hadn’t resumed, I made an appointment at a fertility clinic, where David and I sat together in a small, sterile room, waiting for yet another doctor’s diagnosis.
“The ultrasound indicates no activity in the ovaries,” the doctor said.
“What does that mean?” David asked.
“No eggs are being produced. There’s no way to get pregnant if eggs aren’t being released. Clomid can often jumpstart ovulation. In your case, it will take something stronger.”
As the doctor continued, explaining that injections would be necessary, that there was a fifty-fifty chance of conception, and multiples were likely, it was hard for me to digest the information. In a matter-of-fact way, he stated that the cost of treatment was thousands of dollars, and while David signed us up for a class on how to use a needle, I walked out of the room and down the street to the car. The doctor’s nonchalance was upsetting. More than that, I was scared of not being able to get pregnant again. Would we have another baby? Would Emily be a big sister?
David caught up to me at the car.
“No way!” I said. “I’m not taking those drugs.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “People do it all the time.”
“Maybe it’s not a big deal for you.”
“Fertility drugs can be highly successful,” he said.
“Highly successful? What are you talking about? What does that even mean?”
David’s voice grew calm as he reminded me of the statistics.
“You sound like the doctor,” I yelled.
“You’re being irrational,” David countered.
“This is a big deal. I may never get pregnant,” I hissed.
“Oh. I see. You may never get pregnant,” he bit back. “Well, if we want another baby, this is our best option.”
“Don’t be patronizing. And stop talking about options. It’s like this hasn’t affected you at all.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” David said.
By the time we pulled up to the house, neither of us was speaking.
Rocking with Emily, staring out the window past the yellow curtains at the trees, I knew my infertility was not only a physical problem. I wasn’t just a body. My mental, emotional, and spiritual states were impacting my ability to get pregnant as well. So, to find answers, I took a holistic approach. I tried homeopathic remedies, acupuncture, and hypnotherapy. Without giving much thought to the fact that most people couldn’t afford to explore and experiment, I made an appointment with a therapist as well.
My first session was humbling. Overwhelmed by a rush of messy emotions, I wanted to run, never to return. All those chaotic feelings didn’t belong to me! I didn’t need to see a therapist. But with a deep sadness welling up from within, I broke down in tears. Not only did I stay in my seat, I agreed to return the following week.
Newly aware of my own anxiety, I started a process that would prove to be one of the most difficult, meaningful, and satisfying endeavors of my life. For five years, being as open and honest with myself as possible, I talked about my childhood. I also learned to see myself more clearly and find self-acceptance. Slowly, I built confidence too. Only looking back did I realize my therapist and I never talked about money. The wealth David and I had was growing. My identity was challenged and I didn’t know where I fit into the world. And yet, money was a topic my therapist and I never discussed. In part, I avoided it. But my therapist avoided it too. Money was a taboo subject.
Many years later, reading a book called The New Elite by Dr. Jim Taylor, Doug Harrison, and Stephen Kraus, I was relieved to learn many newly wealthy people grapple with identity and sense of place. Based on interviews, focus groups, and quantitative surveys with over 6,000 wealthy participants, The New Elite reported it could often take years—even decades—for people to shed their upbringing and get comfortable with wealth. Intellectually, people knew their status had changed but emotionally it took time for them to feel wealthy.
“It is almost as if their self-concepts are frozen in their middle-class upbringings, largely untouched by the metamorphosis of their financial situation,” the authors wrote.
“When a person experiences sudden wealth, there’s more fallout and readjustment than you ever would have dreamed of,” said Moira Somers, a neuropsychologist based in Winnipeg, Canada who works with the wealthy. Moira likened the experience of sudden wealth to mentioning your love of beef to a friend, then having two thousand head of cattle arrive as a gift to your door.
“What the hell do you do with two thousand steer?” she said. “You need to know how to deal with them and that’s very different than eating a steak.”
Six months after I began searching for answers to why my period hadn’t returned, I was glad David had negotiated vacation time when he started at Amazon, and thankful we could afford to take another great one. This time, David, Emily, and I spent two weeks in Spain.
As David checked us into the Marbella Club, a five-star spa and resort in the south of Spain, I followed Emily as she toddled a few laps around the lobby. A gentleman in a suit then gathered up our bags and chauffeured us in a golf cart to our suite by the sea. For a week, we did nothing but relax, playing in the pool and strolling along the beach. But on the night before our departure, while David and Emily were dreaming, I was awake once again, staring at the canopy over the four-poster bed, wondering how we would keep Emily from becoming spoiled. She’d just spent a week being served breakfast on the terrace by the pool. When I was her age, our family wasn’t travelling internationally. We weren’t travelling at all. My mother was saving the second half of my breakfast banana to have the next day.
Taking a deep breath and looking around the dark room, conscious of the fine fabrics and beautifully hand-painted tiles, aware of David in bed next to me and our sweet daughter asleep nearby, I felt the abundance in my life. I was lucky. But I also knew what was important. It was dangerously easy to lose track of our advantages, but I didn’t need to fret myself into a future that didn’t exist. Emily wasn’t a spoiled brat just because she wasn’t growing up the way I had. Nor was she doomed to becoming entitled—not if I remained aware and respectful of the people around me and appreciative of all the luxuries in our life. An exotic vacation at a high-end resort was a wonderful benefit. So was being able to spend the day at the beach. But vacationing in Spain would not have been the same without Emily and David. Being with the people I loved was what mattered most.
The next morning, I was grateful for a long, hot shower and enjoyed pancakes and eggs with David and Emily. Back in Seattle, my sense of abundance grew. I hadn’t viewed pregnancy as a luxury before, but after struggling with infertility, more aware of how fortunate we were to have Emily, I felt an even greater sense of amazement. There had been no drugs or injections. My period still hadn’t resumed. And yet, our second child was on the way. I was pregnant again!
“It’s the work I’m doing in therapy,” I told David. “Getting to know and accept myself, I’m more relaxed.”
“Or maybe it was the vacation we just took,” he said.
It was true. Many factors contributed to my ability to get pregnant: a European vacation, excellent healthcare, and a comfortable home. Awareness and appreciation of life’s abundance played a role too.
With a second baby on the way, David and I felt the need for a more family-friendly car. But when we walked into the Volvo dealership, rather than embracing the luxury of being able to afford one, I was on edge. Fearful of some slick salesmen taking advantage of us, when a young man in a suit sauntered over to offer his help, I shook my head and turned away.
“Actually,” David said. “We’d like to test drive the new S80.” For half an hour, we drove around the neighborhood, the salesman talking nonstop about the car’s smooth ride and safety record which, to me, only proved the stereotype. Back at the dealership, as we sat down at the salesman’s desk, David seemed prepared to continue listening patiently. But I didn’t want to be manipulated.
“We just want the car,” I said, cutting the salesman off.
“There are several special packages included on this vehicle,” he said. “I’d like to tell you about them.”
“I’m not interested. I just want the car,” I said again.
But the salesman continued talking.
“What’s your best price?” I demanded, standing up.
David touched my arm, suggesting I get some fresh air while he finished the transaction, but I continued my rant, wielding our wealth like a sword.
“We’re paying in cash,” I said, storming around the dealership, pulling out my checkbook. “I’m ready to write a check, right here, right now.”
Looking back, I’d like to blame my unpleasant behavior on pregnancy. Hormones were raging. But anxiety had me advancing an ugly stereotype of my own. Using wealth to try to get what I wanted and avoid what I didn’t, I showed no regard for the salesman or anyone else in the dealership. I’d lost track of life’s abundance and exhibited the kind of behavior I never wanted to repeat and certainly didn’t want to see from Emily.
Luckily, my reaction was more balanced and aware several months later when David told me he’d purchased a BMW 3 Series on a whim, without me.
“Come outside and have a look,” he said, eager to show me his new toy. “My Toyota was having problems. It was time.”
Years earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to imagine such a big-ticket item as an impulse purchase. I couldn’t have imagined my husband buying a car without first talking to me either. We were a team. We made big decisions together. But David’s purchase said more about our relationship with money than our relationship with each other. His new car made him smile, making me smile too. In addition to having each other, it was a luxury not to think much about money at all.
Around this same time, David gave me a nod. I then met a behind-the-scenes jeweler and selected a 1.5-carat diamond that was clearer and more perfect than the one I’d been wearing. I had the stone placed in a platinum version of the setting he had chosen, thrilled to have a ring I loved.
More than a decade later, David would hand me another velvet box, surprising me with a 3.5-carat solitaire for our twentieth wedding anniversary. I was touched he’d played the knight, giving me a bauble fit for a princess. The diamond was beautiful. But again, the real luxury was having David in my life.
Contemplation & Conversation
•Has your socioeconomic status changed? Has that change shifted the way you view yourself? What does it mean to feel wealthy?
•Jennifer believed that being aware and appreciative of life’s abundance and remembering what mattered most would help keep her daughter from becoming spoiled. Do you agree? What do you think spoils children?
•Jennifer used wealth like a weapon at the car dealership. Does money cause obnoxious behavior?